"Well, you hadn't ought to be sorry," said Mrs. Meredith, who had come in from the spring-house with the fresh butter and milk for tea, with Dollie trotting behind her, a great, red apple in either chubby fist; "his capture made you two hundred dollars the richer--if you hadn't spent every dollar of it so foolishly," she added, as an after-thought, and in an injured tone, for she had been deeply offended at the way in which Jaquelina had spent her money. "She had ought to have given it to her uncle to pay for her keep," was her frankly expressed opinion. Jaquelina made no answer to Mrs. Meredith's taunt. She was looking at her uncle wistfully. "Uncle Charles, did you stop at the post-office?" she asked, shyly. "Why, certainly. How did I come by the newspaper, else?" inquired the farmer, with a sly twinkle of his gray eyes. "Were--were there any letters for me?" said the girl, coloring under his laughing glance. "Two," said Mr. Meredith, "and only the day before yesterday there were two. It seems as if Mr. Valchester has nothing to do but write love-letters." He fished the mail out of his coat pocket as he spoke, and gave her the two letters. She caught them eagerly from his hand and hurried from the room. "Two of the love-sickest ninnies ever I saw," sniffed Mrs. Meredith, disdainfully. "Everlastingly writing back and forth to each other. I should think they'd run out of news." "Tut, tut, wife," said the farmer, gaily, "don't be hard on the young folks. Don't you remember when you and I were sparking at singing school that winter, how many little notes we kept passing to each other? And no news in any of them, either--nothing but love, love, love." Mrs. Meredith turned her back at this juncture, but the homely reminiscence must have had its effect on her. Her sharp tongue was silenced for awhile. She busied herself in setting the appetizing supper on the small table, then went out to the door and called Jaquelina in to the meal. Jaquelina, sitting under a maple tree that was beginning to turn crimson under the kisses of September, returned an answer to the effect that she was not hungry, and did not desire any supper. "Always the way," said Mrs. Meredith, returning to the table and supplying Dollie with her portion of mush and milk. "After she gets one of them letters from that solemn-looking, long-legged beau of hers, she is that excited she can't swallow a bite to eat. Say what you will, Charlie Meredith, you can't prove that ever I lost my appetite while you courted me." Mr. Meredith only laughed as he drew up his chair to the table, and Lina was left unmolested to read and re-read the closely written letter in which her lover poured out his affection clothed in the beautiful imagery of a poetic heart.