tied a large bow of satin
ribbon of a convivial shade of heliotrope. Opening this box she handed
it about, commanding, "Help yourself."

At first it was considered refined to refuse. One or two excursionists,
awed by the superfluity of heliotrope ribbon, said feebly, "Don't rob
yourself."

But Mrs. Tuttle met this restraint with practised raillery. "What you
all afraid of? It ain't poisoned! I got more where this come from." She
turned to the younger people. "Come one, come all! It's French-mixed."

Meanwhile Mrs. Bean and Mrs. Tinneray, still aloof and enigmatic, paced
the deck. Mrs. Tuttle, blue feathers streaming, teetered on her high
heels in their direction. Again she proffered the box. One of the
cynical youths with the ivory-headed canes was following her, demanding
that the parrot be fed a caramel. Once more the sky-blue figure bent
over the ornate cage; then little Mrs. Bean looked at Mrs. Tinneray with
a gesture of utter repudiation.

"Ain't she _terrible_?"

As the steamboat approached the wharf and the dwarf pines and yellow
sand-banks of Chadwick's Landing, a whispered consultation between these
two ladies resulted in one desperate attempt to probe the heart of Mabel
Hutch that was. Drawing camp-stools up near the vicinity of the parrot's
cage, they began with what might to a suspicious nature have seemed
rather pointed speculation, to wonder who might or might not be at the
wharf when the _Fall of Rome_ got in.

Once more the bottle of cologne was produced and handkerchiefs genteelly
dampened. Mrs. Bean, taking off her green glasses, polished them and
held them up to the light, explaining, "This here sea air makes 'em all
of a muck."

Suddenly she leaned over to Mrs. Tuttle with an air of sympathetic
interest.

"I suppose--er--your sister Hetty'll be comin' on board when we get to
Chadwick's Landing--her and her husband?"

Mrs. Tuttle fidgeted. She covered Romeo's cage with a curious
arrangement like an altar-cloth on which gay embroidered parrakeets of
all colors were supposed to give Romeo, when lonely, a feeling of
congenial companionship.

Mrs. Bean, thus evaded, screwed up her eyes tight, then opened them wide
at Mrs. Tinneray, who sat rigid, her gaze riveted upon far-off horizons,
humming between long sighs a favorite hymn. Finally, however, the
last-named lady leaned past Mrs. Bean and touched Mrs. Turtle's silken
knee, volunteering,

"Your sister Hetty likes the water, I know. You r