“But that ain’ nothin’ ter th’ skyarlet-fever over the mounting,” Mr. Scott pursued, in a tone whose threadbare lugubriousness revealed the morbid satisfaction which lined it. “That’s fyar howlin’; an’ they sez, moresomeover, ez how it can be kyard an’ took from a little bit o’ rag.” Old Herrick, who had come again to the window, was listening intently. “’S that so?” he said, finally. “Well, consequently were, the beauty of that question air, thar ain’ much rag trade goin’ on between that side o’ th’ mounting an’ t’other. Hyeah! hyeah!” “How can you laugh, father?” said the girl. “Godamighty, gyrl! I ain’ laufin’ at the folks as is got the fever, but at them as ain’t.” “They says as how it kin be kep’ in a piece o’ ribbon or sich fur over twenty year,” pursued Mr. Scott, who, apparently not content with his own fragrance, continued from time to time to bury his long nose in the bunch of johnny-jump-ups which he still held. “’S that so?” said old Herrick again. “I tell yo’ what, darter, ’f that thar’s true, yo’d better have them things ez th’ las’ Englisher’s wife lef up in th’ attic burned up.” “Why?” said Mr. Scott, before Virginia could reply. “’Case thar baby died o’ th’ red fever, and thar’s some o’ its belonging up thar inter a cradle--some little odds an’ eens ez they furgot ter take away with ’em in their trouble.” “Yo’d cert’n’y better burn ’em,” said Mr. Scott, with knowing gloom. “I’d as soon sleep with a bar’l o’ gunpowder over my hade.” “Well, seems to me ef there’s danger ’n either, ’twouldn’t be in th’ gunpowder,” said Miss Herrick, dryly, “seein’ as it don’ never blow down, an’ yo’d be onder it.” “G’long, Miss Faginia!” exclaimed her not-to-be-rebuffed admirer. “Yo’d have yo’ joke ’bout a dyin’ minister!” He left a half-hour afterwards, all unconscious of the seeds of disaster which he had sown, and the next day Roden returned from New York in excellent spirits. On the following Tuesday he went into the kitchen and had a private conference with Aunt Tishy, which resulted in his leaving it with pockets considerably lightened, and shoulders laden with the thanks and praise of its proprietress. He also confided in Virginia, and asked her assistance. He wished to give his bride-elect and her mother a little dinner--wouldn’t Virginia help him? She was so very clever about such things. He knew if she would only help him that everything would be perfectly satisfactory. She promised, and he went off on Bonnibel to Windemere entirely content. Miss Erroll drove her mother over to Caryston in a village-cart, and, as luck would have it, a sudden shower caught them about a quarter of a mile from the house. Mary, however, got the brunt of the shower, as she was driving, and had at once wrapped her mother in all available rugs and wraps.