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And yet he sincerely wished she would relent toward him, for she could not make her sweet little face repellent. The kiss she had given him still seemed to tingle in his very soul, while her last smile was like a ray of warmest sunshine. But her face, never designed to be severe, was averted.

After having heard the affairs of the nation discussed in a sound, scriptural manner, they all sat down to a dinner such as had never blessed poor Mr. Stanhope’s vision before. A married son and daughter returned after church, and half a dozen grandchildren enlivened the gathering. There was need of them, for Elsie, usually in a state of wild effervescence upon such occasions, was now demure and comparatively silent. The children, with whom she was accustomed to romp like one of them, were perplexed indeed; and only the intense excitement of a Thanksgiving dinner diverted their minds from Aunt Elsie, so sadly changed. She was conscious that all were noting her absent manner, and this embarrassed and vexed her more; and yet she seemed under a miserable paralysis that she could neither explain nor escape.

“If we had only laughed it off at first,” she groaned to herself; “but now the whole thing grows more absurd and disagreeable every moment.”

“Why, Elsie,” said her father, banteringly, “you doubted the other day whether Mrs. Methuselah’s age would ever sober you; and yet I think that good old lady would have looked more genial on Thanksgiving Day. What is the matter?”

“I was thinking of the sermon,” she said.

Amid the comic elevation of eyebrows, George said slyly:

“Tell us the text.”

Overwhelmed with confusion, she darted a reproachful glance at him and muttered:

“I did not say anything about the text.”

“Well, tell us about the sermon then,” laughed James.

“No,” said Elsie, sharply. “I’ll quote you a text: ‘Eat, drink, and be merry,’ and let me alone.”

They saw that for some reason she could not bear teasing, and that such badinage troubled Mr. Stanhope also. George came gallantly to the rescue, and the dinner-party grew so merry that Elsie thawed perceptibly and Stanhope was beguiled into several witty speeches. At each one Elsie opened her eyes in wider and growing appreciation. At last, when they rose from their coffee, she come to the surprising conclusion–

“Why, he is not stupid and bad-looking after all.”

George was bent on breaking the ice between them, and so proposed that the younger members of the family party should go up a swollen stream and see the fall. But Elsie flanked herself with a sister-in-law on one side and a niece on the other, while Stanhope was so diffident that nothing but downright encouragement would bring him to her side. So George was almost in despair. Elsie’s eyes had been conveying favorable impressions to her reluctant mind throughout the walk. She sincerely regretted that such an absurd barrier had grown up between her and Stanhope, but could not for the life of her, especially before others, do anything to break the awkward spell.

At last they were on their return, and were all grouped together on a little bluff, watching the water pour foamingly through a narrow gorge.

“Oh, see,” cried Elsie, suddenly pointing to the opposite bank, “what beautiful moss that is over there! It is just the kind I have been wanting. Oh, dear! there isn’t a bridge within half a mile.”

Stanhope glanced around a moment, and then said gallantly, “I will get you the moss, Miss Alford.” They saw that in some inconceivable way he intended crossing where they stood. The gorge was much too wide for the most vigorous leap, so Elsie exclaimed eagerly:

“Oh, please don’t take any risk! What is a little moss?”

“I say, Stanhope,” remonstrated George, seriously, “it would be no laughing matter if you should fall in there.”

But Stanhope only smiled, threw off his overcoat, and buttoned his undercoat closely around him. George groaned to himself, “This will be worse than the kissing scrape,” and was about to lay a restraining grasp upon his friend. But he slipped away, and lightly went up hand-over-hand a tall, slender sapling on the edge of the bank, the whole party gathering round in breathless expectation. Having reached its slender, swaying top, he threw himself out on the land side. The tree bent at once to the ground with his weight, but without snapping, showing that it was tough and fibrous. Holding firmly to the top, he gave a strong spring, which, with the spring of the bent sapling, sent him well over the gorge on the firm ground beyond.