“No, it ain’t the minister, either. As if I didn’t know the minister when I see him! You do aggravate me so! It’s a young fello’, an’ he’s all dressed up. You’ll have to go to the door.” “Oh, maw!” cried Lavinia, reproachfully. “I just can’t! In this short dress?” She stood up, with a look of dismay, and began pulling nervously at her fresh gingham skirt. It was short, showing very prettily-arched insteps and delicate ankles. “Well, you just can, an’ haf to,” said Mrs. Vaiden, shortly. “I’ve told you often enough to put a ruffle on the bottom o’ that dress, an’ I’m glad you’re caught. Mebbe you’ll do’s I tell you after this—” She started guiltily as a loud rap sounded upon the door behind her, and began to tiptoe heavily down the hall toward the kitchen. The girl looked after her in mingled amusement and chagrin. Then she leaned forward slightly, drawing the skirt back closely on both sides, and looked at her feet, with her head turned on one side like a bird. When the cessation of her mother’s labored breathing announced silently that she had reached the kitchen in safety, Lavinia shrugged her beautiful shoulders—which no gown could conceal—and opened the door. A young man in a light traveling-suit stood before her. In his hand was a bunch of her own sweet-peas. At sight of her he whisked off his hat in a way that brought a lovely color to her face and throat. For a little while it seemed as if he were not going to say or do anything but just look at her. She was well worth looking at. She had the rare beauty of velvet eyes of a reddish-brown color, hair wavy and brown, with red glints in it, and a clear complexion, unfreckled and of exquisite coloring. Lavinia’s eyes went to the sweet-peas, and then, with a deeper blush under them, to his face. “Won’t you come in?” she said. “Why, yes, if you’ll let me.” The young man smiled, and Lavinia found her lips and eyes responding, in all the lightness of youth and a clear conscience.