But when the day came for John Smith to tell his love, he met with a shock that quite paralyzed his senses.

Looking up with her big blue eyes, she said: 

“You mustn’t talk like that; I’m engaged.”

“Engaged?” he stammered, “engaged?”

“Yes, I’m engaged.”

“And to whom?  May I ask?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you his name; it’s a secret yet.  He is a person I never saw.”

“Sheer madness!” was his horrified ejaculation.  “Never saw him, and going to marry him?”

“I promised, you know; I must, if he wants me,” she said in her unconcerned way.

“But don’t you love me, Daisy?”

“Yes, I suppose I do, but that can’t be helped; a promise is a promise.”

“Who is to prevent it?” he exclaimed impatiently.  “I say it shall be helped.”

There was not time for further rhapsodies.  Aunt Hepsy appeared with a telegram, calling Daisy home; and home she went next day, leaving Mr. John Smith in despair.  In vain he laid siege to Aunt Hepzibah and Uncle Reuben; they could not help him.

Then, in a mighty wrath, he too went home, and desperately resolved to have it out with the Thornton girl, one way or the other; but not “the other” if Daisy could be brought to terms.

It was easy travelling where the way was all prepared.  So a lovely moonlight evening found him in Squire Thornton’s parlor.  In a few moments there floated down to him from the invisible upper regions a cloud of blue muslin, and the laughing face of Daisy Merrifield was before him.

“Oh, Daisy, what a surprise! and how sweet you are!” as impulsively he strained her to his heart.  “What joy to find you here!”

“Don’t crush my dress,” she said, righting up the ruffles; “it’s new.  Yes, I am here.  Didn’t you come to see me?”

“No—­that is—­I came to see Miss Thornton,” and his face fell.

“There is no Miss Thornton,” she said, her dimples playing mischievously.  “It is only I—­now don’t you know?”

“But how is it?  I was told—­I understood—­”

“Pshaw! you stupid!” she said, with a bewitching pout, “if you had been a little more civil, you would have known that I am Mrs. Thornton’s daughter—­not Mr. Thornton’s; that mamma is mamma, but papa isn’t papa, and—­”

But in an ecstacy of surprise and joy the rest of her sentence was entirely smothered.

“And you knew from the first?” he asked, reproachfully.

“Not from the first, but almost.  They were all in the plot.  I meant to snub you outright, only—­well, somehow you didn’t look as horrid as you really were!  The ‘John Smith’ was almost too much for me, but I stood it.  Then when the letter came—­it was well for you I had seen you under the tree.  So you wouldn’t marry the heiress,” she said, archly.  “I did my very best to teach you a lesson, young man.  Have you learned it?”

The answer was fervently though silently given the merry, rosy, smiling lips.