Sybil quite understood the situation, and when she jibed gently at the girl's fits of abstraction, Dorothy would answer nothing, save with smile and blush and dimple, and surely they were eloquent enough. John Lawton, considering his daughters as mere well-grown babes, saw nothing but a liking for himself in young Galt's visits, and Letitia's usually quick eyes were so dazzled by a certain jack-o'-lantern of her own discovery that she saw in the young man only a patient listener, whom she believed she was training to fetch and carry quite nicely. The discordant note in all this melody of love was William Henry Bulkley. The overbearing, consequential manner, the fine raiment, and the red face and neck of the elderly beau aroused the imagination of Lena, and she named him "Dat Herr Gobbler-mans," and it was with ill-suppressed laughter and but half-hearted severity that Miss Dorothy called her to account for her disrespect; and Lena, somewhat sullenly, made answer that "she guessed she had youst as much respect for der Herr Bulkley as der Herr Bulkley has for himself. For her mash-mans, he knowed some tings about----" "Lena!" interrupted Dorothy, warningly. "Lena!" And Lena, catching the laughing eyes of Sybil, grinned broadly back at her while in the very act of making her apologetic peasant bob to Dorothy, and murmuring: "Oxcuse me! I don't make mit der Herr Gobbler name, nein! no more!" She retired to the kitchen, while the laughing Sybil inquired of Dorothy how much she thought she had gained by her lecture on propriety to the sharp little German girl.