“Good-morning, John!”

At the sound of that voice, Mr. Greylston turned suddenly from the book-case, and his sister was standing near him, her face lit up with a sweet, yet somewhat anxious smile.  He threw down in a hurry the papers he had been tying together, and the bit of red tape, and holding out his hand, said fervently,

“I was very harsh last night.  I am really sorry for it; will you not forgive me, Margaret?”

“To be sure I will; for indeed, John, I was quite as much to blame as you.”

“No, Madge, you were not,” he quickly answered; “but let it pass, now.  We will think and say no more about it;” and, as though he were perfectly satisfied, and really wished the matter dropped, John Greylston turned to his papers again.

So Miss Margaret was silent.  She was delighted to have peace again, even though she felt anxious about the pines, and when her brother took his seat at the breakfast table, looking and speaking so kindly, she felt comforted to think the cloud had passed away; and John Greylston himself was very glad.  So the two went on eating their breakfast quite happily.  But alas! the storm is not always over when the sky grows light.  Reuben crossed the lawn, followed by the gardener, and Miss Margaret’s quick eye caught the gleaming of the axes swung over their shoulders.  She hurriedly set down the coffee-pot.

“Where are those men going?  Reuben and Tom I mean.”

“Only to the woods,” was the careless answer.

“But what woods, John?  Oh!  I can tell by your face; you are determined to have the pines cut down.”

“I am.”  And John Greylston folded his arms, and looked fixedly at his sister, but she did not heed him.  She talked on eagerly—­

“I love the old trees; I will do anything to save them.  John, you spoke last night of additional expense, should the road take that curve.  I will make it up to you; I can afford to do this very well.  Now listen to reason, and let the trees stand.”

“Listen to reason, yourself,” he answered more gently.  “I will not take a cent from you.  Margaret, you are a perfect enthusiast about some things.  Now, I love my parents and old times, I am sure, as well as you do, and that love is not one bit the colder, because I do not let it stand in the way of interest.  Don’t say anything more.  My mind is made up in this matter.  The place is mine, and I cannot see that you have any right to interfere in the improvements I choose to make on it.”

A deep flush stole over Miss Greylston’s face.

“I have indeed no legal right to counsel or plead with you about these things,” she answered sadly, “but I have a sister’s right, that of affection—­you cannot deny this, John.  Once again, I beg of you to let the old pines alone.”

“And once again, I tell you I will do as I please in this matter,” and this was said sharply and decidedly.

Margaret Greylston said not another word, but pushing back her chair, she arose from the breakfast-table and went quickly from the room, even before her brother could call to her.  Reuben and his companion had just got in the last meadow when Miss Greylston overtook them.