y Grey paid the penalty of the white lie, and
smoked cubebs until everything around him grew black except the stars
which danced before his eyes, and he was so dizzy he could scarcely
stand.

The day passed rapidly, and both Jack and Grey enjoyed it immensely,
especially the latter, who conducted himself as if he were perfectly at
home and had known Bessie all his life.

After the dinner, which proved a great success, except that it was not
served, as Neil would like to have had it, by liveried servants instead
of the hobbling Dorothy. Bessie announced her intention of washing the
dishes to save the tired old woman's feet.

"Nonsense, Bessie," Neil said to her, in an aside "You surely will not
do that before Jack and Grey; besides, so much dishwater will spoil your
hands, which are red enough now."

But Bessie cared more for Dorothy than for her hands, and proceeded with
her dishwashing, while Grey insisted upon helping her.

"I know how to wipe dishes. I've done it many a time for Aunt Hannah,"
he said, while Jack proffered his assistance so earnestly that the two
were soon habited in long kitchen aprons, that of Grey's having a bib,
which Bessie herself pinned upon his shoulders, standing on tiptoe to do
it, her bright hair almost touching his moustache, and her fingers, as
they moved upon his coat, sending strange little thrills through every
nerve in his body.

What sport they had, and how awkwardly they handled the silver and the
china, Jack assuming the Irish brogue he knew so well, and Grey the
Yankee dialect, with the nasal twang, which nearly drove Bessie into
hysterics, and made Archie laugh as he had not laughed in years.

Neil was disgusted, and thought the whole a most undignified proceeding,
and wondered what his mother and Blanche would say could they see it,
and if, after all, he had not made a mistake in coming to Stoneleigh
instead of going with them. He changed his mind, however, when, after
the dishwashing was over, and the aprons discarded, and the Irish brogue
and Yankee dialect dropped, he was alone a moment with Bessie, who came
shyly up to him, and laying her hand, red with dishwater, on his arm,
said to him, softly:

"Are you sick, that you seem so sober?"

"No," he replied, taking her hand in his, and drawing her closely to
him, with his arm around her, "I am not sick, but I cannot enjoy
myself--in just the way--Trevellian and Jerrold do. I think them rather
too free and easy for st