, after she had secretly rubbed it, and held it to
the light to make sure of its quality. "I will, John, for your sake."

We were friends again; she was very sweet, and played something on the
piano, and an hour slipped away as if I were in Paradise. I rose to
go, the rain being over.

"But about that paper of fine-cut!" she said, archly, as she went into
the hall with me to get my hat; "do you chew, John?"

"No, Belle, that tobacco was for old man Perkins, as sure as I stand
here. If you don't believe me, smell my breath," said I, and I tried
to get my arm about her waist.

It was kind of dark in the hall; she did not resist so very much; my
lips were only about two inches from hers--for I wanted her to be sure
about my breath--when a voice that almost made me faint away, put a
conundrum to me:

"If you'd a kissed my girl, young man, why would it have been like a
Centennial fire-arm?"

"Because it hasn't gone off yet!" I gasped, reaching for my hat.

"Wrong," said he grimly. "Because it would have been a blunder-buss."

I reckon the squire was right.

CHAPTER III.

GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.

The Widow Jones got her stockings the next day. As I left them at the
door she stuck her head out of an upper window and said to me that
"the sewing society met at her house on Thursday afternoon, and the
men-folks was coming to tea and to spend the evening, and I must be
_sure_ an' come, or the girls would be _so_ disappointed," and she
urged and urged until I had to promise her I would attend her
sociable.

Drat all tea-parties! say I. I was never comfortable at one in my
life. If you'd give me my choice between going to a tea-party and
picking potato-bugs off the vines all alone on a hot summer day, I
shouldn't hesitate a moment between the two. I should choose the bugs;
and I can't say I fancy potato-bugs, either.

On Wednesday I nearly killed an old lady, putting up tartar-emetic for
cream-tartar. If she'd eaten another biscuit made with it she'd have
died and I'd have been responsible--and father was really vexed and
said I might be a light-house keeper as quick as I pleased; but by
that time I felt as if I couldn't keep a light-house without Belle
Marigold to help me, and so I promised to be more careful, and kept
on clerking.

The thermometer stood at eighty degrees in the shade when I left the
store at five o'clock Thursday afternoon to go to that infallible
tea-party. I was glad the day was warm, for