"Oh, pshaw, let it go!" she exclaimed at last, jerking away; and with the jerk the parasol freed itself. "Oh, say, Luella--I mean Miss Benslow. I feel so kind o' lonely. You've got a fireless cooker, hain't you? I don't see why you have to hurry so." "Of course I've got a fireless cooker, and a new blue-flame stove, and a receipt book better than any thing _you_ ever saw." "Well, I was only goin' to say wouldn't you like some violet perfume on your handkercher? I've got some perfectly ellergunt and you're a-carryin' such a pretty handkercher." "That there handkercher," announced Miss Benslow proudly, "was brought me by a gentleman, the last time he was to Portland." "Oh, I didn't know as Mr. King was strong enough to go to Portland," said Blanche Aurora humbly, touching the handkerchief admiringly. "He ain't," declared the visitor, with a grand air. "'T warn't him. 'T was somebody quite different: somebody that calls me Luella." The visitor giggled. "He asked me if he might." "I wonder," said Blanche Aurora with an awestruck air, "if it could 'a' ben that spullendid Mr. Whitcomb!" "Well," returned the other, smiling and bridling, "that's jest who it is. He wants me to call him Fred, but I'm awful shy that way. I may some day, but I haven't yet. You needn't tell nobody, but Madge Lindsay is perfectly crazy over him. She tries to hide it, but she can't from me. I've got eyes and ears. She sings to him on the piazza these moonlight nights and plays on a thing that looks like a big potater-bug. She calls it a bandelin." "I think you're real smart to get along with such a big family," said Blanche Aurora with the same admiring air. "Well, I didn't know's I could, fust off; but you see, it was this way. Miss Lindsay she confided in me. Madge was gittin' strong and beginnin' to hanker to git away where things was gay,--the merry whirl, you know--" Oh, yes; Blanche Aurora's nod, and her close, respectful attention showed that though young and inexperienced she did know. --"So jest at that crucical time there come this appeal from Fred--I mean Mr. Whitcomb--in Chicago, and Mis' Lindsay says to me, she says, 'I b'lieve if my daughter had her cousin here to play with she'd settle down contented again. I don't want her to go away yet.' Cousin!"--contemptuously--"'T ain't any very near cousin, I guess; and I can tell you she does play with him--and _to_ him--and _at_ him. Oh"--with sudden recollection--"ain't I smart! I must go." "Well, jest a minute, Miss Benslow. I'll bet it would please Mr. Whitcomb like everything to have that spullendid handkercher smellin' good. Jest come in my room a minute."