“Hey?” he queried. “Mr. Colton? Yes, he's here. Want him, do you?” “Yes. Where is he?” “Up yonder somewheres. There he is, by Sarah Burgess's table. Mr. Colton! Mr. Col--ton! Somebody wants ye!” “What in blazes did you yell like that for?” protested the coachman, springing from the carriage. “Stop it, d'ye hear?” “You said you wanted him, didn't you? Mr. Colton! Hi! Come here!” Colton came hurrying down to the gate, his daughter following more slowly. “What's the matter?” he asked. The coachman touched his hat. “I beg your pardon, sir,” he said; “this man started yelling before I could stop him. I was coming to tell you. Mrs. Colton says she's very nervous, sir, and please come home at once.” Colton turned with a shrug to his daughter. “We might have expected it, Mabel,” he said. “Come.” But the young lady seemed to hesitate. “I believe I won't go yet, Father,” she said. “Mother doesn't need both of us. Victor will be here very soon, and we promised to wait for him, you know.” “We can leave word. You'd better come, Mabel. Heavens and earth! you don't want any MORE of this, do you?” It was evident that he had had quite enough of the festival. She laughed lightly. “I'm finding it very entertaining,” she said. “I never saw so many quaint people. There is one girl, a Miss Dean, whom I am really getting acquainted with. She's as country as can be, but she's very interesting.” “Humph! she must be. Dean, hey? Daughter of my particular friend, the ancient mariner, I suppose. I don't like to leave you here. What shall I tell your mother?” “Tell her I am quite safe and in perfectly respectable company.” “Humph! I can imagine how respectable she'll think it is. Well, I know it's useless to urge if you have made up your mind. I don't see where you get your stubbornness from.” “Don't you? I can guess.” “It isn't from your dad. Now do be careful, won't you? If Victor doesn't come soon I shall send the carriage.” “Oh, he will come. It's all right, Father, dear. I am quite able to take care of myself.” Her father shook his head. “Yes,” he observed, “I guess you are. All right, Jenkins.” He got into the carriage and was driven off. Miss Colton turned and walked back to the tables. I relit my cigar. Another half-hour passed. Mullet finished his counting, took up his money box and lantern and left the gate unguarded. Groups of home-going people began to come down the hill. Horses, which had been standing under the church sheds or hitched in neighboring yards, appeared and the various buggies and two-seaters to which they were attached were filled and driven away. Captain Warren and Miss Abbie Baker, his housekeeper, were among the first to leave. Abijah Hammond, the sexton, began taking down the lanterns. The strawberry festival was almost over.