“But without joking, though, how does she look?” asked George; while Billy made a movement as if he would help the insolent puppy to find his level.

“Well, now, old boy,” returned Henry, “I’ll tell you honestly, that the last time I saw her, I was surprised to find how much she was improved.  She has swallowed those abominable teeth, or done something with them, and is really quite decent looking.  In short,” he continued, with a malicious leer at Billy, which made the blood tingle to his finger’s end, “In short, she’ll do very well for a city buck like me to play the mischief with for a summer or so, and then cast off like an old coat.”

There was a look in Billy’s eye as Henry finished this speech which decided that young man to make no further remarks concerning Mary, and swaggering towards the door he added, “Well, Moreland, when will you come round and take a horn of brandy?  Let me know, and I’ll have in some of the bloods.”

“Thank you,” said George, “I never use the article.”

“I beg your pardon,” returned Henry, in a tone of mock humility.  “I remember now that you’ve taken to carrying a Prayer Book as big as an old woman’s moulding board, and manage to come out behind in the service about three or four lines so as to be distinctly heard; but I suppose you think it pleases the old gent your uncle, and that furthers your cause with the daughter.  By the way, present my compliments to Miss Selden, and ask her if she has any word to send to Chicopee, for I’ll have to go there by and by, though I hate to mightily, for it’ll be just like the old man to put me through in the hay field; and if there’s any thing I abominate, it’s work.”

So saying, he took his leave.  Just then there was a call for Mr, Moreland, who also departed, leaving Billy alone.

“It is very strange that she never told me she knew him,” thought he; and then taking from his pocket a neatly folded letter, he again read it through.  But there was nothing in it about George, except the simple words, “I am glad you have found a friend in Mr. Moreland.  I am sure I should like him, just because he is kind to you.”

“Yes, she’s forgotten him,” said Billy, and that belief gave him secret satisfaction.  He had known Mary long and the interest he had felt in her when a homely, neglected child, had not in the least decreased as the lapse of time gradually ripened her into a fine, intelligent-looking girl.  He was to her a brother still, but she to him was dearer far than a sister; and though in his letters he always addressed her as such, in his heart he claimed her as something nearer, and yet he had never breathed in her ear a word of love, or hinted that it was for her sake he toiled both early and late, hoarding up his earnings with almost a miser’s care that she might be educated.

Regularly each week she wrote to him, and it was the receipt of these letters, and the thoughts of her that kept his heart so brave and cheerful, as, alone and unappreciated, except by George, he worked on, dreaming of a bright future, when the one great object of his life should be realized.