AS SPEAKS

THE waving signal, a little later on, showed that Rodman could go to the
picnic, the fact being that he was having a holiday from eleven o'clock
until two, and Ivory was going to drive to the bridge at noon, anyway,
so his permission could then be asked.

Patty's mind might have been thought entirely on her ugly task as she
swept and dusted and scrubbed that morning, but the reverse was true.
Mark Wilson had gone away without saying good-bye to her. This was not
surprising, perhaps, as she was about as much sequestered in her hilltop
prison as a Turkish beauty in a harem; neither was it astonishing that
Mark did not write to her. He never had written to her, and as her
father always brought home the very infrequent letters that came to the
family, Mark knew that any sentimental correspondence would be fraught
with danger. No, everything was probably just as it should be, and
yet,--well, Patty had expected during the last three weeks that
something would happen to break up the monotony of her former existence.
She hardly knew what it would be, but the kiss dropped so lightly on her
cheek by Mark Wilson still burned in remembrance, and made her sure that
it would have a sequel, or an explanation.

Mark's sister Ellen and Phil Perry were in the midst of some form of
lover's quarrel, and during its progress Phil was paying considerable
attention to Patty at Sabbath School and prayer-meeting, occasions, it
must be confessed, only provocative of very indirect and long-distance
advances. Cephas Cole, to the amazement of every one but his
(constitutionally) exasperated mother, was "toning down" the ell of the
family mansion, mitigating the lively yellow, and putting another fresh
coat of paint on it, for no conceivable reason save that of pleasing the
eye of a certain capricious, ungrateful young hussy, who would probably
say, when her verdict was asked, that she didn't see any particular
difference in it, one way or another.

Trade was not especially brisk at the Deacon's emporium this sunny June
Saturday morning. Cephas may have possibly lost a customer or two by
leaving the store vacant while he toiled and sweated for Miss Patience
Baxter in the stockroom at the back, overhanging the river, but no
man alive could see his employer's lovely daughter tugging at a keg of
shingle nails without trying to save her from a broken back, although
Cephas could have watched his mother move the house and barn without
feelin