Suddenly Mr. Slater coughed and arose. “Well, guess I’ll be gettin’ to bed,” he said. “Come on, boys. Hello, little girl! Come to visit with us, hey? Mind you don’t pick poison vine.” He shuffled into the house, and the boys followed him in silence. Mrs. Slater led Ardelia upstairs into a little hot room, and told her to get into bed quick, for the lamp drew the mosquitoes. Ardelia kicked off her shoes and approached the bed distrustfully. It sank down with her weight and smelled hot and queer. Rolling off, she stretched herself on the floor, and lay there disconsolately. Sharp, quick stabs from the swarming mosquitoes stung her to rage; she tossed about, slapping at them with exclamations that would have shocked Mrs. Slater. The eternal chatter of the katydids maddened her. She could not sleep. Across the swamp came the wail of the peepers. “_Knee deep! Knee deep! Knee deep!_” At home the hurdy-gurdy was playing, the women were gossiping on every step, the lights were everywhere—the blessed fearless gaslights—the little girls were dancing in the breeze that drew in from the East River, Old Dutchy was giving Maggie Kelly an olive;—Ardelia slapped viciously at a mosquito on her hot cheek, heard a great June bug flopping into the room through the loosely waving netting, and burst into tears of pain and fright, wrapping her head tightly in her gingham skirt. In the morning Miss Forsythe came over to inquire after her charge’s health, accompanied by another young lady. “How do you do, my dear?” said the new lady kindly. “How terribly the mosquitoes have stung you! What makes you stay in the house, and miss the beautiful fresh air? See that great plot of daisies—does she know that she can pick all she wants, poor little thing? I suppose she never had a chance! Come out with me, Ardelia, and let’s see which can pick the biggest bunch.” And Ardelia, fortified by ham and eggs, went stolidly forth into the grass and silently attacked the daisies. In the middle of her bunch the new young lady paused. “Why, Ethel, she isn’t barefoot!” she cried. “Come here, Ardelia, and take off your shoes and stockings directly. Shoes and stockings in the country! _Now_ you’ll know what comfort is,” as she unlaced the boots rapidly on the porch. “Oh, she’s been barefoot in the city,” explained Miss Forsythe, “but this will be different, of course.” And so it was, but not in the sense she intended. To patter about bare-legged on the clear, safe pavement, was one thing; to venture unprotected into that waving, tripping tangle was another. She stepped cautiously upon the short grass near the house, and with jaw set and narrowed lids felt her way into the higher growth. The ladies clapped their hands at her happiness and freedom. Suddenly she stopped, she shrieked, she clawed the air with outspread fingers. Her face was gray with terror. “Oh, gee! Oh, gee!” she screamed.