"Ben, do you think your mother ever gets lonely?" "I've never seen any sign of it. Why? What were you thinking of--that I ought to give up the law school and come home and turn market-gardener? I sometimes think I'd like it." Miss Upton continued to study his clean-cut face wistfully. "Don't she need a secretary, or a sort of a--a sort of a companion?" "Why? Have you had about as much of Bright-Eyes as you can stand? Do you want to make a present of her to some undeserving person?" Miss Upton shook her head. "No, indeed, it ain't poor Charlotte I'm thinkin' of, Ben," again speaking impressively. "Can you spare time to come over and see me a little while to-morrow afternoon? I know your mother always has a lot of young folks in for tea for you Sundays." "She won't to-morrow. I told her I wanted to lie in the grass under the apple-blossoms and compose sonnets; but your feelings will do just as well." "I must tell somebody, and you know Charlotte isn't sympathetic." "No, except perhaps with a porcupine. You might try her with one of those. Tether it in the back yard, and when she is in specially good form turn her out there and let them sport together.--Easy now, Mehit--easy." For Miss Upton's escort had jumped out and she was essaying to leave the car. "If I ever knew which foot to put first," she said desperately, withdrawing the left and reaching down gingerly with her right. "Let me have the bag and the umbrella," suggested her companion. "Now, then, one light spring. Steady!" For clutching both the young man's hands she made him quiver to the shock as she fell against him. "I'm clumsy when I'm tired, Ben," she explained. "I'm so much obliged to you, and you will come over to-morrow afternoon?" "To hear about the umbrella? Yes, indeed! Look at its fine open countenance. You can see at once that it has performed some great deed to-day." He shook the capacious fluttering folds and handed it to its owner. "Thank you so much, Ben, and give my love to your mother." The young fellow jumped into the car and sped away and Miss Upton plodded slowly up to her door whose bell pealed sharply as it was pulled open by an unseen hand, and a colorless, sour-visaged woman appeared in the entrance. Her hay-colored hair was strained back and wound in a tight, small knot, her forehead wore a chronic scowl, and her one-sided mouth had a vinegary expression. "Think you're smart, don't you?" was her greeting; "comin' home in a grand automobile with the biggest ketch in the village." "Yes, wasn't I lucky?" responded Miss Upton nasally. "I hope the kettle's on, Charlotte. I'm beat out." "Well, what did you stay so long for? That's what you always do--stay till the last dog's hung and wear yourself out." The speaker snatched the bag and umbrella and Miss Mehitable followed her into the house, through the shop, and into the little living-room at the back where an open fire burned in the Franklin stove and the tea-table was neatly set for two.