For a long distance their way was through a thick woodland, clear of underbrush and very pleasant walking, but permitting no look at the distant country. They wound about, now uphill and now down, till at last they began to ascend in good earnest; the road became better marked, and Mr. Carleton came up with his guide again. Both were obliged to walk more slowly. He had overcome a good deal of Fleda's reserve and she talked to him now quite freely, without however losing the grace of a most exquisite modesty in everything she said or did.
"What do you suppose I have been amusing myself with all this while, Miss Fleda?" said he, after walking for some time alongside of her in silence. "I have been trying to fancy what you looked like as you travelled on before me with that mysterious tin pail."
"Well what did I look like?" said Fleda laughing.
"Little Red Riding-Hood, the first thing, carrying her grandmother the pot of butter."
"Ah but I haven't got any butter in this as it happens," said Fleda, "and I hope you are not anything like the wolf, Mr. Carleton?"
"I hope not," said he laughing. "Well, then I thought you might be one of those young ladies the fairy-stories tell of, who set out over the world to seek their fortune. That might hold, you know, a little provision to last for a day or two till you found it."
"No," said Fleda,--"I should never go to seek my fortune."
"Why not, pray."
"I don't think I should find it any the sooner."
Mr. Carleton looked at her and could not make up his mind! whether or not she spoke wittingly.