"The longer she postpones the evil day the better for all parties concerned," muttered Rug, who alighted from the waggon to lead the horses over a treacherous place in the road, which was unsafe enough even in daylight. In addition to the deep ruts worn by vehicles, the road was obstructed by boulders too large to be easily removed, while deep ditches bounded it on either side. Here and there the branches of trees swept their hats off or scratched their faces. It was well that the horses knew the road and that they had a careful driver. Chilled by her brother's remark, Abbie retorted: "Is it necessary for me to be constantly bored with such remarks?" "Yes, it is necessary--unfortunately--if you would be saved from lifelong association with a bore," responded her brother. Abbie sat back in the farthest corner of the conveyance and, biting her lips, gave herself up to a host of unhappy meditations. The boys had never given her one word of encouragement, nor had Chrissy or her mother. There had somehow stolen upon her, from time to time, an uneasy feeling that there might possibly be some grounds for their want of confidence; but she would dismiss such a thought as soon as it presented itself and try to convince herself that their eyes were blinded by jealousy, dislike, or indifference. Far better be the wife of an educated man and a gentleman, who may not be immaculate, she reasoned, than be the slave of a mere farmer. "I have seen something of his business dealings," resumed Rug, with evident reluctance, "which has filled me with uneasiness. That he has been guilty of 'shady' and even dishonest transactions is certain." On reaching the summit of the hill they were met by the full blast of the wind, which had risen to a gale, and which, together with the hoarse roar of the falls and the swish of the driving rain, produced a chorus of melancholy sounds. "What was that?" said Abbie in a startled voice, "I thought I heard something fall." "Just a tree in the forest," said her father, complacently, "it is not the first I've heard this evening." "But hark!" said Abbie. "What was that?" Her ear had caught what sounded like a wild "whoop," followed by a scream, which was drowned in a gust of wind more concentrated and more fierce than before. "Timid child," said the father, taking her hand in his, "owls and eagles are being disturbed from their peaceful slumbers. Your nervous temperament and fervid imagination easily throw you into a panic. There is nothing to fear--nothing, nothing." At last they stood before the gates of the White House. A flickering light was in the window. Abbie bounded into the hall and into the arms of her mother, who had been watching and waiting their arrival for hours.