“When did _you_ arrive, Mr. Burton?” she asked, “and how long have you been officiating as child’s companion? You’re certainly a happy-looking trio—so unconventional. I hate to see children all dressed up and stiff as little manikins, when they go out to ride. And you look as if you’d been having _such_ a good time with them.” “I—I assure you, Miss Mayton,” said I, “that my experience has been the exact reverse of a pleasant one. If King Herod were yet alive I’d volunteer as an executioner, and engage to deliver two interesting corpses at a moment’s notice.” “You dreadful wretch!” exclaimed the lady. “Mother, let me make you acquainted with Mr. Burton, Helen Lawrence’s brother. How is your sister, Mr. Burton?” “I don’t know,” I replied; “she has gone with her husband on a fortnight’s visit to Captain and Mrs. Wayne, and I’ve been silly enough to promise to have an eye to the place while they’re away.” “Why, how delightful!” exclaimed Miss Mayton. “_Such_ horses! _Such_ flowers! _Such_ a cook!” “And such children,” said I, glaring suggestively at the imps, and rescuing from Toddie a handkerchief which he had extracted from my pocket, and was waving to the breeze. “Why, they’re the best children in the world. Helen told me so the first time I met her this season. Children will be children, you know. We had three little cousins with us last summer, and I’m sure they made me look years older than I really am.” “How young you must be, then, Miss Mayton!” said I. I suppose I looked at her as if I meant what I said, for although she inclined her head and said, “Oh, thank you,” she didn’t seem to turn my compliment off in her usual invulnerable style. Nothing happening in the course of conversation ever discomposed Alice Mayton for more than a hundred seconds, however, so she soon recovered her usual expression and self-command, as her next remark fully indicated. “I believe you arranged the floral decorations at the St. Zephaniah’s Fair, last winter, Mr. Burton? ’Twas the most tasteful display of the season. I don’t wish to give any hints, but at Mrs. Clarkson’s, where we’re boarding, there’s not a flower in the whole garden. I break the Tenth Commandment dreadfully every time I pass Colonel Lawrence’s garden. Good-by, Mr. Burton.” [Illustration: “I BELIEVE YOU ARRANGED THE FLORAL DECORATIONS”] “Ah, thank you; I shall be delighted. Good-by.” “Of course you’ll call,” said Miss Mayton, as her carriage started. “It’s dreadfully stupid here—no men except on Sundays.” I bowed assent. In the contemplation of all the shy possibilities which my short chat with Miss Mayton had suggested, I had quite forgotten my dusty clothing and the two living causes thereof. While in Miss Mayton’s presence the imps had preserved perfect silence, but now their tongues were loosened. “Uncle Harry,” said Budge, “do you know how to make whistles?” “Unken Hawwy,” murmured Toddie, “does you love dat lady?” “No, Toddie, of course not.”