ried her over. Well, Black-Eyes began to scold, and so,
at last, she ventured across, and then she said she was tired and
thirsty, and did wish she had a glass of milk; and so I asked her to
go to the house, and rest a few minutes, and Aunt Jerusha would give
them some milk. You'd better believe aunt opened her eyes, when she
saw me marching in as bold as brass, with two stylish young ladies;
while, the moment I met her sly look, all my customary confusion--over
which I had contrived to hold a tight rein--ran rampant and jerked at
my self-possession until I lost control of it!

"These young ladies, Aunt Jerusha," I stammered, "would like a glass
of milk. They've got lost, and don't know where they are, and can't
find their way back, and I expect I'll have to show them the way."

"They're very welcome," said aunt, who was kindness itself, and she
went into the milk-pantry and brought out two large goblets of
morning's milk, with the rising cream sticking around the inside.

I started forward gallantly, took the server from aunt's hand, and
conveyed it, with almost the grace of a French waiter, across the
large kitchen to where the two beautiful beings were resting in the
chairs which I had set for them. Unfortunately, being blinded by my
bashfulness, I caught my toe in a small hole in aunt's rag carpet, the
result being that I very abruptly deposited both glasses of milk,
bottom up, in the lap of Blue-Eyes. A feeling of horror overpowered me
as I saw that exquisite toilet in ruins--those dainty ruffles, those
cunning bows the color of her eyes, submerged in the lacteal fluid.

I think a ghastly pallor must have overspread my face as I stood
motionless, grasping the server in my clenched hands.

What do you think Blue-Eyes said? _This_ is the way she "gave me
fits." Looking up prettily to my aunt, she says:

"Oh, madam, I am _so_ sorry for your carpet."

"Your dress!" exclaimed Aunt Jerusha.

"Never mind _that_, madam. It can go to the laundry."

"Well, I never!" continued aunt, flying about for a towel, and wiping
her off as well as she could; "but John Flutter is so careless. He's
_always_ blundering. He means well enough, but he's bashful. You'd
think a clerk in a dry-goods store would get over it some time now,
wouldn't you? Well, young ladies, I'll get some more milk for you; but
I won't trust it in _his_ hands."

When Aunt Jerusha let the cat out of the bag about my bashfulness,
Blue-Eyes flashed, at me f