"That suits me," said her brother, and without waiting for further discussion this diplomatic fairy in white arose and remarked, "I'll get a shawl, and then I'll trouble you, Mr. Nason, to escort me over to Abby's. It's only a few rods, and I want you to meet her. She's ever so nice." From this it may be inferred that our "Sweet Alice" had resolved to protect herself against any romantic _tete-a-tetes_ in the woods with a certain well-intentioned but presuming young man who might desire to play Romeo. This was not quite to his taste, but he had the good sense not to show it, and all the next day he divided his attentions impartially between the two young ladies. The plan as mapped by Alice was carried out to the letter, and when the two young men joined the girls at noon they found a broad flat rock in the woods had been covered with a tablecloth and spread with a tempting meal. The girls had gathered great bunches of that beautiful flower pink laurel, and a cluster of it decked the table. After dinner our imperious Alice insisted that they visit the mill-pond once more, and when they returned at night, with two baskets of trout, and laurel and pond lilies enough to stock a flower stand, the day was voted an eminent success. Frank made one error, however, for just before they left the mill he slipped away unobserved, and finding the miller, put a bit of paper into his hand with the remark, "Keep this to pay for the boat," and left him hurriedly. When the old man made examination he found he had a five-dollar bill. To surprises of this kind he was not accustomed, and before noon the next day there wasn't a man, woman, or child in Sandgate who had not heard of it. CHAPTER XVIII VILLAGE GOSSIP "What care I what the world may say, So long as I have my way to-day?-- For this dear old world, This queer old world, With tongue like sands of the sea, Is never so gay As when wagging away, And talking of you and of me." That evening Frank begged for music, and Alice sung for two long hours. At least they might have seemed long to any but an enraptured young man who had for the entire day been kept from uttering one of the many love-lorn words that filled his heart. Albert, who had been informed by Alice that if he deserted her for a single moment that evening or the next he need never bring his friend there again, sat outside on the porch and close by the window, smoking incessantly and smiling to himself at the clever tactics of his charming but coy sister. When the concert was ended he observed, "If there's one song in the house that you have not sung, Alice, I wish you would sing it. I hate to have you omit any." "I have only sung what I was asked to," she replied; "is not that so, Mr. Nason?" "That is true," replied he boldly, "and you have not sung one that I wouldn't enjoy hearing again to-night."