That lady finally broke in with a loud "Ahem!" following it with: "I re'lly don't know what's happened to my Sairy. She's right poorly to-day, Mr. Somers." "Why--I--I'm sorry to hear it," said the startled, yet quite unsuspicious teacher. "She seemed to be in good health and spirits when we were on our way to the club meeting last evening." "Ya-as," agreed Mrs. Pritchett, simpering and looking at him sideways. "She seems to have changed since then. She ain't been herself since she walked home from the meeting." "Perhaps she has a cold?" suggested the teacher, blandly. "Oh, Sairy is not subject to colds," declared Mrs. Pritchett. "But she is easily chilled in other ways--yes, indeed! I don't suppose there is a more sensitive young girl on the ridge than my Sairy." Mr. Somers began to wake up to the fact that the farmer's wife was not shooting idly at him; there was "something behind it!" "I am sorry if Miss Sairy is offended, or has been hurt in any way," he said, gravely. "It was a pity she had to walk home from the club. If I had known----" "Wa-al," drawled Mrs. Pritchett, "_you_ took her there yourself in your buggy." "Indeed!" he exclaimed, flushing a little. "I had no idea that bound me to the necessity of taking her home again. Her brother was there with your carriage. I am sure I do not understand your meaning, Mrs. Pritchett." "Oh, I don't mean anything!" exclaimed the lady, but very red in the face now, and her bonnet shaking. "Come, gals! we must be going." Both Lyddy and 'Phemie had begun to feel rather unhappy by this time. Mrs. Pritchett swept them up the aisle ahead of her as though she were shooing a flock of chickens with her ample skirts. They went through the vestibule with a rush. Lucas was ready with the ponies. Mrs. Pritchett was evidently very angry over her encounter with the teacher; and she could not fail to hold the Bray girls somewhat accountable for her daughter's failure to keep the interest of Mr. Somers. She said but little on the drive homeward. There had been something said earlier about the girls going down to the Pritchett farm for dinner; but the angry lady said nothing more about it, and Lyddy and 'Phemie were rather glad when Hillcrest came into view. "Ye better stop in an' go along down to the house with us," said the good-natured Lucas, hesitating about turning the ponies' heads in at the lane. "Oh, we could not possibly," Lyddy replied, gracefully. "We are a thousand times obliged for your making it possible for us to attend church. You are all so kind, Mrs. Pritchett. But this afternoon I must plead the wicked intention of writing letters. I haven't written a line to one of my college friends since I came to Hillcrest." Mrs. Pritchett merely grunted. Lucas covered his mother's grumpiness by inconsequential chatter with 'Phemie while he drove in and turned the ponies so that the girls could get out. "A thousand thanks!" cried 'Phemie. "Good-day!" exclaimed Lyddy, brightly.