"Aye, and enoof to moisten yer own red lips wi' too, I'm a-thinkin'. There'll be na crop the year wourth speakin' of; but next June 'twill puzzle ye to gither them. But ye a' can ha' a dainty saucer yoursels the season, when ye're a mind to stoop for them." Edith soon had the pleasure of seeing her mother and Laura enjoying some, and, as Malcom said, there were plenty for her, and they tasted like the ambrosia of the gods. Varied experiences had so thoroughly engrossed her thoughts and time the past few days, that she had scarcely looked toward her garden. But with the delicious flavor of the strawberries lingering in her mouth, and with the consciousness that she enjoyed picking them much more than sewing, the thought of winning her bread by the culture of the ground grew in her favor. "Oh, how much rather would I be out there with Malcom!" she sighed. Glancing up from her work during the afternoon, she saw Arden Lacey on his way to the village. There was a strange mingling of hope and fear in his mind. His mother's manner had been such as to lead him to say when alone with her after breakfast: "I think your watching has done you good, mother, in stead of wearying you too much, as I feared." She had suddenly turned and placed both her hands on his shoulders, saying: "Arden, I hardly dare speak of it yet. It seems too good to be true, but a hope is coming into my heart like the dawn after night. She's worthy of your love, however it may result, and if I find true what she told me last night I shall have reason to bless her name forever; but I see only a glimmer of light yet, and I rejoice with fear and trembling." And she told him what had occurred. He was deeply moved, but not for the same cause as his mother. His desire and devotion went no further than Edith. "Can she have read my letter?" he thought, and he was consumed with anxiety for some expression of her feeling toward him. Therefore he was glad that business called him to the village that afternoon, but his steps were slow as he approached the little cottage, and his eyes were upon it as a pilgrim gazes at a shrine he long has sought. He envied Malcom working in the garden, and felt that if he could work there every day, it would be Adam's life before he fell. Then he caught a glimpse of Edith sewing at the window, and he dropped his eyes instantly. He would not be so afraid of a battery of a hundred guns as of that poor sewing-girl (for such Edith now was), stitching away on Mrs. Groody's coarse hotel linen. But Edith had noted his timid, wistful looks, and calling Hannibal, said: "Please give that note to Mr. Lacey. He is just passing toward the village." Hannibal, with the impressive dignity he had learned in olden times, handed the missive to Arden, saying, "Miss Edie telled me to guv you dis 'scription." If Hannibal had been Hebe he could not have been a more welcome messenger.