When they came up the steep little hill by the old mill, Jay felt the spell of the water and the wildflowers broken, and began to clamor to be taken over on the front seat between papa and Michael. He was cold, he said, and he wanted to see the horses, and he didn't want to stay where he was, in point of fact. It was rather a serious thing to contradict Jay, and to carry him howling through the village, like a band to call attention to the arrival of a circus. It was well to afford entertainment to one's neighbors, but Missy did not think it necessary to court occasions of sacrifice, so, with her pleasure much diminished, they stopped, while Mr. Andrews managed to put out his one stiff hand, and then she proceeded to push the hopeful boy over the back of the seat, and establish him between his father and the coachman. "I must say, Jay, you are a spoiled child," she exclaimed. "That's so!" cried Jay, complacently, making a lunge towards the whip. "If you say 'that's so' again, I shall be angry with you," said Missy. "Mr. Andrews, _won't_ you try to stop the children from talking this vulgar slang. Jolly, coquettish, bizarre slang I don't mind, once in a very great while, from children, but this sort of kitchen and village boy vulgarity they never will get over, if they keep it up much longer." "I have done my best," said Mr. Andrews. "Well, I hope you'll excuse me for saying I don't think you have covered yourself with glory." "Jay, we're a bad lot; we must reform at once," said the father, putting his stiff arm around his boy, and giving him a hug. "Miss Rothermel will give us up if we don't." "That's so!" cried Jay, boisterously, kicking the shawl off his legs, and nearly tumbling off the seat in his enthusiasm. "I _have_ given you up," said Missy. "Don't put yourselves to the trouble of reforming on my account." Nothing seemed to disturb the tranquillity of Mr. Andrews this evening. He looked around and saw Missy's face darken as they found themselves meeting carriages arriving from the cars, but it did not seem to depress him; on the contrary, he seemed quietly amused. "The cars are three-quarters of an hour late!" exclaimed Missy, unguardedly; "I thought we should have escaped them." "There is no dust to-night," said Mr. Andrews; "so they don't do us any harm." "No, of course not," murmured Missy, bowing stiffly to Mrs. Eve and her placid-looking son, who swept past them as if they were fugitives from justice. "There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea!" It was amazing why every one who came from the cars by the late train drove as if pursued by fate.