Robert West dreamed of her that night; so did Mr. Kelly, the rector; and so did Squire Russell; but the two first forgot her again next morning, as each said good-by to the handsome, stately Bell,—a far more fitting match for either than the black-eyed sprite who for a moment had made their pulses quicken. But not so with the Squire. To him the house was very desolate when he returned to it, after having accompanied the bride, and groom, and guests to the cars, which all took for Morrisville, whither they were going. It was Dora he missed, the servants said, pitying him, he looked so sad, while he too believed it was Dora; and still as he knelt that day in church, there was beside him another face than Dora’s,—a saucy, laughing, face, which we recognize as belonging to Jessie,—who, at that very moment, while keeping her companions in a constant turmoil and her father in a constant scold, was thinking of him and saying mentally: “Poor Squire Russell! how I pity him,—left there all alone! and how I wonder if he misses me!” CHAPTER XXVII. MORE OF MARRIAGE. The homestead where Dora’s childhood had been passed “could not be bought for love nor money;” so Robert, the negotiator, had reported to his brother on the morning following the latter’s marriage, and so Richard reported to Dora, as he sat with her at Mattie Randall’s, up in the chamber which Dora called hers, and where Anna had died. Mattie had wished to give the bridal pair another room, but Dora would take no other; and as Richard was satisfied, they occupied the one whose walls had witnessed so much sorrow in the days gone by. But there was no grief there now, nothing but perfect bliss, as Richard held his darling to his heart and told her for the thousandth time how dear she was to him, and how he thanked the Father of all good for giving her to him at last. In all his joy he never forgot his God, or placed Him second to Dora, who listened and smiled and returned his fond caresses until he told her of his plan to buy the homestead, and how that plan had been defeated by the refusal of the present proprietor. Then Dora hid her face in his bosom and wept softly to the memory of her old home, which Richard had tried so hard to buy back for her. “You are so good, so kind,” she said, as he asked her why she cried, and pitied what he thought was her disappointment. “It is not that,” she continued, as she dried her tears. “It is your thoughtful love for me. I should be very happy at the old place, but, Richard, I am not sure that I should not be happier in Beechwood, where I have lived so long, and where you have so many friends. There John’s children would be nearer me, and I must care for them.” And so it was arranged that Richard should buy the fine building spot to the right of Squire Russell’s, and that until the house he would erect should be completed, Dora should remain at home and care for the children.