"Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. It had been a very long time. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. For a long time there had been a standing offer from the company at Copeley's to take over the McClintock plantation; and today he had decided to sell. And to think that man got it all out of the poorest little love-story for a respectable titled lady! Have you read of it?” “Never. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. He had not proceeded far when he was alarmed by the tramp of a horse, which seemed to be rapidly approaching, and he had scarcely time to leap the hedge and conceal himself behind a tree, when a tall man, enveloped in an ample cloak, with his hat pulled over his brows, rode by at full speed. "I don't know.
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