faretta," she said cheerily, "and I
think it would be nice to let the nasturtiums run over that log, don't
you? And you must plant these morning-glory seeds around the kitchen
windows." Suddenly she noticed that Alfaretta, instead of listening, was
gazing down the road, and her round freckled face flushing hotly.

"He sha'n't come in," she muttered,--"he sha'n't come in!" and dropping
the hammer, and the box of tacks, and the big ball of twine, she hurried
to the gate, her rough hands clinched into two sturdy fists.

Helen looked towards the road, and saw Mr. Dean come stiffly up to the
gate, for lumbago was not altogether a memory. Alfaretta reached it as he
did, and as she stooped to lean her elbows on its top bar she slipped the
latch inside.

"Alfaretta," said her father pompously, "open the gate, if you please."
As he spoke, he rapped upon it with his heavy stick, and the little latch
clattered and shook.

"Were you coming to see me, pa?" the girl asked nervously. "I--I'm busy
this morning. It's my night out, so I'll see you this evenin'."

"Yes, I'll see you," returned Mr. Dean significantly, "but not now. I
didn't come to see you now; I'm here to see the preacher, Alfaretta.
Come, don't keep me out here in the sun," he added impatiently, shaking
the gate again.

"I guess he's too busy to see you this morning,--he's awful busy."

"I guess he's not too busy to see me," said the elder.

Alfaretta's face was white now, but she still stood barring the gateway.
"Well, you can't see him, anyhow;" her voice had begun to tremble, and
Mrs. Ward, who had joined them, said, with a surprised look,--

"Why, what do you mean, Alfaretta? Of course Mr. Ward will see your
father. I hope your lumbago is better, Elder Dean?"

Mr. Dean did not notice her question. "Certainly he will see me. Come,
now, open the gate; be spry."

"You can't see him!" cried Alfaretta, bursting into tears. "I say he
won't see you, so there!"

Her mistress looked at her in astonishment, but her father put his big
hand over the gate, and, wrenching the little latch open, strode up to
the front door of the parsonage.

Helen and her maid looked at each other; Alfaretta's face working
convulsively to keep back the tears, and her mistress's eyes full of
disapproval.

"Why did you say that, Alfaretta?" she said. "It was not true; you knew
Mr. Ward could see your father." Then she turned back to her planting.

Alfaretta followed her, and, kneeli