By Berwen Banks

"Oh, well, that is settled," said Cardo. "I shall be glad of a

companion, and will do my best to make him happy. I hope he'll be a

jolly fellow."

"Jolly fellow? I hope he will be a steady young man, and a fit

companion for you. You don't seem to think of the necessity of that!"

"I leave that to you, sir," said Cardo, with a humorous smile. "I

should never dream of questioning your prudence in the matter."

The old man nervously fingered his papers.

"Well, that is settled. I will not keep you longer from your fishing

or your rowing--which is it to-day, Cardo?" and he raised his black

eyebrows, and spoke with a slight sneer.

Cardo laughed good-naturedly.

"Neither fishing nor boating to-day, sir. No! it's that field of

swedes this afternoon," and he turned away with his hands dug deep in

his pockets.

"A bad habit, Cardo! An industrious man never walks about with his

hands in his pockets."

"All right, father! here goes for the swedes; and you bet I won't have

my hands in my pockets there. I flatter myself I can do good work as

well as any man."

His father looked after him with a curious wistfulness.

"A fine fellow!" he said to himself, as Cardo's steps receded along the

passage. "Not much fault to be found with him! How can I spare him?

But he must go--he must go."

Meanwhile Cardo, no longer with his hands in his pockets, stood in the

swede field directing Shoni and Dye, and not only directing, but often

taking his share in the weeding or hoeing. He was full of interest in

the farming operations, which, in truth, were thoroughly congenial to

his tastes.

"Bless the turnips and mangolds," he would often say; "at least they

take you out under the blue sky, and into the fresh air." He pondered

upon the proposed addition to his father's household. Suddenly an

unpleasant thought seemed to strike him, for his face flushed, and he

gave a long, low whistle. "Phew! I never thought of that! Why! I

shall never have an hour with Valmai with this confounded wrangler at

my heels! Deuce anwl! how shall I manage it? one thing only I know, no

power on earth--not even an 'M.A.'--shall keep me from her."

But neither that day nor the next was Valmai to be seen. It was two or

three days before she was able to throw off entirely the languor which

followed her immersion in the sea; but on the evening of the third day,

as the sun drew near its setting, she once more roamed down the path to

the beach, a new light in her eyes and a warmer glow on her cheek.

The long shadows of evening stretched over the shore, and the sun sank

low in the western sky, all flooded with crimson, and purple, and pale

yellow, as she flung herself down under a towering rock, still a little

languid, but full of an inrushing tide of happiness. The green waves

came rolling in, their foaming crests catching the rosy pink of the

sunset; the sea-gulls sailed lazily home from their day's fishing. The

sheep on the hillside were folded, and the clap clap of the mill in the

valley came on the breeze.