"Oh, suit yourself, of course," he replied briefly, "suit yourself;" but he carefully made no motion of his rigid arm which should discourage Sylvia from leaning upon it, and the three moved off toward the house. Minty Foster suddenly appeared, dragging herself shyly between the trees. "I seen yer comin' past the mill," she said. Her usually stolid face was so eloquent of satisfaction at meeting Sylvia again that the girl dropped her uncle's arm, and, stooping, kissed the red cheek. "Don't you want to go and see if Benny won't give you a sail while he's waiting for us, Minty?" she suggested. "Y' ain't goin' back, are yer?" protested the child, round-eyed. "I'm not quite sure," replied Sylvia. Each new, trifling incident reassured her, and went to lighten her heart. Here was home and welcome, whatever had been her mistakes abroad. Minty ran on to the waterside, and the three resumed their walk. The chime of little joy-bells and the silvery flourish of melody continued to come from woodland depths. "What a pity we haven't time to find that darling hermit!" said the girl. "He must be near. Once I succeeded in discovering him, and I sat so quietly he didn't mind me, even if he saw. He was on the very topmost twig of a pine, so little and so brown against the vast blue. Uncle Calvin, I'm so glad you bought the Mill Farm!" "Well, so am I," replied the judge. "Some time," said Sylvia, "when you get very--unexpectedly--rich, I wish you'd buy the Tide Mill." "You do?" grunted the lawyer. "What for, pray? Want to see a bonfire on the water?" "Oh, dear, no!" Sylvia glanced around at Dunham. "Wouldn't it be tragic, after all its troubles, to see it burned at the stake?" "She wants to tie blue ribbons around its neck and chuck it under the chin," explained John. "Ah, I see," said the judge, smiling grimly as he remembered Sylvia's comments on the mill the first day he met her. "There's Thinkright," cried Sylvia, suddenly breaking from her companions and running fleetly toward the house. With one accord the two men watched her greet the third by kissing him first on one cheek and then on the other. "It was only one of yours, Judge," said Dunham. "If I were you I'd call him out." "I don't grudge it to him," returned the lawyer. "She's making up to him for her mother's lack." He waited a moment, hoping John would continue on the subject. He had thought often of his niece since his last visit, and in the past days had heard only good words for her; but Thinkright might be expected to be partial to Laura's child, and the Fosters were scarcely judges. He wished very much to learn the opinion of the girl which would be formed by a man of John's world and experience. Dunham kept silent as they pursued their measured walk, and the judge's desire forced the question. "Well, and how do you find Miss Lacey, now you've had a near view?" "Oh--Miss Lacey. Yes. Brisk and busy as a little bumblebee. The round peg in the round hole, as you might say."