She smiled frankly. "You're very, very comforting. I'm glad I confessed to you--it's done me good." The clatter of the group at the tea-table behind them had effectually muffled the sound of their voices. Their eyes and thoughts, too, had been so preoccupied that it was only now they became aware of a small boy standing on the gravelled walk in front of them. He wore a checked shirt and patched trousers on his diminutive person, and freckles and a disgusted expression on his face. "Gee Whilliken!" exclaimed this apparition, with startling vehemence. "I been standin' here 'most an hour, I bet, without you lookin' at me oncet. I'm Jimmy Jones." "Welcome, scion of an illustrious family!" said Fessenden. "What is your pleasure?" "Ah, g'wan," returned Master Jones. "I got a letter, that's what. I got a letter here for----" He broke off to scan his questioner closely. "You're the man, ain't you? Tall, good-looker, wet pants. Say, Mister, ain't your name Puddin' Tame?" "'Puddin' Tame'?" asked Miss Yarnell, smiling. "Is it a game you want to play, kiddy?" "No, ma'am, 'tain't a game. I want to see _him_. Say, ain't you Puddin' Tame?" "I've been called so," admitted Fessenden, surprised but greatly diverted. "But I'll let you into a secret, Jimmy: it's not my real name." "Aw, who said it was? Don't I know it's a nickname? Guess I heard of Puddin' Tame before you was born." "I believe your guess is incorrect, James." "No, 'tain't neither. Say, here's the letter for you. There ain't no answer." He thrust an envelope into Fessenden's fingers, and disappeared around the corner of the house with a derisive whoop. The sound served to divert the tea-drinkers from their chatter. "What! A _billet doux_ already?" said Mrs. Dick Randall. "This _is_ rushing matters, Mr. Fessenden. I think it's only fair you should let us know who she is." A chorus of exclamations followed, in which, however, Miss Yarnell did not join. "Polly," said Cresap at last, "don't tease Fessenden. Rather, if your inferior half may venture the humble suggestion, I would urge a casual glance at his trousers. What do you see, Little Brighteyes?" "Goodness, Tom! They're _wet_. Positively dripping!" "I lost my way coming over, and had to wade through a brook." "And I never noticed it until now. And I declare I haven't given you a chance to get to your room yet. Pinck, why _didn't_ you remind me? Ring the bell, please. Tom, you must change your things right away." Alone in his room, Fessenden read the note delivered by the cadet of the house of Jones. DEAR MR. PUDDIN' TAME: Shall we have it for a secret that you're coming to supper at our house to-morrow? We aren't quality folk, and maybe Mrs. Cresap wouldn't like it. So please don't breathe it to a soul, but just steal away, and come. BETTY. III