"Yes--no. I'm not quite certain. Sometimes I want to know--just now, for example--so that I may know just what my duty is. But at other times I think it should be enough for me, as a well-ordered young person, to know that I must be loyal to my poor father's memory, and never forgive a Pegram while I live. My good aunts have taught me that much, but they have never told me anything about the origin of the feud. All I know is that, in order to be true to the memory of my poor father, who died before I was born, I must always remember that the Ronalds and the Pegrams are hereditary enemies. That is why I refuse to use the mare which you have so courteously offered me, Mr. Pegram." "Still," answered the young man, as if arguing the matter out with himself, "it might not compromise your dignity so much to ride a mare that belongs to me, as to let me 'tote' you home--for that is precisely what I must do if you persist in your refusal." The girl again laughed, merrily this time, but still she hesitated: "Listen!" said Baillie; "that's my boy Sam coming. It would be unseemly for us to continue our quarrel in the presence of a servant." As he spoke the voice of Sam rose from beyond the pines, in a ditty which he was singing with all the power of a robust set of vocal organs: "My own Eliza gal--she's de colour ob de night, When de moon it doesn't shine a little bit; But her teeth shows white in de shaddah ob de night, And her eyes is like a lantern when it's lit. "Oh, Eliza! How I prize yeh! You'se de nicest gal dere is; It's fer you dat I'se a-pinin', For you're like a star dat's shinin' When de moon it's done forgitten how to riz." With that Sam came beaming upon the scene. His round, black, shining visage, and eyes that glittered with a humour which might have won an anchorite to merriment, resembled nothing so much as the sun at its rising, if one may think of the sun as black and glistening from a diligent rubbing with a bacon rind, which was Sam's favourite cosmetic, as it is of all the very black negroes. Sam was sitting sidewise upon a saddleless mule, but when he saw the situation he quickly slipped to the ground, pulled his woolly forelock in lieu of doffing the hat which he had not, and asked: "What's de mattah, Mas' Baillie?" The girl saw the impropriety of continuing the discussion--it had ceased to be a quarrel now--in Sam's presence. So she held out her hand, and said: "Thank you very much, Mr. Pegram. I will ride your beautiful mare, and to-morrow, if you are so minded, you may call at The Oaks to inquire how the animal has behaved toward me. Good morning, sir!"