"You 'd have been welcome to the whole job. As it is, I've done them so carelessly that I know mommy will scold me. But I wasn't going to work myself to death for him!" "I should have loved--I like shirt-making," fibbed Tabitha. "And I hate it! Forty-two have I made this year, and mommy has six more cut out." There was a moment's silence, and then Tabitha said, "Janice." For some reason the name seemed to embarrass her, for the moment it was spoken she coloured. "What?" "Dost thee not think--perhaps--if we steal out and take the shirts to the stable, thy mother will never--?" "Tibbie Drinker! Go out of the house in a sack? I'd as soon go out in my night-rail." "Thee breakfasts in a negligee, even when Philemon is here," retorted Miss Drinker. "Wouldst as lief breakfast in thy shift?" "No," said Miss Janice, with a wicked sparkle in her eyes, "because if I did Philemon would come oftener than ever." "Fie upon thee, Janice Meredith!" cried her friend, "for a froward, indelicate female." "And why more indelicate than the men who'd come?" demanded Janice. "'Immodest words admit of no defence, For want of modesty is want of sense,'" quoted Miss Drinker. "Rubbish!" scoffed Janice, but whether she was referring to the stanza of the reigning poet of the eighteenth century, or simply to Miss Tabitha's application of it, cannot be definitely known. "You know as well as I, Tibbie, that I'd rather have Philemon, or any other man, see me in my shroud than in my rail. Come, we'll change our frocks and take a walk." A half hour later, newly clothed in light dimity gowns, cut short for walking, and which, in combination with slippers, then the invariable footgear of ladies of quality, served to display the "neatly turned ankles" that the beaux of the period so greatly admired, the girls sallied forth. First a visit was paid to the stable, to smuggle the shirts from the criticism of Mrs. Meredith, as well as to entice Clarion's companionship for the walk. But Thomas, with a grumble, told them that Fownes had stolen away from the job that had been set for him after dinner, and that the hound had gone with him. Their rambling walk brought the girls presently to the river, but just as they were about to force their way through the fringe of willows and underbrush which hid the water from view, a sudden loud splashing, telling of some one in swimming, gave them pause. Yelps of excitement from Clarion a moment later served to tell the two who it probably was, and the probability was instantly confirmed by the voice of Charles, saying: "'T is sport, old man, is 't not? To get the dirt and transpiration off one! 'S death! What a climate! 'Twixt the sun and osnaburg and fustian my skin feels as if I'd been triced up and had a round hundred."