“Well den,” exclaimed Isham, much surprised, “how come Aun’ Patsy to take he for Miss Annie’s husband?”

“Oh, git out!” contemptuously exclaimed Letty, “don’ you go put no ‘count on dem fool notions wot Aun’ Patsy got in she old head.  Nobody knows how dey come dar, no more’n how dey eber manage to git out.  ’Taint no use splainin nothin’ to Aun’ Patsy, an’ if she b’lieves dat’s Miss Annie’s husband, you can’t make her b’lieve it’s anybody else.  Jes’ you lef her alone.  Nuffin she b’lieves aint gwine to hurt her.”

And Isham, remembering his frequent ill success in endeavoring to make Aunt Patsy think as she ought to think, concluded that this was good advice.

At the time of the conversation just mentioned, Lawrence was sitting in a large easy chair in front of the open door of the room of which he had been put in possession.  His injured foot was resting upon a cushioned stool, a small table stood by him, on which were his cigar and match cases; a pitcher of iced water and a glass, and a late copy of a semi-weekly paper.  Through the doorway, which was but two steps higher than the grass sward before it, his eyes fell upon a very pleasing scene.  To the right was the house, with its vine-covered porch and several great oak trees overhanging it, which still retained their heavy foliage, although it was beginning to lose something of its summer green.  In front of him, at the opposite end of the grassy yard, was the pretty little arbor in which he had told Mr Junius Keswick of the difficulties in the way of his speaking his mind to Miss March.  Beyond the large garden, at the back of this arbor, stretched a wide field with a fringe of woods at its distant edge, gay with the colors of autumn.  The sky was bright and blue, and fair white clouds moved slowly over its surface; the air was sunny and warm, with bumble-bees humming about some late-flowering shrubs; and, high in the air, floated two great turkey-buzzards, with a beauty of motion surpassed by no other flying thing, with never a movement of their wide-spread wings, except to give them the necessary inclination as they rose with the wind, and then turned and descended in a long sweep, only to rise again and complete the circle; sailing thus for hours, around and around, their shadows moving over the fields below them.

Fearing that he had sustained some injury more than a mere sprain, Lawrence had had the Howlett’s doctor summoned, and that general practitioner had come and gone, after having assured Mr Croft that no bones had been broken; that Mrs Keswick’s treatment was exactly what it should be, and that all that was necessary for him was to remain quiet for a few days, and be very careful not to use the injured ankle.  Thus he had the prospect of but a short confinement; he felt no present pain; and there was nothing of the sick-room atmosphere in his surroundings, for his position close to the door almost gave him the advantage of sitting in the open air of this bright autumnal day.