"Here's Miss Tibbs coming," said Emmie, wishing to acquaint their guest with all the leading characteristics of the place. "She's quite the most hideous--ahem!--well, she's a very plain lady. And _oh! do_ you see that man going into the red-brick house?" "That's Jimmie Battle," said Mrs. Gano. "Yes. Val, show us how he talks when he tries to be English, and then forgets." "Oh yes," said Val, nothing loath. "He was telling something funny that happened: 'I laahfed and I laahfed, and, oh _golly!_ how I laffed!'" "Val, I'm amazed at your language!" "It's Jimmie's language--of course, we're all amazed." "Look, Val, there goes Harry Wilbur," said Emmie. Yes, it was Harry, pretending not to see them. Val had not answered his last letters, and since he had not called all these days, he must be "mad." "Who is Harry Wilbur?" Ethan asked, perceiving the interest taken in this citizen. "Son of our old friend, Judge Wilbur," said Mrs. Gano. "We _used_ to say he was the handsomest man in New Plymouth," said Emmie, looking reflectively at Ethan. "And he's the best bat in the West," added Val, loyally; but, oh! how insignificant blond men were in comparison with-- They passed Miss Appleby taking a _posse_ of her young lady boarders out for a walk. "They all know _you_, cousin Ethan, and they're just _dying_ to turn and look back. We talked about you all recess." "Did you?" he laughed. "Girls chatter too much," said Mrs. Gano; "they were more discreet in my day." But Emmie knew this was a time of privilege. "The girls at the Seminary are nearly every one Presbyterians. They don't like being Presbyterians at all." "Why not?" "'Cause they can't come to _our_ church on Sunday." Now they were going up the hill. The young people must get out and walk. Delicious moment of being helped to dismount. The unskilful Emmie, for all cousin Ethan's hand, had stumbled and twisted her foot. She was lifted back, to a sympathetic chorus. Ethan had taken off a glove to try the catch on the carriage door, which did not work easily. He held the glove in his hand as Val and he trudged up the cinder road. Why, that was like her father! And now that Val thought of it, cousin Ethan had several little ways that recalled her father. Both indulged in fits of gloomy, absolute silence "all about nothing," when they might be discoursing pleasantly to their fellows. She glanced at her cousin sideways. Certainly he and John Gano were very different, too, in a sense. The elder man seemed hewn out of wood, Ethan was cut in ivory. Why did he say nothing? He began to draw on his glove, absently, with a preoccupied air. He was thinking to-day of Mary Burne. Where was she? Had she solved the enigma? He tried to shake her out of his thoughts, but she came back and back. Val snatched a mullein leaf from the hill-side as she passed. "Don't you love these velvety things?" she said. "Just feel before you put on your glove."