“I assure you, my dear, that you are mistaken in thinking rudeness a sauce to good wit,” said Gran’papa, always at his most Shakespearean when offended. Laura roused herself. She knew how to appease him. “_Why, is it not a lamentable thing, grandsire, that we should be thus afflicted by these ‘Pardon me’s’?_” she countered, twinkling. He gave his gruff chuckle. His granddaughter did not wear her hair in smooth bands as a gentlewoman should: used slang (mild enough, oh, Gran’papa Valentine!) and slurred her speech in the detestable modern fashion: had, in short, innumerable faults of her own; but she could always be trusted to cap a quotation. He held out an olive branch. “The weather seems likely to hold. You should have a pleasant picnic. You are taking——?” “Oh, eggs and salad and bread-and-cheese, and Justin’s bringing peaches and anything else going. We shall have a gorgeous spread.” “A feast,” agreed Gran’papa, too graciously, “of oriental magnificence.” “Oh, you know what I mean!” Laura laughed. “Will you excuse me, Gran’papa? There’s such a lot to see still and Justin hates waiting—dislikes, I mean: sorry!” Gran’papa hid his feelings in his newspaper. But, hurry as Laura might, Justin was at the bow window when she returned, elbows on the sill, talking over the morning’s news with Gran’papa. “Justin! Here already? I didn’t know.” “Ai didn’t neu,” murmured Gran’papa abstractedly. He was annoyed at the interruption. Laura flushed. She could not bear being criticized before Justin. “I’m awfully sorry to be late,” she began. “Awfully,” commented Gran’papa with interest. “Filled, that is to say, with awe——” Then, testily—“What is the matter now, my dear?” “I’m awf—extremely sorry to bother you, Gran’papa,” said Laura patiently, “but you’re sitting on the lettuce.” Then to the maid crossing the hall—“Cook! Cook! Oh, Cook, you might bring me my basket, will you? I left it in the kitchen.” “_Her voice was ever soft_,” confided Gran’papa to Justin as he reseated himself—“_and gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman!_” Justin nodded. “That always reminds me of Mother. All women squeak, it seems to me, except Mother. Laura’s not half so bad as some, though, except when she gets excited.” He smiled at her generously. “Hurry up, old thing! What an age you are!” “I am hurrying. I’m hurrying as much as ever I can. Can’t you see I’m hurrying?” Laura, badgered beyond endurance, jabbed her hat-pins through her hat and made heatedly for the door. But she turned again, my tender-conscience Laura, to say pleasantly— “You’ve got the paper, haven’t you? Good-bye, Gran’papa!” “Goodbaye,” said Gran’papa, hunched in his chair like a malicious old eagle. His shoulders shook as the door closed and he gave his dry, birdlike chuckle. “Goodbaye,” repeated Gran’papa with relish, and returned to his _Times_. But Laura, edging along young cornfields in Justin’s wake, had been stirred to expostulations.