"A letther fer Miss Keroo? Well, ye'd betther be afther takin' it to her yersilf. She's out in the garrden, there. An' no more time have I to waste in runnin' fer this bell ivry foive minutes!" And she went away, muttering. I was not surprised to see her so cross. They always were cross; it was their normal condition. I walked through the hall and took the garden path. It was lined on both sides with box, and beyond were flower-beds. Also there were apple trees, and cherry trees, and peach trees,--the last full of red and yellow fruit. A number of bees were inquiring into the hollyhocks, and on a stalk of Canterbury bells sat a brown and black butterfly, slowly opening and closing his wings. But I could not see Miss Carew. Near the foot of the garden the path was arched by a summer-house. Its latticed sides were covered thick with clematis and trumpet-vine. I kept on down the path and walked into the summer-house. There was a quick exclamation, and Miss Carew arose hastily from a seat in the corner. Mr. Dennett was sitting there, and he had a curious expression on his face, which made him rather more terrible to me than usual. Miss Carew, like the cross woman who had let me into the house, had very red cheeks. But in the case of Miss Carew the color was not permanent. It was more noticeable at this moment than I had ever seen it before; but it did not last. "Why, it's Sammy!" said Miss Carew, with a laugh. I disliked being called "Sammy" before Mr. Dennett, and I felt my face grow red also. I remembered that Miss Carew was a stranger, who had been visiting the Bigelows scarcely two months, but I corrected her just the same. "_Sam_," I remarked, with dignity. "Sam," she repeated apologetically. Then I took the note out of my jacket pocket, and handed it to her. She thanked me, opened the envelope, and read the message. Then she said that it was "all right," and added that I was a good boy to bring the note. Encouraged by this flattery, I backed to a bench on the other side of the summer-house, and sat down facing them. Miss Carew had seated herself again,--though at a somewhat greater distance from Mr. Dennett than before. There was a slight pause. Miss Carew asked me how I came,--had I walked all the way? "No," I replied, "I rode my velocipede." "Did you, really?" she said; "that's a long ride for you, isn't it?" It interested me to hear Miss Carew talk,--she came from some part of the country where they have a greater respect for the letter R than was usual with us. But I denied that I was fatigued. "No'm; it ain't far at all! Once," I continued, growing reminiscent, "I rode nearly up to Chain Bridge!" "Is that so?" "Yes'm; but when I got up to the Three Roads, Mr. Titcomb came along, an' said I'd better go back,--it was so hot." "Did you go back?" "Yes." There was another silence, which Miss Carew again broke. "What kind of a velocipede is yours?" she asked. "A wooden one," I assured her.