“Precisely, his. Judge Briscoe, Miss Sherwood will not believe that you desire my presence. If I intrude, pray let me--” He made as if to spring from the buckboard, and the girl seized his arm impatiently. “You are a pitiful nonsense-monger!” she cried; and for some reason this speech made him turn his glasses upon her gravely. Her lashes fell before his gaze, and at that he took her hand and kissed it quickly. “No, no,” she faltered. “You must not think it. It isn't--you see, I--there is nothing!” “You shall not dull the edge of my hilarity,” he answered, “especially since so much may be forgiven it.” “Why did you leave Mr. Harkless?” she asked, without raising her eyes. “My dear girl,” he replied, “because, for some inexplicable reason, my lady cousin has not nominated me for Congress, but instead has chosen to bestow that distinction upon another, and, I may say, an unworthier and unfitter man than I. And, oddly enough, the non-discriminating multitude were not cheering for me; the artillery was not in action to celebrate me; the band was not playing to do me honor; therefore why should I ride in the midst of a procession that knows me not? Why should I enthrone me in an open barouche--a little faded and possibly not quite secure as to its springs, but still a barouche--with four white horses to draw it, and draped with silken flags, both barouche and steeds? Since these things were not for me, I flew to your side to dissemble my spleen under the licensed prattle of a cousin.” “Then who _is_ with him?” “The population of this portion of our State, I take it.” “Oh, it's all right,” said the judge, leaning back to speak to Helen. “Keating and Smith and your father are to ride in the carriage with him. You needn't be afraid of any of them letting him know that H. Fisbee is a lady. Everybody understands about that; of course they know it's to be left to you to break it to him how well a girl has run his paper.” The old gentleman chuckled, and looked out of the corner of his eye at his daughter, whose expression was inscrutable. “I!” cried Helen. “_I_ tell him! No one must tell him. He need never know it.” Briscoe reached back and patted her cheek. “How long do you suppose he will be here in Plattville without it's leaking out?” “But they kept guard over him for months and nobody told him.” “Ah,” said Briscoe, “but this is different.” “No, no, no!” she exclaimed. “It _must_ be kept from him somehow!” “He'll know it by to-morrow, so you'd better tell him this evening.” “This evening?” “Yes. You'll have a good chance.” “I will?” “He's coming to supper with us. He and your father, of course, and Keating and Bence and Boswell and Smith and Tom Martin and Lige. We're going to have a big time, with you and Minnie to do the honors; and we're all coming into town afterwards for the fireworks; I'll let him drive you in the phaeton. You'll have plenty of time to talk it over with him and tell him all about it.”