the strangest. You and I have done
nothing but ask inane questions, and she has sat waiting for them, and
chirped back like a canary. I am simply worn out."

"So am I," sighed Miss Parmalee.

But neither of them was so worn out as poor Miss Martha, anticipating
her cousin's reproaches. However, her wonted silence and reticence stood
her in good stead, for he merely asked, after little Lucy had gone to
bed:

"Well, what did Madame say about Lucy's proposals?"

"She did not say anything," replied Martha.

"Did she promise it would not occur again?"

"She did not promise, but I don't think it will."

The financial page was unusually thrilling that night, and Cyril
Rose, who had come to think rather lightly of the affair, remarked,
absent-mindedly; "Well, I hope it does not occur again. I cannot have
such ridiculous ideas put into the child's head. If it does, we get a
governess for her and take her away from Madame's." Then he resumed his
reading, and Martha, guilty but relieved, went on with her knitting.

It was late spring then, and little Lucy had attended Madame's school
several months, and her popularity had never waned. A picnic was planned
to Dover's Grove, and the romantic little girls had insisted upon a May
queen, and Lucy was unanimously elected. The pupils of Madame's school
went to the picnic in the manner known as a "strawride." Miss Parmalee
sat with them, her feet uncomfortably tucked under her. She was the
youngest of the teachers, and could not evade the duty. Madame and Miss
Acton headed the procession, sitting comfortably in a victoria driven
by the colored man Sam, who was employed about the school. Dover's Grove
was six miles from the village, and a favorite spot for picnics. The
victoria rolled on ahead; Madame carried a black parasol, for the sun
was on her side and the day very warm. Both ladies wore thin, dark
gowns, and both felt the languor of spring.

The straw-wagon, laden with children seated upon the golden trusses of
straw, looked like a wagonload of blossoms. Fair and dark heads, rosy
faces looked forth in charming clusters. They sang, they chattered. It
made no difference to them that it was not the season for a straw-ride,
that the trusses were musty. They inhaled the fragrance of blooming
boughs under which they rode, and were quite oblivious to all discomfort
and unpleasantness. Poor Miss Parmalee, with her feet going to sleep,
sneezing from time to time from the odor of th