They had a splendid drive.  The air was cool, but not biting, the sun was warm, the roads had dried up since the recent thaw, which had removed the snow, with the exception of some patches in the fields, and the high-topped buggy rolled smoothly over the ground.

They passed through the little square in front of Hill’s grocery, and as luck would have it, Professor Strout was standing on the platform smoking a cigar.  Huldy smiled and nodded to him, and Quincy, with true politeness, followed a city custom and raised his hat, but the Professor did not return the bow, nor the salute, but turning on his heel walked into the grocery store.

“Professor Strout is not very polite, is he, Mr. Sawyer?” asked Huldy, laughing.

Quincy replied, looking straight ahead, “He has never learned the first letter in the alphabet of the art.”

Quincy had a disagreeable duty to perform.  He enjoyed Miss Huldy’s company, but she was not the sort of girl he could love enough to make his wife.  Then the thought came to him, supposing she should fall in love with him; that was not impossible, and it must be prevented.

When they were about half a mile from Mason’s Corner, on their way home, Quincy realized that he could not put the matter off any longer.

Just as he was going to speak to her she turned to him and said, “Let me drive the rest of the way home, Mr. Sawyer.”

“Oh, no,” replied Quincy, “I think I had better keep the reins.  You know I am responsible for you until you are safe at home.”

Huldy pouted.  “You think I can’t drive,” said she, “I have driven horses all my life.  Please let me, Mr. Sawyer,” she added coaxingly.  And she took the reins from his hands.

“Well,” said Quincy, “you are now responsible for me and I shall expect you to be very careful.”

They drove a short distance in silence; then Quincy turned to her and said abruptly, “This is our last ride together, Miss Mason.”

“Why?” inquired she with an astonished look in her face.

“I am going to leave your very pleasant home to-morrow,” said Quincy.

The girl’s cheeks paled perceptibly.

“Are you going back to Boston?” she asked.

“No, not for some time,” Quincy replied, “but I have had some advice given me and I think it best to follow it.”

“You have been advised to leave my father’s house,” said she, holding the reins listlessly in her hand.

Quincy said, “You won’t be offended if I tell you the whole truth?”

“No; why should I?” asked Huldy.

As she said this she gathered up the reins and gave them a sharp pull.  The white mare understood this to be a signal to do some good travelling and she started off at a brisk trot.

Quincy said, “I was told yesterday by a friend that if I was not a marrying man they would advise me to leave Deacon Mason’s house at once.”

The blood shot into Huldy’s face at once.  He was not a marrying man and consequently he was going to leave.  He did not care for her or he would stay.  Then another thought struck her.  Perhaps he was going away because he was afraid she would fall in love with him.