“I once had a scolding from Miriam for doing that sort of thing,” said Ralph; “but you do not seem to object.”

“I do not know enough yet,” cried Cicely, who had begun to run up the hill; “wait until I have had my lessons.”

They stood together at the top of the little eminence.

“I wonder,” said Cicely, “if Miriam ever comes upon this hill at sunset.  Perhaps she has never thought of it.”

Ralph did not know; but the mention of Miriam’s name caused him to think how little he had missed his sister, who had seemed to live in his life as he had lived in hers.  It was strange, and he could not believe that he would so easily adapt himself to the changed circumstances of his home life.  There was another thing of which he did not think, and that was that he had not missed Dora Bannister.  It is true that he had never seen much of that young lady; but he had thought so much about her, and made so many plans in regard to her, and had so often hoped that he might see her drive up to the Cobhurst door, and had had such charming recollections of the hours she had spent in his home, and of the travels they had taken together by photograph, her blue eyes lifted to his as if in truth she leaned upon his arm as they walked through palace and park, that it was wonderful that he did not notice that for days his thoughts had not dwelt upon her.

When the gorgeous color began to fade out of the sky, Cicely said her mother would be wondering what had become of her, and together they went down the hill, and along the roadside, where they stopped to pick some tall sprays of goldenrod, and through the orchard, and around by the barnyard, where Mike was milking, and where Ralph stopped while Cicely went on to the house.

Phoebe was standing down by the entrance gate.  She was waiting for an oxcart, whose driver had promised to take her with him on his return to Thorbury.  She had arranged with a neighbor to prepare the minister’s supper, but she must be on hand to give him his breakfast.  As there was nothing to interest her at Cobhurst, and nothing to report, she was glad to go, and considered this oxcart a godsend, for her plan of getting Mike to drive her over in the spring cart had not been met with favor.

Waiting at the gateway, she had seen Ralph and Cicely walk up the hill, and watched them standing together, ever and ever so long, looking at the sky, and she had kept her eyes on them as they came down the hill, stopped to pick flowers which he gave to her, and until they had disappeared among the trees of the orchard.

“Upon my word an’ honor!” ejaculated Mrs. Robinson, “if that old French slop-cook hasn’t lied to me, wus than Satan could do hisself!  If them two ain’t lovers, there never was none, an’ that old heathen sinner thought she could clap a coffee bag over my head so that I couldn’t see nothin’ nor tell nothin’.  She might as well a’ slapped me in the face, the sarpent!”