"She and I was sitting in the boat, and baby, she was tied to a tree by a long string and she began to cry to come too, and I jumped over to go quiet her. Kent he'd gone to get another boat. And Margery she jumped up and began to yell and wave her arms and fell overboard. Then I remembered she couldn't swim and I went back and got her and Kent came and pulled us in shore. It wasn't anything, but Margery's such a cry-baby. Lizzie, she's terrible uncomfortable." Lydia's attention had returned to little Patience. "I'll take her up to bed," she said, "it won't take but a few minutes." "I'll carry her," said Lizzie. The baby opened her eyes. "No, no one cally but Lyd." "Let Daddy carry you," begged Amos. Patience's little voice rose to a wail. "No one cally but Lyd." "You don't have to be so polite," sniffed Lydia, "I carry her all the time." She lifted the sleepy baby easily and Patience dropped her soft cheek against Lydia's and closed her eyes again. Lydia turned to Marshall. Her face was very serious. "I know I was awful bad, Mr. Marshall, and maybe you feel as if you ought to lick me." "Put your little sister to bed," said Marshall gravely, "and then we'll see." There was silence in the room for a moment after Lydia left it, then Amos said, "I'll be glad to do anything I can, Marshall." "Neither of you'll lay a finger on Lydia," interrupted Lizzie. "If you want to lick any one, go lick Elviry Marshall, the fool! Why, I knew her when she was my niece's hired girl and you, Dave Marshall, was selling cans of tomatoes over a counter. And she's bringing that young one up to be a silly little fool. Mark my words, she'll be the prey of the first fortune-hunter that comes along." To Amos's surprise, Marshall only scowled at Lizzie, who now began to remove the supper dishes, talking in a whisper to herself. She paused once in front of Marshall with the teapot in one hand and the milk pitcher in the other. "Coming and going with your nose in the air, Dave, I suppose you never notice Lydia, but you've had a good look at her to-night, and mind well what I mean when I say you know as well as I that children like Lydia are rare and that your young one ought to consider it a privilege to be pulled out of the water by her." Old Lizzie pounded out of the room and there was a clatter of dishes that ably expressed her frame of mind. Above the clatter and down from the children's bedroom floated Lydia's little contralto lilt: "Wreathe me no gaudy chaplet; Make it from simple flowers Plucked from the lowly valley After the summer showers." Neither Amos nor his caller spoke. In a few minutes Lydia's step sounded on the stairs. The last of the sunset glow caught her hair, and the fine set of her head on her square little shoulders was never more pronounced than as she walked slowly toward Dave Marshall. "I never had a licking," she said, "but I guess I deserve one and so you'd better do it and get it done, Mr. Marshall."