As he leaned back against the tree and inhaled the fragrant breeze which came to him from the forest, Dickory was a more cheerful young man than he had been for many, many days.

He thought of this himself, and wondered how a man, carrying with him his sentence of lifelong misery, could lean against a tree and take pleasure in anything, be it a hospitable welcome, a sense of freedom from danger, a fragrant breeze, or the face of a pretty girl behind a bush.

But these things did please him; he could not help it.

And when presently came Mrs.Mander, bringing him a light grass hat fresh from the manufacturer's hands, he took it and put it on with more evident pleasure than the occasion seemed to demand.
"Your daughter is truly an artist," said Dickory.
"She does many things well," said the mother, "because necessity compels her and all of us to learn to work in various ways." "Can I not thank her ?" said Dickory.
"No," the mother answered, "she is not here now." Dickory had begun to hate that self-evident statement.
"She's looking out for ships; her pride is a little touched that she missed Blackbeard's vessel yesterday." "Perhaps," said Dickory, with a movement as if he would like to make a step in the direction of some tall tree upon a hill.
"No," said Mrs.Mander, "I cannot ask you to join my daughter.

I am compelled to state that her dress is not a suitable one in which to appear before a stranger." "Excuse me," said Dickory; "and I beg, madam, that you will convey to her my thanks for making me such an excellent hat." A little later Mander joined Dickory.