The caution would have been unnecessary, or at least premature.  Susan was loyal as ever to her absent friend.  Gifted Hopkins had never yet presumed upon the familiar relations existing between them to attempt to shake her allegiance.  It is quite as likely, after all, that the young gentleman about to make his appearance in Oxbow Village visited the place of his own accord, without a hint from anybody.  But the fact concerns us more than the reason of it, just now.

“Who do you think is coming, Mr. Gridley?  Who do you think is coming?” said Susan Posey, her face covered with a carnation such as the first season may see in a city belle, but not the second.

“Well, Susan Posey, I suppose I must guess, though I am rather slow at that business.  Perhaps the Governor.  No, I don’t think it can be the Governor, for you would n’t look so happy if it was only his Excellency.  It must be the President, Susan Posey,—­President James Buchanan.  Have n’t I guessed right, now, tell me, my dear?”

“O Mr. Gridley, you are too bad,—­what do I care for governors and presidents?  I know somebody that’s worth fifty million thousand presidents,—­and he ’s coming,—­my Clement is coming,” said Susan, who had by this time learned to consider the awful Byles Gridley as her next friend and faithful counsellor.

Susan could not stay long in the house after she got her note informing her that her friend was soon to be with her.  Everybody told everything to Olive Eveleth, and Susan must run over to the parsonage to tell her that there was a young gentleman coming to Oxbow Village; upon which Olive asked who it was, exactly as if she did not know; whereupon Susan dropped her eyes and said, “Clement,—­I mean Mr. Lindsay.”

That was a fair piece of news now, and Olive had her bonnet on five minutes after Susan was gone, and was on her way to Bathsheba’s,—­it was too bad that the poor girl who lived so out of the world shouldn’t know anything of what was going on in it.  Bathsheba had been in all the morning, and the Doctor had said she must take the air every day; so Bathsheba had on her bonnet a little after Olive had gone, and walked straight up to The Poplars to tell Myrtle Hazard that a certain young gentleman, Clement Lindsay, was coming to Oxbow Village.

It was perhaps fortunate that there was no special significance to Myrtle in the name of Clement Lindsay.  Since the adventure which had brought these two young persons together, and, after coming so near a disaster, had ended in a mere humiliation and disappointment, and but for Master Gridley’s discreet kindness might have led to foolish scandal, Myrtle had never referred to it in any way.  Nobody really knew what her plans had been except Olive and Cyprian, who had observed a very kind silence about the whole matter.  The common version of the story was harmless, and near enough to the truth,—­down the river,—­boat upset,—­pulled out,—­taken care of by some women in a house farther down,—­sick, brain fever,—­pretty near it, anyhow,—­old Dr. Hurlbut called in,—­had her hair cut,—­hystericky, etc., etc.