re was guests there, too--look at the cars standing
out there. They was holding some kind of a party--bridge, like enough.
Oh, whatever shall we do!"

"Come here, Peanut," says Old Man Wright; which Peanut jumps up on his
lap then. "Have something on the house," says he; "and if that dog comes
over in here eat him up!"

Peanut understands this perfect, and he goes to the window and tries to
get out, and barks until you could hear him a block.

"That is some dog, sis," says her pa. "It looks like, anyhow, some of
our family has broke into polite society for once. Come here, pup!" And
he pats Peanut on the head and laughs like he is going to die over it.
But not Bonnie Bell!

There was a awful silence come in between them two big houses after
that. There wasn't anything that we seen fit to say and they didn't pay
no attention to us. Their hired man--that worked round the back yard
sometimes in overalls and a sweater--he sometimes walks out in the yard
with their collie, but he takes mighty good care to keep on his own side
of the fence.

It was getting spring by now--sort of raw weather once in a while; but
the grass was getting green, and some of Bonnie Bell's flowers she had
planted was beginning to show up through the ground, and once in a while
she would go out, in old clothes mostly, with maybe a cap and a apern
and fuss round with her flowers. She wouldn't never look across at the
Wisner house.

Their hired man that taken care of their dog was the one that taken care
of their flowers, same as she did of ours. One morning it seems like,
not noticing each other, they was working along kind of close to the
fence, not far apart from each other, and all at once he stands up and
sees her.

"Good morning!" says he, which Bonnie Bell couldn't help.

She looks up and sees him standing there, with his hat in his hand,
respectful enough; and, since he was only one of their hired people, her
not feeling any way but friendly to anybody on earth that is halfway
decent to her, she says:

"Good morning! I see you're fixing your flowers too."

"Yes," says he; "these crocuses will soon be out. What color is yours?"

"All sorts," says she; "and I do hope they'll all do well."

"I'd be glad to be of any help I could," says he.

"Well, that's kind of you," says she; "you, being a gardener, know more
about these things than I do." About then this here collie dog comes up
to where he is standing.

"Oh, goodness!" says Bo