as day! And if you will let an M.P. kiss you on the
doorstep in glaring moonlight, you must expect to be seen."

"I wouldn't have cared if there had been a dozen onlookers," said Aunt
Beatrice frankly, "and I don't believe he would either."

Margaret threw up her hands. "Well, my conscience is clear, at least.
And remember, Aunt Beatrice, I'm to be bridesmaid--I insist upon that.
And, oh, won't you ask me to visit you when you go down to Ottawa next
winter? I'm told it's such a jolly place when the House is in session.
And you'll need somebody to help you entertain, you know. The wife of
a cabinet minister has to do lots of that. But I forgot--he isn't a
cabinet minister yet. But he will be, of course. Promise that you'll
have me, Aunt Beatrice, promise quick. I hear Uncle George and Aunt
Bella coming."

Aunt Beatrice promised. Margaret flew to the door.

"You'd better keep that dress," she called back softly, as she opened
it.

The Running Away of Chester

Chester did the chores with unusual vim that night. His lips were set
and there was an air of resolution as plainly visible on his small,
freckled face as if it had been stamped there. Mrs. Elwell saw him
flying around, and her grim features took on a still grimmer
expression.

"Ches is mighty lively tonight," she muttered. "I s'pose he's in a gog
to be off on some foolishness with Henry Wilson. Well, he won't, and
he needn't think it."

Lige Barton, the hired man, also thought this was Chester's purpose,
but he took a more lenient view of it than did Mrs. Elwell.

"The little chap is going through things with a rush this evening," he
reflected. "Guess he's laying out for a bit of fun with the Wilson
boy."

But Chester was not planning anything connected with Henry Wilson, who
lived on the other side of the pond and was the only chum he
possessed. After the chores were done, he lingered a little while
around the barns, getting his courage keyed up to the necessary pitch.

Chester Stephens was an orphan without kith or kin in the world,
unless his father's stepsister, Mrs. Harriet Elwell, could be called
so. His parents had died in his babyhood, and Mrs. Elwell had taken
him to bring up. She was a harsh woman, with a violent temper, and she
had scolded and worried the boy all his short life. Upton people said
it was a shame, but nobody felt called upon to interfere. Mrs. Elwell
was not a person one would care to make an enemy of.

She eyed Ches