Amy picked up the fallen bundle of boughs, which the superintendent had brought with him from the yard below, and laid them upon Pepita's back. "These have given us some trouble, but they are still too beautiful to lose." The gentleman directed her, courteously escorted her through the gateway, which bore another of those prohibitory "No Admittance" signs, and watched her walk briskly away, thinking what a bright feature of the landscape she made. "Not a beautiful girl, by any means, yet one of the most wholesome, honest, and engaging ones who ever stepped foot within this old mill. Odd, too! A Kaye. I wonder if she will ever come again to what, if all had gone as was expected, might easily have been her own great property. Well, that was pretty to see: the way in which she wiped the face of poor 'Bony.' The lad grows sillier every day, it seems, and the 'boys' are making him worse by their nonsense. Where is he now? I'll have a talk with him and try to keep him out of the parades. They are not good for him," reflected Mr. Metcalf. But the talk had to be postponed; for there was "Bony" already far along the road toward Fairacres, following doggedly in Amy's footsteps, though she repeatedly assured him that she could manage quite well without him and preferred to be alone. "No, I'm going," he asserted; and when she could not dissuade him, she gave up trying to do so and led him to talk of himself--his most interesting subject. So that, by the time they had come to the front of the old mansion, she knew his simple history completely, and her pity had almost outgrown her aversion. "See, Cleena! Cleena Keegan! See what I have brought!" The shout summoned a large woman to the door, who threw up her arms with the answering cry:-- "Faith, an' I thought you was lost! Whatever has kept you such gait, Miss Amy?" "Oh! adventures. Truly, Cleena. Real, regular adventures. See my leaves? See this lad! He got them for me. He is Bonaparte Jimpson." "An' a curious spalpeen that same," casting a suspicious glance over the youth's strange attire. "I'm Bonaparte Lafayette Jimpson," he explained gravely and, to Amy's surprise, timidly. "The mischief, you be! An' what's Napoleon Bonyparty's gineral's pleasure at Fairacres, the night?" "Cleena, wait. I'll tell you. Yes, you will have time enough. The train isn't due till after six, and they'll be a half-hour longer getting home from the station. Sit you down, Goodsoul, just for one little bit of minute. The scrubbing must surely be done by now. Isn't it?" "Humph! The scrubbin's never done in this dirty world. Well, an' what is it? Be quick with you!" Amy coaxed the old servant down upon the doorstep of the freshly cleaned kitchen, whither they had now gone, and speedily narrated her afternoon's experiences.