t was quite jolly
about it. She never "dewied" any, but kept laughing all the time. And
if it had not been for thinking about Elsie and my father, she would
have got a fellow to like her in time. She was the right sort. But
the funny thing was, that of the two Elsie rather took to Constantia.
She never could abide Harriet. Now, I was quite different.

Now, I know all this about girls' likes and dislikes is as tangled as
can be. I asked Mr. Ablethorpe about it once. And he let on that he
understood all about it; but when I asked him to explain, he said that
he was bound by the "professional secret."

Which was all right, as a way of getting out of it. But as for
understanding about girls, and what they like and don't, that was more
than a bit of a stretcher, if one may say such a thing of a parson.

Well, on Friday morning, as I was coming down from my room, ready to go
out and meet Elsie, just at the corner where stood the clock--which, as
the books say, has been previously referred to in these memoirs--I came
on Harriet rigged out in the smartest little dusting dress--the kind of
thing that costs three shillings to buy and three pounds to make. She
had her sleeves rolled up, because her arms were dimply, and she was
sweeping crumbs into a dustpan. There had not been a crumb in that
spot to my knowledge for ten years, but that made no matter. She was
just tatteringly pretty--yes, and smart. I like that sort of girl,
nearly as much as I dislike a loll-about,
siesta-with-ten-cushions-and-a-spaniel girl--I mean Constantia.

Well, up jumps Harriet from her knees--quite taken aback she was--and
makes believe to roll down her sleeves; but with a dustpan and a
crumb-brush, of course you can't. And so she said--

"Do them for me."

And what was a fellow to do? He can't say "No," and look a fool--feel
one, too! So I up and did it--rolled the sleeves both down, slow
movement, and slid in the buttons careful--at least, I thought so. But
not, as it seemed, careful enough for Harriet. For in getting the
second button at the wrist through the buttonhole I took up a bit of
the skin, and then, if you please, there was a hullabaloo. You never
did see! I expected mother or Constantia every minute. Harriet
pretended that it hurt, and that I had done it on purpose. Silly! If
I had wanted to do anything to her on purpose, it wouldn't have been a
footy little thing like that. Oh, no! I'd have given her something