“Without thee, it is pain to live,
   But with thee, it were sweet to die.”

Poor Mr. Freely! her father would very likely object—­she felt sure he would, for he always called Mr. Freely “that sugar-plum fellow.”  Oh, it was very cruel, when true love was crossed in that way, and all because Mr. Freely was a confectioner:  well, Penny would be true to him, for all that, and since his being a confectioner gave her an opportunity of showing her faithfulness, she was glad of it.  Edward Freely was a pretty name, much better than John Towers.  Young Towers had offered her a rose out of his button-hole the other day, blushing very much; but she refused it, and thought with delight how much Mr. Freely would be comforted if he knew her firmness of mind.

Poor little Penny! the days were so very long among the daisies on a grazing farm, and thought is so active—­how was it possible that the inward drama should not get the start of the outward?  I have known young ladies, much better educated, and with an outward world diversified by instructive lectures, to say nothing of literature and highly-developed fancy-work, who have spun a cocoon of visionary joys and sorrows for themselves, just as Penny did.  Her elder sister Letitia, who had a prouder style of beauty, and a more worldly ambition, was engaged to a wool-factor, who came all the way from Cattelton to see her; and everybody knows that a wool-factor takes a very high rank, sometimes driving a double-bodied gig.  Letty’s notions got higher every day, and Penny never dared to speak of her cherished griefs to her lofty sister—­never dared to propose that they should call at Mr. Freely’s to buy liquorice, though she had prepared for such an incident by mentioning a slight sore throat.  So she had to pass the shop on the other side of the market-place, and reflect, with a suppressed sigh, that behind those pink and white jars somebody was thinking of her tenderly, unconscious of the small space that divided her from him.

And it was quite true that, when business permitted, Mr. Freely thought a great deal of Penny.  He thought her prettiness comparable to the loveliest things in confectionery; he judged her to be of submissive temper—­likely to wait upon him as well as if she had been a negress, and to be silently terrified when his liver made him irritable; and he considered the Palfrey family quite the best in the parish, possessing marriageable daughters.  On the whole, he thought her worthy to become Mrs. Edward Freely, and all the more so, because it would probably require some ingenuity to win her.  Mr. Palfrey was capable of horse-whipping a too rash pretender to his daughter’s hand; and, moreover, he had three tall sons:  it was clear that a suitor would be at a disadvantage with such a family, unless travel and natural acumen had given him a countervailing power of contrivance.  And the first idea that occurred to him in the matter was, that Mr. Palfrey would object less if he knew