stay?"

"Dunno. Till they git fed up and fattened, maybe. If they was mine I'd
have killin' time to-day."

Ann Gossaway and some of her cronies also gave free rein to their
tongues.

"Learned them tricks at a finishin' school, did they?" broke out the
dressmaker. (Lucy had been the only young woman in Warehold who had
ever enjoyed that privilege.) "Wearin' each other's hats, rollin' round
in the sand, and hollerin' so you could hear 'em clear to the
lighthouse. If I had my way I'd finish 'em, And that's where they'll
git if they don't mind, and quick, too!"

The Dellenbaughs, Cromartins, and Bunsbys, being of another class,
viewed the young couple's visit in a different light. "Mr. Feilding has
such nice hands and wears such lovely cravats," the younger Miss
Cromartin said, and "Miss Collins is too sweet for anything." Prim Mr.
Bunsby, having superior notions of life and deportment, only shook his
head. He looked for more dignity, he said; but then this Byronic young
man had not been invited to any of the outings.

In all these merrymakings and outings Lucy was the central figure. Her
beauty, her joyous nature, her freedom from affectation and
conventionality, her love of the out-of-doors, her pretty clothes and
the way she wore them, all added to her popularity. In the swing and
toss of her freedom, her true temperament developed. She was like a
summer rose, making everything and everybody glad about her, loving the
air she breathed as much for the color it put into her cheeks as for
the new bound it gave to her blood. Just as she loved the sunlight for
its warmth and the dip and swell of the sea for its thrill. So, too,
when the roses were a glory of bloom, not only would she revel in the
beauty of the blossoms, but intoxicated by their color and fragrance,
would bury her face in the wealth of their abundance, taking in great
draughts of their perfume, caressing them with her cheeks, drinking in
the honey of their petals.

This was also true of her voice--a rich, full, vibrating voice, that
dominated the room and thrilled the hearts of all who heard her. When
she sang she sang as a bird sings, as much to relieve its own
overcharged little body, full to bursting with the music in its soul,
as to gladden the surrounding woods with its melody--because, too, she
could not help it and because the notes lay nearest her bubbling heart
and could find their only outlet through the lips.

Bart was her constant compani