next moment, as a faint sound of scratching broke upon her ear,
she stole softly to the feed and harness room, and peeked in.

The groom was sitting on a nail barrel, in front of the meal-bin,
the cover of which was closed and was thus made to
serve for a desk. On this were several sheets of what was
then called pro patria paper, or foolscap, and most of these
were very much bescribbled. An ink-horn and a sand-box
completed the outfit, except for a quill in the hands of the bond-servant,
which had given rise to the sound the girl had heard.
Now, however, it was not writing, for the man was chewing
the feather end with a look of deep thought on his face.

"O Clarion," he sighed, as the girl's glance was momentarily
occupied with the taking in of these details, "why canst
thou not give me a word to rhyme with morn? 'T will not
come, and here 't is the thirteenth."

A low growl from Clarion, sounding like anything more
than the desired rhyme, made the servant glance up, and the
moment he saw the figure of some one, he rose, hastily bunched
together the sheets of paper, and holding them in his hand
cried, "Who 's that?" in a voice expressing both embarrassment
and anger. Then as his eyes dwelt on the intruder, he
continued in an altered tone, "I ask your pardon, Miss Janice;
I thought 't was one of the servants. They are everlastingly
spying on me. Can I serve you?" he added, rolling the
papers up and stuffing them into his belt.

Janice's eyes sought the floor, as she hesitatingly said, "I