“Forgive me.” “I will try to; but I am sorry I cannot listen to your confidences about Rhoda. I forgot entirely that I promised Sister Betty that I would see to the syllabub.” “You know it isn’t Rhoda,” persisted the young man. “Oh, isn’t it? Well, never mind; it is Becky Lowe, probably. She told me you were there last week. No, another time. You will excuse me, I know, and I shall see you at tea time. There comes Brother William, if your call was upon him. He will be glad to see you. Adieu.” And Lettice, with work-bag dangling from her wrist, and Moore’s poems under her arm, ran swiftly up the garden walk to the house. She held her sunbonnet closely together, and her hands were covered with long sheepskin mittens, lest the sun should mar the whiteness of her skin. Her sister Betty met her by the grape arbor; she was similarly protected, and had a light basket on her arm. “Law, Lettice, what makes you run in the sun?” she said. “Why didn’t you come around the other way?” “I wanted the shortest way,” returned Lettice, panting a little, and letting go the strings of her bonnet. Betty looked at her quizzically. “I don’t believe I ever ran from a young gentleman in my life,” she said, laughing. “You ought to be ashamed to be such a scare-cat, Letty.” Then she seized the sides of the girl’s bonnet and looked fixedly at her. “Lettice Hopkins, are you going ’way off to New York with that Tory? Do you mean to separate yourself from your family and become an English subject?” “’Deed I’m not, Sister Betty.” “Then go ’long into the house, and don’t make yourself look too bewitching at supper. I finished the syllabub myself. There comes Birk Dean. After all, perhaps you’d better not put on your least becoming frock.” And Lettice ran up to her room, pouting. It was not long before Lutie followed, and, after much indecision and the turning over of many gowns, Lettice was finally arrayed in a blue tissue, made with a very short waist and a skimp skirt, and around her shoulders was thrown a scarf of India muslin. She descended the stairs demurely, and walked out upon the porch, where her two admirers sat looking daggers at each other. “Since I leave the neighborhood to-morrow, perhaps you will honor me with your company for a walk,” said Mr. Clinton. Lettice gave a quick side glance at Birket. “I came over to see if you’d ride to camp this evening, Miss Lettice,” said Birket, blushing to the roots of his hair. “Has camp begun?” Lettice asked; then with a little laugh, “I can’t walk and ride both, can I?” She turned her smiling face to first one and then the other. “I will tell you what we will do: we’ll get Brother William to let us have the big wagon and the mules, and all go over in a party; that will be much the best way. Supper is ready, gentlemen. Mr. Clinton, will you escort Sister Betty? She is just here waiting for you to give her your hand.” And in the pretty old-fashioned way they were led out to supper.