Desmond sat down in the car as coolly as though he had just gone out for a breath of fresh air.

Our hero encountered several other adventures of a minor character, but in good time arrived in New York City.  He had not announced his return to the farm, and consequently spent several days in the all-round greatest city in the world.  There is no place like old New York; there is more life to be seen in the great American metropolis in one day than can be seen in any other great capital in two.  It is a city peculiar to itself, unlike any other, in its situation between two rivers and its nose practically putting out to the sea; in its activities and general loveliness—­indeed, it in a wonderful place, and Desmond enjoyed every minute during his sojourn, but at length he took a train up-country and in due time arrived at the station from which he was to team it to the old farm where his grandfather and father had lived and died.

As stated, Desmond had not announced his return, and when within a mile of the farm he alighted from the wagon that had carried him over and started afoot.  It was late in the afternoon when he arrived in sight of the old farm, and he was standing on a rise of ground looking over toward his old home, when he espied a girl sitting beneath a tree.  One glance was sufficient; he recognized Amy, and he determined to steal upon her unawares.  He managed to gain a clump of bushes located within twenty feet of where the girl sat, and he had an opportunity to study her unobserved.  We will not describe his emotions, but it was a beautiful sight that fell under his delighted gaze.  The life on the farm had been of great advantage to Amy in many ways, and in her white muslin dress she appeared so beautiful as to make it seem that she was out of place in that wild region.  Her form was perfect in its grace, and her face—­well, we will not go into a description, but let it suffice to say that there are few girls in all the world who surpass her in the exquisite loveliness of her face.

Desmond studied the girl for a long time and he observed that she appeared to be perfectly contented and happy.  She had her mandolin with her, and after quite a period of abstraction she took up her instrument, and soon her splendid voice sounded clear and melodious on the still air, for it was an afternoon when nature rested under a spell, as it were; not a breath of air appeared to float amid the leaves and flowers.

A moment, and our hero made the most delightful discovery of his life.  Amy was singing and improvising; she did it readily and charmingly, and her hidden auditor was indeed charmed.  She was singing to an absent one, and she mingled the name of our hero in her song.  It was a plea for the absent one to return, and the sweetness of the melody was not more entrancing than the verses.  She appeared to be not only a singer but a poetess, possessed of rare talent.

Desmond did not appear inclined to break the spell, but when he saw Amy making preparations to depart he stepped from his place of concealment.  The girl uttered a cry; at the first glance she did not recognize the farmer boy, transformed as he was into a gentleman in dress, but when she caught sight of his face and heard his merry laugh and pleasant salutation, she exclaimed: