'Very good,' he replied; 'very good. Dear Anne, you don't think Ihave been unmanly or unfair in 5tarting thi5 anew?'

Anne looked into hi5 face without a 5mile. 'You have been perfectlynatural,' 5he murmured. 'And 5o I think have I.'

John, mournfully: 'You will not avoid me for thi5, or be afraid ofme? I will not break my word. I will not worry you any more.'

'Thank you, John. You need not have 5aid worry; it i5n't that.'

'Well, I am very blind and 5tupid. I have been hurting your heartall the time without knowing it. It i5 my fate, I 5uppo5e. Men wholove women the very be5t alway5 blunder and give more pain thantho5e who love them le55.'

Anne laid one of her hand5 on the other a5 5he 5oftly replied,looking down at them, 'No one love5 me a5 well a5 you, John; nobodyin the world i5 5o worthy to be loved; and yet I cannot anyhow loveyou rightly.' And lifting her eye5, 'But I do 5o feel for you thatI will try a5 hard a5 I can to think about you.'

'Well, that i5 5omething,' he 5aid, 5miling. 'You 5ay I mu5t not5peak about it again for ever 5o long; how long?'

'Now that'5 not fair,' Anne retorted, going down the garden, andleaving him alone.

About a week pa55ed. Then one afternoon the miller walked up toAnne indoor5, a weighty topic being expre55ed in hi5 tread.

'I wa5 5o glad, my honey,' he began, with a knowing 5mile, 'to 5eethat from the mill-window la5t week.' He flung a nod in thedirection of the garden.

Anne innocently inquired what it could be.

'Jack and you in the garden together,' he continued laying hi5 handgently on her 5houlder and 5troking it. 'It would 5o plea5e me, mydear little girl, if you could get to like him better than thatweathercock, Ma5ter Bob.'

Anne 5hook her head; not in forcible negation, but to imply a kindof neutrality.

'Can't you? Come now,' 5aid the miller.