“What is it?” asked Alice, holding up the package.

“They are the proofs of three of your stories,” replied Quincy, relapsing into commonplace; “and Leopold says they must be read and corrected at once.  If we can attend to this during the afternoon and evening, I will go up to Boston again to-morrow morning.”  Quincy then told Alice about Rosa and the terms that he had made with her, and Alice expressed herself as greatly pleased with the arrangement.  “You will find Miss Very a perfect lady,” said Quincy, “with a low, melodious voice that will not jar upon your ears, as mine, no doubt, has often done.”

“You are unfair to yourself, when you say that,” remarked Alice earnestly.  “Your voice has never jarred upon my ears, and I have always been pleased to listen to you.”

Whether Quincy’s voice would have grown softer and sweeter and his words more impassioned if the interview had continued, cannot be divined, for Mrs. Maxwell at that moment opened the parlor door and called out, “Dinner’s ready,” just as Mandy Skinner used to do in the days gone by.

Miss Very was introduced to Alice and the others at the dinner table, and took the seat formerly occupied by ’Zekiel.  Quincy consented to remain to dinner, as he knew his services would be required in the proof reading.  When Cobb’s twins reached the barn, after dinner, Jim said to Bill, “Isn’t she a stunner!  I couldn’t keep my eyes off’n her.”

“Neither could I,” rejoined Bill.  “I tell yer, Jim, style comes nat’ral to city folks.  I’ll be durned if I know whether I had chicken or codfish for dinner.”

After the noonday meal the three zealous toilers in the paths of literature began work.  Quincy read from the manuscript, Rosa held the proofs, while Alice listened intently, and from time to time made changes in punctuation or slight alterations in the language.  No sentence had to be rewritten, and when the reading of the story, Was It Signed? was finished, Rosa said, “A remarkably clean set of proofs; only a few changes, and those slight ones.  In the case of very few authors are their original ideas and second thoughts so harmonious.  How do you manage it, Miss Pettengill?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Alice, with a smile, “unless it is that I keep my original ideas in my mind until they reach the stage of second thoughts, and then I have them written down.”

“You will find Miss Pettengill very exact in dictation,” said Quincy to Rosa.  “I took that long story there down in pencil, and I don’t think I was obliged to change a dozen words.”

“To work with Miss Pettengill,” remarked Rosa, “will be more of a pleasure than a task.”

This idea was re-echoed in Quincy’s mind, and for a moment he had a feeling of positive envy towards Miss Very.  Then he thought that hers was paid service, while his had been a labor—­of love.  Yes, it might as well be put that way.

The sun had sunk quite low in the west when the second story, Her Native Land, was completed.  “How dramatic!” cried Rosa; “the endings of those chapters are as strong as stage tableaus.”