A few moments’ work about the lining of the old hat which the hawker had worn revealed a letter, which he took and handed to Theresa. She turned away to the window, and read it hastily. A shade passed over her fine face as she read. “Is he well?” she asked, turning to Boston, who was engaged in a flirtation with Katrine. “Oh, yes, ma’am. You see he is out of spirits on your account, and that runs him down some. But he is hearty. Just send him a cheery word, and all will be well in the twinkling of an eye.” “I am going to my room now, and shall write an answer to this. You must remain until I come back. I shall not be long.” She hurried away quickly, leaving Boston with Katrine—and they sat down by the casement. They quarreled, and “made up” again, several times, before Theresa appeared with an answer to the note. “I have a little to say to you. Your father took me to-day, and made me confess that I had a message to you.” “Oh dear! You did not show him that letter?” “Not a bit of it. But I told him that the message was verbal, and gave him one of my own making up. Sounded natural enough. Faithful unto death, and that sort of stuff. You understand.” “And did not Willie send any such message to me?” “A thousand; but I couldn’t think of half he said, if I were to spend a week in meditation on the subject. You will take them all for granted.” “I fancy that Willie had better change his messenger,” said Theresa, with a pout. “I am sure he might do better.” “I am sorry to say that _I_ think you are wrong,” replied Boston, coolly stroking his beard. “There ain’t another man in the five provinces that would do for you what I’ve done, time and again.” “I am sorry I said that, Boston,” said Theresa, relenting quickly. “I know you are faithful and true, but you ought to remember. Was my father _very_ angry?” “Very particularly angry,” replied Boston. “Looked as if he wanted to eat all the tribe of Yankees, beginning with me.” “Was he angry at me?” “I calculate he _was_. I don’t want no one to be angrier with me, I guess. He was _awful_ mad.” “Then you had better go away. But first open your pack and let me get what I need. We have waited a long time for you.” “That’s because you can trust me. You know that, though I will beat Dutch _men_ sometimes, I never try to beat women.” “What a twister,” cried Katrine. “Now don’t you put in at all, Katrine. I won’t have it. Let me trade with Miss Theresa in my own way. You know I won’t try to cheat her.” “But you do some women.” “In trade I might. You stop talking, or the dress I am going to sell you will fall to pieces in washing.” The girl was bending over the pack when the commandant entered. He looked a little angry when he saw the peddler. “Don’t attempt to ply your trade here, sir. Go elsewhere.”