"Great old man,
your father. I've talked to him--he's a regular historical society all by
himself. Well, there must be something in it, this family business. Now,
you can tell he comes from fine old American stock-he looks it."

Janet flushed. "A lot of good it does!" she exclaimed.

"I don't know," said Ditmar. "It's something to fall back on--a good
deal. And he hasn't got any of that nonsense in his head about labour
unions--he's a straight American. And you look the part," he added. "You
remind me--I never thought of it until now--you remind me of a picture of
Priscilla I saw once in a book of poems Longfellow's, you know. I'm not
much on literature, but I remember that, and I remember thinking she
could have me. Funny isn't it, that you should have come along? But
you've got more ginger than the woman in that picture. I'm the only man
that ever guessed it isn't that so?" he asked jealously.

"You're wonderful!" retorted Janet, daringly.

"You just bet I am, or I couldn't have landed you," he asserted. "You're
chock full of ginger, but it's been all corked up. You're so prim-so
Priscilla." He was immensely pleased with the adjective he had coined,
repeating it. "It's a great combination. When I think of it, I want to
shake you, to squeeze you until you scream."

"Then please don't think of it," she said.

"That's easy!" he exclaimed, mockingly.

At a quarter to one they entered a sleepy village reminiscent of a New
England of other days. The long street, deeply shaded in summer, was
bordered by decorous homes, some of which had stood there for a century
and a half; others were of the Mansard period. The high school, of
strawberry-coloured brick, had been the pride and glory of the Kingsbury
of the '70s: there were many churches, some graceful and some hideous. At
the end of the street they came upon a common, surrounded by stone posts
and a railing, with a monument in the middle of it, and facing the common
on the north side was a rambling edifice with many white gables, in front
of which, from an iron arm on a post, swung a quaint sign, "Kingsbury
Tavern." In revolutionary and coaching days the place bad been a famous
inn; and now, thanks to the enterprise of a man who had foreseen the
possibilities of an era of automobiles, it had become even more famous. A
score of these modern vehicles were drawn up before it under the bare,
ancient elms; there was a scene of animation on the long porch, where
guests str