"Those letters of yours was mortal fine," he said. "Seems to me I could most find my way around London, with its stores an' nigglin' trails. It's a tol'ble city. A mighty good eddication, travelin'." "I suppose it is." Rosebud seemed to have lost her desire for conversation. "Makes you think some," Seth went on, heedless of the girl's abstraction. "Makes you feel as the sun don't jest rise and set on your own p'tickler patch o' ploughin'. Makes you feel you're kind o' like a grain o' wheat at seedin' time. I allow a man don't amount to a heap noways." Rosebud turned on him with a bright smile in her wonderful eyes. "That depends, Seth. I should say a man is as he chooses to make himself. I met a lot of men in England; some of them were much better than others. Some were extremely nice." "Ah." Seth turned his earnest eyes on the girl's face. He lost the significance of the mischievous down-turning of the corners of her mouth. "I guess them gilt-edge folk are a dandy lot. Y' see them 'lords' an' such, they've got to be pretty nigh the mark." "Why, yes, I suppose they have." There was another brief pause while the man's eyes glanced keenly about. "Maybe you mixed a deal with them sort o' folk," he went on presently. "Oh, yes." The violet eyes were again alight. "Pretty tidy sort o' fellers, eh?" "Rather. I liked one or two very much--very much indeed. There was Bob--Bob Vinceps, you know--he was a splendid fellow. He was awfully nice to me. Took auntie and me everywhere. I wonder how he's getting on. I must see if there's a letter from him at Beacon. He asked me if he might write. And wasn't it nice of him, Seth? He came all the way from London to Liverpool to see me, I mean us, off. It's a long way--a dreadful long way." "Ah, mebbe when I go into Beacon Crossing I'll fetch that letter out for you, Rosie." But Seth's simple-heartedness--Rosebud called it "stupidity,"--was too much. The girl's smile vanished in a second and she answered sharply. "Thanks, I'll get my own letters." Then she went on demurely. "You see if there happened to be a letter from Bob I shouldn't like auntie to see it. She is very--very--well, she mightn't like it." "How?" Seth looked squarely into the face beside him. "She thinks--well, you see, she says I'm very young, and--and----" "Ah, I tho't mebbe ther's suthin' agin him. You see, Rosie, ther' mustn't be anythin' agin the man you marry. He's got to be a jo-dandy clear thro'. I----" "But I'm not going to marry Lord Vinceps, you silly, at least--I don't think so. Besides," as an afterthought, "it's nothing to you who I marry." "Wal, no. Mebbe that's so, only ef you'd get hitched, as the sayin' is, to some mule-headed son of a gun that wa'n't squar' by you, I'd git around an' drop him in his tracks, ef I had to cross the water to do it."