k that?" again demanded Amy, now laughing; for she had
just imagined what her mother's face would express, should her daughter
become a part of a "parade."

"Oh! because."

Pepita now took share in the conversation. "Br-r-rr-a-y! Ah-huh-um-umph!
Ah-umph--u-m-ph--ah-umph--umph--mph--ph--h-h-h!" she observed.

Never was a remark more felicitous. The lad threw himself down on the
grass, laughing boisterously. Amy joined, in natural reaction from her
former fear, and even the "Californian" helped on the fun by observing
them with an absurdly injured expression.

"She is funny, I admit; though she is as nothing compared to her
brother Balaam. If you like that kind of music, you should hear their
duet about breakfast time. Which is the shortest way to some real road?"

"Come on. I'll show you."

"Thank you; and, you are so tall, would you mind getting me that bunch
of yellow leaves--just there? They are so very, very lovely I'd like to
take them home to put in father's studio."

"What's that? Where's it at? Who are you, anyhow?"

"Amy Kaye."

"I'm 'Bony,'--Bonaparte Lafayette Jimpson. Who's he?"

"My father is Cuthbert Kaye, the artist. Maybe you know him. He is
always discovering original people."

The speech was out before she realized that it was not especially
flattering. Her father liked novel models, and she had imagined how her
new acquaintance would look as a "study." Then she reflected that the
lad was not as pleasing as he was "original."

"No. I don't know him. He don't live in the village, I 'low?"

"Of course not. We live at Fairacres. It has been our home, our family's
home, for two hundred years."

"Sho! You don't look it. An' you needn't get mad, if it has. I ain't
made you mad, have I? I'd like to ride that critter. I'd like to, first
rate."

Amy flushed, ashamed of her indignation against such an unfortunate
object, and replied:--

"I'd like to have you 'first rate,' too, if Pepita is willing. You get
on her back and show me which way to go, and I'll try to make her behave
well. I have some sugar left. That turning? All right. See, Pepita,
pretty Pepita! Smell what's in my fingers, amiable. Then follow me, and
we'll see what--we shall see."

"Bony" was much impressed by Amy's stratagem of walking ahead of the
burro with the lump of sugar held temptingly just beyond reach. For the
girl knew that the "Californian" would pursue the enticing titbit to the
sweetest end.

Yet this end seeme