"But, Mr. Drummond, one word before peace is quite restored," went on Phillis, with something of her old archness, "or else I will fetch my sisters, and you will have three of us against you." "Oh, do, Phillis, my dear," interrupted her mother; "let them come and hear what Mr. Drummond thinks." "Mammy, how dare you!--how dare you be so contumacious, after all the trouble we have taken to set your dear fidgety mind at rest? Just look what you have done, Mr. Drummond," turning upon him. "Now I am not going to forgive you, and we will not trust the mother out of our sight, unless you promise not to say this sort of thing to her when we are not here to answer them." "But, Miss Challoner, my pastoral conscience!" but his eyes twinkled a little. "Oh, never mind that!" she retorted, mischievously. "I will give you leave to lecture us collectively, but not individually: that must not be thought about for a moment." She had not a notion what the queer expression on Mr. Drummond's face meant, and he did not know himself; but he had the strongest desire to laugh at this. They parted after this the best of friends; and Phillis tasted the cherries, and pronounced them very good. "You have quite forgiven me?" Mr. Drummond said, as she accompanied him to the door before rejoining her sisters. "You know I have promised not to do it again until the next time." "Oh, we shall see about that!" returned Phillis, good-humoredly. "Forewarned is forearmed; and there is a triple alliance against you." "Good heavens, what mockery it seems! I never saw such girls,--never!" thought Mr. Drummond, as he took long strides down the road. "But Mattie is right: they mean business, and nothing in the world would change that girl's determination if she had set herself to carry a thing out. I never knew a stronger will!" And in this he was tolerably right. CHAPTER XXII. "TRIMMINGS, NOT SQUAILS." The longest week must have an end; and so at last the eventful Monday morning arrived,--"Black Monday," as Dulce called it, and then sighed as she looked out on the sunshine and the waving trees, and thought how delicious a long walk or a game of tennis would be, instead of stitch, stitch, stitching all day. But Dulce was an unselfish little soul, and kept all these thoughts to herself, and dressed herself quickly; for she had overslept herself, and Phillis had long been downstairs. Nan was locking up the tea-caddy as she entered the parlor, and Phillis was standing by the table, drawing on her gloves, and her lips were twitching a little,--a way they had when Phillis was nervous. Nan went up and kissed her, and gave her an encouraging pat.