h Man dove into the Lilac Bush!

When the Rich Man was all through diving into the Lilac Bush he seemed
to think that he was the only one present who hadn't done anything!

"What you so scared about, Ruthy?" he said. "What's the matter with
everybody? Who's the Bloke?"

"It's the New Minister," I said.

"Has he got the Cholera or anything?" said the Rich Man.

"No, not exactly," I explained. "He's just our Aunt Esta's Suitor!"

"Your Aunt Esta's _Suitor_?" cried the Rich Man. "_Suitor?_" He clapped
his hand over his mouth. He burst a safety-pin that helped lash the
plaid shawl around him. "What do you mean,--_'Suitor?'_" he said.

It seemed queer he was so stupid.

"Why a Suitor," I explained, "is a Person Who Doesn't Suit--so he keeps
right on coming most every day to see if he does! As soon as he suits,
of course, he's your husband and doesn't come any more at all--because
he's already there! The New Minister," I explained very patiently, "is a
Suitor for our Aunt Esta's hand!"

We crawled through the Lilac Bush. We peeped out.

Our Aunt Esta hadn't reached the back door at all. She sat all huddled
up in a little heap on the embankment trying to keep the New Minister
from seeing that she was in her stocking-feet. But the New Minister
didn't seem to see anything at all except her hands. Being a Suitor for
her hands it was natural, I suppose, that he wasn't interested in
anything except her hands. Her hands were on her hair. The scraggly gray
wig had rumpled all the seriousness out of her hair. It looked quite
jolly. The New Minister stared! And stared! And stared! Except for
having no lovingness in them, her hands looked _very_ much like my
Mother's.

"Our Aunt Esta's got--nice hands," I said.

The Rich Man burst another safety pin.

"Yes, by Jove," he said. "And nice feet, too!" He seemed quite
surprised. "How long's this minister fellow been coming here?" he said.

"Oh, I don't know," I said. "He comes whenever our Aunt Esta comes."

The Rich Man made a grunt. He looked at the Minister's hat.

"Think of courting a woman," he said, "in a hat like that!"

"Oh, our Aunt Esta doesn't care anything at all about hats," I said.

"It's time she did!" said the Rich Man.

"We'll go out if you say so," I suggested, "and help them have a
pleasant time."

The Rich Man was awful mad. He pointed at his plaid shawl! He pointed at
his black face!

"_What?_" he said. "Go out like _this_? And make a fool of mys