“Exactly. I knew you would say they were too old, or too bald, or too short, or too fat. I've been a girl myself. Of course there is Nat Bonnell, and a lot more little waves and ripples like him, but they always _were_ out of the question, and now they are ten times more so. That is the reason, Eloise,” the mother's voice became impressive to the verge of solemnity, “why I feel that Dr. Ballard is almost a providence.” The girl's clear eyes were reflective. “Nat Bonnell is a wave who wouldn't remember a girl who had slipped out of the swim.” “Very wise of him,” returned Mrs. Evringham emphatically. “He can't afford to. Nat is--is--a--decorative creature, just as you are,--decorative. He must make it pay, poor boy.” Meanwhile Mrs. Forbes had sought her son in the barn. He and she had had their supper in time for her to be ready to wait at dinner. “Something doing, something doing,” murmured Zeke as he heard the impetuosity of her approaching step. “That soup _was_ hot!” she exclaimed defiantly. “Somebody scald you, ma? I can do him up, whoever he is,” said Zeke, catching up a whip and executing a threatening dance around the dimly lighted barn. His mother's snapping eyes looked beyond him. “He said it was cold; but it was only because he was distracted. What do you suppose those people are up to now? Trying to get Essex Maid for Mamzell to ride!” Zeke stopped in his mad career and returned his mother's stare for a silent moment. “And not a dungeon on the place probably!” he exclaimed at last. “Just like some folks' shiftlessness.” “They _asked_ it. They asked Mr. Evringham if that girl couldn't ride Essex Maid while he was in the city!” 'Zekiel lifted his eyebrows politely. “Where are their remains to be interred?” he inquired with concern. “Well, not in _this_ family vault, you may be sure. He gave it to them to-night for a fact.” Mrs. Forbes smiled triumphantly. “'I didn't know Eloise remembered her father,'” she mimicked. “I'll bet that got under their skin!” “Dear parent, you're excited,” remarked Zeke. She brought her reminiscent gaze back to rest upon her son. “Get your coat quick, 'Zekiel. Here's the telegram. Take the car that passes the park gate, and stop at the station. That's the nearest place.” Ezekiel obediently struggled into the coat hanging conveniently near. “What does the telegram say?--'Run away, little girl, the ogre isn't hungry'?” “Not much! She's coming. He's sending for the brat.” “Poor brat! How did it happen?” “Just some more of my lady's doings,” answered Mrs. Forbes angrily. “Of course she had to put in her oar and exasperate Mr. Evringham until he did it to spite her.” “Cutting off his own nose to spite his face, eh?” asked Zeke, taking the slip of paper. “Yes, and mine. It's going to come heavy on me. I could have shaken that woman with her airs and graces. Catch her or Mamzell lifting _their_ hands!” “Yet they want her, do they?” “No, Stupid! That's why she's coming. Can't you understand?”