But then, if Margaret was not in love with Waldsen, what had caused her increased interest in life, and drawn her from her usual seclusion? He had it now! and blamed himself for having been so blind. Of course, it was the promised trip to Europe that had given her motive, and Waldsen having travelled, what more likely than that they had often talked of the matter? Very well, let Andrea come and marry Waldsen. They could then keep house for him during Margaret’s absence. Nothing would be simpler. When the Deacon, after much patient listening, understood the objections to a marriage before Christmas, he became quite angry. “Such nonsense I never heard before. So he doesn’t wish to marry the girl until his own house is ready! and she doesn’t wish to marry him until Christmas because she once promised her father that she would not, and he has since practically turned her out of doors! A pretty pair of fools playing at independence!” But when the Deacon saw that Margaret was deeply interested and sympathized with the couple, and when she represented to him how much better it would be to have some one like Andrea to help her with the housework, rather than a mere clumsy animal like Zella, who must be constantly watched, he relented after many grumblings and doubts as to the ability of the two girls to accomplish the work. “How will it be when you come to feeding the berry hands? You know there’s no one to board them at the Hill Farm this season!” “Mother and cousin Susan were able to do it,” replied Margaret, quietly. “I am going to take an interest in the place now, father; I have idled too long.” So Andrea was sent for, Margaret writing the letter in a kindly tone, but as a mistress engaging a helper, making no mention of Waldsen except as of a friend who knew that she wished to come to America. Early in May word came that Andrea’s steamer was due the next day, and Gurth went up to meet her. All the day long Margaret was busy making preparations. “Looks to me as if you expected the Queen, instead of a helper,” joked her father, as he saw her putting up muslin curtains in the little room next to her own (Zella had occupied a bit of a place over the wash-house), and then, as she flushed hotly, he added hastily, “I’m glad you’re going to have a girl companion, daughter, but don’t work too hard; you’re getting pale again.” At two o’clock everything was ready, and the train from Bridgeton was not due until half-past four. Margaret sat by her window. Everything outside was spring green; only the mill showed its shingles through the spotted branches of the plane trees, for they leaf out late. A mist of greenery veiled the river, but the pond was a glittering mirror. On the edge of the berry fields the cherry trees were shaking down a rain of petals, and bluebirds were murmuring about in pairs, while the song-sparrows kept up their sweet, persistent song from the meadow bushes.