"You forget," he said smilingly, "that I'm still a stranger and knew little of the local gossip; and if I did know it, I am afraid we didn't bargain to buy up with the LAND Mr.Champney's personal interest in the LANDLADY." "Yo' 'd have had your hands full, for I reckon she's pooty heavily mortgaged in that fashion, already," returned Miss Reed with mere badinage than spitefulness in the suggestion.

"And Mr.Champney was run pooty close by a French cousin of hers when he was here.

Yo' haven't got any French books to lend me, co'nnle--have yo'?
Paw says you read a heap of French, and I find it mighty hard to keep up MY practice since I left the Convent at St.Louis, for paw don't knew what sort of books to order, and I reckon he makes awful mistakes sometimes." The conversation here turning upon polite literature, it appeared that Miss Octavia's French reading, through a shy, proud innocence and an imperfect knowledge of the wicked subtleties of the language, was somewhat broad and unconventional for a young lady.

Courtland promised to send her some books, and even ventured to suggest some American and English novels not intensely "No'th'n" nor "metaphysical"-- according to the accepted Southern beliefs.

A new respect and pitying interest in this sullen, solitary girl, cramped by tradition, and bruised rather than enlightened by sad experiences, came over him.