hoved the stone
back over the violated vault.

A shadow fell upon the white sand. Looking up, I saw a young gentleman
in the door of the summer-house, smiling down at me. At the first glance
I took him for my cousin Burwell, who was at home on his vacation. A
second undeceived me. I scrambled to my feet and stared hard at the
stranger who stood with his hands behind him, still smiling, but not
saying a word. He was nattily dressed in a blue cloth coat and trousers,
and a white waistcoat. A white satin stock of the latest style encircled
a slender neck; he wore shiny boots, a leghorn hat was set jauntily
above a crop of black curls. I was never shy, having been accustomed
from my birth to meeting strangers and to "entertaining company" when
called upon to do so. Yet I was strangely embarrassed by the merry eyes
fixed silently upon me.

"How do you do, sir!" I said, dropping a little courtesy, as well-bred
children still did in that part of the civilized world.

Still without speaking, the stranger drew nearer and stooped to kiss me.
This was going several steps too far. I clapped one hand over my mouth
and pushed him away with the other.

"Cousin Molly Belle! _oh_, Cousin Molly Belle!" I screamed between my
fingers.

She was the only member of the family at home, my uncle, aunt, and their
two sons having gone on an all-day visit to a plantation some miles
away.

"Why, Namesake! don't you know me?"

Her voice answered in my very ear, her arm held me as I ceased
struggling.

I laughed like a mad thing in the excess of my relief and surprise, and
when she sat down, I climbed to her knee for a good look at her
disguise.

"Cousin Burwell's clothes!" I said analytically. "And his hat. But your
hair is black."

She lifted the hat to show that she had on a black wig.

"It belonged to poor Grandpapa when he was young. He had a fever and his
head was shaved. I found it in a box on the top shelf of mother's
closet, and tried it on just for fun. I liked myself so well in the
glass that I thought I'd see how I would have looked if Burwell had been
the girl, and I the boy. I know now that I ought to have been. I mean to
be--just for fun--until they all come home. I'm in exactly the humor to
do something outrageous. I'm tired to death of everyday doings and
everyday people, and my everyday self. You and I are going to have a
real spree, a glorious frolic, and nobody else is to know a single
thing about it. Flora" (her m