do? I had to laugh
myself, since I must not choke the turkeys.

"Excuse me, Cousin Sam," said Kate, in a laughter-wearied tone, "I
could not help it; turkeys and sentimentality do not agree--always!"
adding the last word maliciously, as I sprang out to open the
farm-house gate, and disclosed Melindy, framed in the buttery window,
skimming milk; a picture worthy of Wilkie. I delivered over my
captives to Joe, and stalked into the kitchen to give Mrs. Bemont's
message. Melindy came out; but as soon as I began to tell her mother
where I got that message, Miss Melindy, with the _sang froid_ of
a duchess, turned back to her skimming,--or appeared to. I gained
nothing by that move.

Peggy and Peter received us benignly; so universal a solvent is
success, even in turkey-hunting! I meant to have gone down to the
farm-house after tea, and inquired about the safety of my prizes, but
Kate wanted to play chess. Peter couldn't, and Peggy wouldn't; I had
to, of course, and we played late. Kate had such pretty hands; long
taper fingers, rounded to the tiniest rosy points; no dimples, but
full muscles, firm and exquisitely moulded; and the dainty way in
which she handled her men was half the game to me;--I lost it; I
played wretchedly. The next day Kate went with me to see the turkeys;
so she did the day after. We were forgetting Melindy, I am afraid, for
it was a week before I remembered I had promised her a new magazine. I
recollected myself; then, with a sort of shame, rolled up the number,
and went off to the farm-house. It seems Kate was there, busy in the
garret, unpacking a bureau that had been stored there, with some of
Peggy's foreign purchases, for summer wear, in the drawers. I did not
know that. I found Melindy spreading yeast-cakes to dry on a table,
just by the north end of the house; a hop-vine in full blossom made a
sort of porch-roof over the window by which she stood.

"I've brought your book, Melindy," said I.

"Thank you, sir," returned she, crisply.

"How pretty you look to-day." condescendingly remarked I.

"I don't thank you for that, sir;--

"'Praise to the face
Is open disgrace!'"

was all the response.

"Why, Melindy! what makes you so cross?" inquired I, in a tone meant
to be tenderly reproachful,--in the mean time attempting to possess
myself of her hand; for, to be honest, Polder, I had been a little
sweet to the girl before Kate drove her out of my head. The hand was
snatched aw