a, b, c philosophy when
her eyes brightened, and she sprang to her feet. Bending forward with
her hand to her ear, and then dropping her arms to her sides, she
said:--

"Adown the orchard aisles they come, methinks,--
My lord who guardest well his treasure chests,
Attended by his squire and faithful drudge,
And back to town I soon must lightly skip
Else father will be roaring for his tea."

She was, indeed, a mystifying being! It was not until the absurdity of
her last line broke upon him that he saw that this was only another side
of Phil the inexplicable. She threw up her arm and signaled to her Uncle
Amzi, who was approaching with Perry. The interruption was unwelcome. It
had been a bewildering experience to sit beside Phil on the sunny
orchard slope. He had not known that any girl could be like this.

"Do you write poetry?" he asked, from the depths of his humility.

She turned with a mockery of disdain.

"I should think you could see, Mr. Holton, that these are not singing
robes, nor is this lovely creation of a hat wrought in the similitude of
a wreath of laurel; but both speak for the plain prose of life. You
have, therefore, no reason to fear me."

In a moment they were all on their way to the house; and soon Phil and
Amzi were driving homeward.

"What was Fred Holton talking to you about?" asked Amzi, as he shook the
reins over the back of his roadster.

"He wasn't talking to me, Amy; I was talking to him. He's a nice boy."

"He doesn't run so much to gold watches and chains as the rest of 'em.
He seems to be pretty decent. Perry says he's got the right stuff in
him." And then, with more animation: "Those Holtons! Thunder!"

CHAPTER X

PHIL'S PARTY

Mr. Amzi Montgomery thought it only proper to learn all that was
possible of the affairs of his customers. This was the part of wisdom in
a cautious banker; and he was distressed when checks that were not
self-explanatory passed through the receiving-teller's window. A small
bank is a good place in which to sharpen one's detective sense. Every
check tells a story and is in some degree a clue.

No account on his bank's ledgers was more often scrutinized than that of
Nancy Bartlett, and when she deposited a draft for $2115.15, the
incident was not one to be passed lightly. No such sum had ever before
been placed to Nan's credit. He knew that she received five- and ten-
and even fifty-dollar drafts from Eastern periodicals, and he had
tou