He sat down; his face as red as his hair; provoked at Jeannette’s abrupt departure. But when he recalled that she had called him Mr. Blair for the first time in his life, he was consoled, believing that it evidenced progress in his suit. He realized that he had made an impression of some kind; and his experiences, which were not limited, suggested that even an awakened animosity was better than the indifference of the past years. Jeannette felt ashamed for having run away. “Running from Sandy Blair—sakes alive! Why did I do it? Have I grown timid? Am I afraid of Sandy Blair? I suppose he’s laughing at me. Well, tonight I’ll give him another lesson on the violin, just to show him, light-footed, empty-headed young men of his class mean nothing to me.” Sandy rose from the supper table and after a yawn remarked: “It’s too quiet around here for me; I think I’ll go up to Hiram Lewis’.” He took his fiddle from its case and tucking it under his arm, put on his hat and stood for a moment in the doorway. Hiram Lewis was their nearest neighbor and had two daughters of marriageable age. Jeannette who had read all the afternoon and really desired to hear him play their mountain music, which he did so capably, was disappointed. Without understanding the cause, she felt embarrassed at the thought of asking him to remain; and would not do so directly. “If you are going you better put your violin in its case. It’s going to rain.” “My what?” “O, your fiddle then; if it gets wet it will affect its tone.” “O! the sound it makes. If I stay will you teach me to play that hard piece of yours?” “That was my intention; but do not let me detain you.” “My intention—is that the name of the piece?” “No, sit down Sandy, I’ll get my fiddle.” Jeannette went to her room for the violin and music. While there the thought occurred they had better use her reading lamp instead of Mrs. Blair’s smoky, smelly, tin one, which gave but a feeble flame; removing the green shade, she substituted one of pink silk which was much prettier and which transformed the light into a more becoming tint. Carrying it into the other room she placed it on the small table near the door, and sat down beside it, her face tinted by the shade. The Blair family were on the porch, just beyond the doorway; and Sandy sat on the door-step, almost at her feet; his bright red hair and smiling, healthy face in the full glare of the light. As he played she noted his mobile features, which betrayed their owner’s feelings by sudden changes of expression. She had always thought his face an agreeable one; now first she noted its expressiveness and evidences of character and determination; attributes, which she had said he lacked.