She remembered they had once lived in a nice house in a great town, then in a smaller house, aud after that they had “tramped.” So, in ;spite of all that Lily, could tell them, the past history of the dead woman and the tramp who had disappeared re mained a mystery. It was a mystery then, audit remained a mystery when Lily had grown up to be a faithful little maid to the farmer’s wife and daughters—a trusted and beloved member of the farmer’s household. Everybody liked Lily—she was more of a companion than a servant to the girls and boys, and the farmer himself would joke her, and call her his best man, for she could saddle his horse and put his pony to quicker than any lad on the farm, and she understood all his little ways, and knew where to find everything he wanted. Pretty, and modest, and gentle of man ner, Lily grew to be almost as dear to the farmer and his wife as one of their own daughters, and she grew to be dearer to Willy, their son, than his own sisters. For when Lily was eighteen, and as handsome a young woman as she had been a pretty girl, poor Will, who was twenty, discovered that he had lost his heart, and that he wanted no other woman tc belii3 wife than the daughter of the woman tramp who died in his father’s outhouse, eleven years ago. He told her so one day—one lovely autumn evening when they weie alone in 1 the cornfield, and that indescribable hu3li 1 lay upon the country which brings romantic thoughts to the lad and lass who. find themselves gazing together upon a setting September sun. As Will whispered his secret, his brown face flushing crimson, the girl stated from him with a little cry of pain. “Lily, I love you. I want you to be my sweetheart—to let me hope that some day you will be my wife.” His wife—Will’s wife ? No, it could never be. She, a tramp’s daughter—a pauper child taken from the workhouse by Will’s mother! They had all been good and kind to her, but she was only a servant —nothing more. She was not good enough for Will. 