onversation. At dinner
she found herself unable to do so. The Philosopher and the Skeptic were
too much occupied with Grandmother to be able to attend to Rhodora,
beyond lending a polite ear to her remarks now and then and immediately
afterward returning to the elderly guest. Grandmother was really a most
interesting talker when occasion required it of her, as it certainly did
now. We were all charmed with her clever way of putting things, her
shrewd observation, her knowledge of and interest in affairs in general.

After dinner the Philosopher escorted her out to her chair on the porch.
The Skeptic sat down beside the Gay Lady on a wide, wooden settle close
by, and both listened, smiling, to the discussion which had arisen
between Grandmother and the Philosopher. It was well worth listening to.
The Philosopher, while wholly deferential, held his ground staunchly,
but Grandmother worsted him in the end. Her cheeks grew pink, her black
eyes shone. It was a captivating spectacle.

I called Rhodora's attention to it. Finding nobody else to do her honour
she had entered into conversation with the Lad. Both looked up as I
spoke to them.

"Yes, isn't she great!" agreed the Lad softly. "Nicest old lady I
ever saw."

"It's too exciting for her, I should say," commented her granddaughter.
"I didn't think she ought to come. I could have come alone just as
well--I'd a good deal rather. She's getting pretty old."

The Skeptic and the Philosopher each did his duty by Rhodora before the
evening was over. The Skeptic played four sets of tennis with her--she
is an admirable player--but he beat her until he discovered that she was
growing very much annoyed--then he allowed her to win the last set by a
game. The Lad, who was watching the bout, announced it to me under his
breath with a laugh. Then the Philosopher took Rhodora through the
garden and over the place generally.

"I think you should have a shawl about your shoulders, Rhodora," said
Grandmother, when the girl and the Philosopher had returned and taken
their seats upon the steps of the porch. The twilight had fallen, and
the Gay Lady had just wrapped Grandmother in a light garment of her own.

Rhodora shrugged her shoulders. "Heavens, no!" she ejaculated. "Old
people are always fussing," she remarked, in a slightly lower tone to
the Philosopher. "Because she's frozen is no reason why I should be."

"One could almost pretend to be frozen to please her," returned the
Phi