“Well, I've certainly set my heart on the match--on gittin' her in our family,” affirmed Abner. “Durn-ed ef--I declare, sometimes I'm afeerd I'm gone on 'er myse'f. Yes, I want you 'n' her to make it. I want to set an' smoke an' chaw on yore front porch, an' heer her back in the kitchen fryin' ham an' eggs, an',” the old man winked, “I don't know as I'd object to trottin' some 'n' on my knee, to sorter pass the time betwixt meals.” “Oh, come off, Uncle Ab!” said Alan, with a flush, “that's going too far.” The old man whisked his bait-gourd round under his other arm. His eyes twinkled, and he chuckled. “'Tain' t goin' as fur as havin' one on each knee an' both pine blank alike an' exactly the same age. I've knowed that to happen in my day an' time, when nobody wasn't even lookin' fer a' increase.” XVI [Illustration: 9131] ATTIE ALEXANDER and Charlie Durant reached home before Dolly and Hillhouse, and as Dolly alighted from the buggy at the front gate and was going up the flower-bordered walk Hattie came to the side fence and called out: “Oh, Dolly, come here quick; I've got some 'n' to tell you.” “Well, wait till I get my hat off,” answered Dolly. “No, I can't wait; come on, or you 'll wish you had.” “What is it, goosie?” Dolly smiled, as she tripped across the grass, her face flushed from her rapid drive. “Doll, darling, I've got you in an _awful_ scrape. I know you 'll never forgive me, but I couldn't help it. When Charlie left me at the gate mother come out and asked me all about the picnic, who was there an' who talked to who, and all about it. Among other things I told her about you and Alan getting together for such a nice, long talk, and--” “Oh, I don't mind her,” broke in Dolly, as she reached for the skirt of her gown to rescue it from the dew on the high grass. “Wait, wait; I'm not through by a jugful,” panted Hattie. “Just then your pa came along an' asked if you'd got home. I told him you hadn't, an' then he up and asked me if Alan Bishop was out there. I had to say yes, of course, for you know how strict mother is about telling a fib, and then what do you think he did? He come right out plain and asked if Alan talked to you by yourself. I didn't know what on earth to do. I reckon I actually turned white, and then mother chipped in and said: 'Tell the truth, daughter; a story never mends matters; besides, Colonel Barclay, you must be more reasonable; young folks will be young folks, and Alan Bishop would be my choice if I was picking out a husband for my girl.' And then you ought to have heard your pa snort; it was as loud as a horse kicking up his heels in the lot. He wheeled round an' made for the house like he was shot out of a gun.” “I reckon he 'll raise the very Old Harry,” opined Dolly, grimly. “But I don't care; he's driven me about as far as he can.” “I wouldn't make him any madder,” advised the innocent mischief-maker, with a doleful expression. “It's all my fault. I--”