"Oh, well," says Sadie, chokin' off a yawn as she pours the coffee, "this was their first evening together, you know. I suppose they had a lot to say to each other." "Must have had," says I. "I shouldn't think they'd have to repeat that performance for a month." Next night, though, it's the same thing, and the next, and the next. "Poor things!" thinks I. "I expect they're afraid of being guyed." So, just to show how sociable and friendly I could be, I tries buttin' in on these lonely teeter-tates. First I'd hunt up one couple and submit some samples of my best chatter--gettin' about as much reply as if I was ringin' Central with the wire down. Then I locates the other pair, drags a rocker over near 'em, and tries to make the dialogue three handed. They stands it for a minute or so before decidin' to move to another spot. Honest, I never expected to feel lonesome right at home entertainin' guests! but I was gettin' acquainted with the sensation. There's no musical doings, no happy groups and gay laughter about the house; nothing but now and then a whisper from dark corners, or the creak of the porch swings. "Gee! but they're takin' their spoonin' serious, ain't they?" says I to Sadie. "And how popular we are with 'em! Makes me feel almost like I ought to put on a gag and sit down cellar in the coalbin." "Pooh!" says Sadie, makin' a bluff she didn't mind. "Do let them enjoy themselves in their own way." "Sure I will," says I. "Only this chaperon business is gettin' on my nerves. I don't feel like a host here; I feel more like a second story man dodgin' the night watchman." There wa'n't any signs of a change, either. When they had to be around where we was they had hardly a word to say and acted bored to death; and it must have taxed their brains, workin' up all them cute little schemes for leavin' us on a siding so they could pair off. Course, I've seen engaged couples before; but I never met any that had the disease quite so hard. And this bein' shunned like I had somethin' catchin' was new to me. I begun to feel like I was about ninety years old and in the way. Sunday forenoon was the limit, though. Sadie had planned to take 'em all for a motor trip; but they declines with thanks. Would they rather go out on the water? No, they didn't care for that, either. All they seems to want to do is wander round, two by two, where we ain't. And at that Sadie loses some of her enthusiasm for havin' bunches of lovers around. "Humph!" I hears her remark as she watches Bobbie and Marjorie sidestep her and go meanderin' off down a path to the rocks. A little while later I happens to stroll down to the summerhouse with the Sunday paper, and as I steps in one door Charlie and Helen slip out by the other. They'd seen me first. "Well, well!" says I. "I never knew before how unentertainin' I could be."