nly has not turned her motherly head. Of
course, she is a little woman. Huge men such as Harding invariably
select dolls of women for helpmates. She is round, smiling, pretty, and
thoughtful, and I like her immensely.

We were approaching the Bishop place. The orchard trees were covered
with fruit. Some of the tomatoes showed the red of their fat cheeks
through the green of their foliage. Miss Lawrence had started with
LaHume, but under some pretext left him and was with Carter and Miss
Harding, and I doubt if Carter was pleased with that evidence of his
popularity. LaHume walked with Miss Ross and talked and laughed, but I
could see he was angry.

It suddenly occurred to me that Miss Lawrence would probably meet
Bishop's hired man, Wallace, and I presume LaHume was thinking of the
same thing. It was apparent they had quarrelled over something.

Marshall and Chilvers were together, their wives trailing on behind, as
usual. The way these two married men neglect these lovely women makes me
angry every time I am out with them, but the ladies do not seem to care,
and I presume it is none of my business.

Harding walked with everybody, and was happy as a lark. He threw stones
at a telegraph pole, and was in ecstasy when a lucky shot shivered one
of the glass insulators.

"How was that for a shot, mother?" he shouted, as the glass came flying
down. "Hav'n't hit one of those since I was fourteen years old. Say, I
wish I was fourteen years old now, barefooted, and sitting on the bank
of that creek catching shiners."

"I wouldn't throw any more stones, Robert," Mrs. Harding said, laying
her hand on his arm and looking up to his happy face. "The last time you
threw stones you were lame for a week, and I had to rub you with
arnica."

"But think of the fun I had," he said, and then he went back and told
Marshall and Chilvers some yarn which must have been very amusing from
the way they laughed.

I had been praising the beauties of the country around Woodmere, and
asked Mrs. Harding how she liked the club house, and if she were
enjoying her summer there.

"I would enjoy it much better," she said, "if I did not know that I
should be home."

"I presume you feel that you are neglecting your social duties," I
ventured.

"Social fiddlesticks," she laughed. "I should be home canning tomatoes
and putting up fruit. We won't have a thing in the house fit to eat all
next winter."

"But the servants," I began. "The servants---