a rabbit, she said. I never heard of
feeding a rabbit on cheese, did you, Ros?"

"No," I replied, laughing. It was not worth while to explain.

"Nor nobody else, but her! I guess," continued Lute, "likely she was
just jokin'. Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had some nice
print butter, just in. She didn't want no butter, though."

"Humph!" sniffed Dorinda. "Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to feed
the rabbit butter? Was the Colton girl alone?"

"No. There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin' 'em.
Carver his name is--Victor Carver. Did you ever hear such a name in your
life? Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!"

"Um-hm. Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was you.
Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about Roscoe's talk with
Mr. Colton, did you?"

"No, no! no, no! Course I didn't."

"You sure?"

"Yes. 'Taint likely I would, would I? Cap'n Jed was on hand, as usual,
and he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out of me.
'What did Colton say to Ros?' he says. 'How do I know what he said?'
says I. 'I wan't there, was I?' 'Where was you that forenoon?' he says.
'Forenoon!' says I, 'that shows how much you know about it. 'Twas three
o'clock in the afternoon.' Oh, I had the laugh on him!"

Dorinda looked at me and shook her head.

"It's too bad, Roscoe," she said. "But I was afraid of it as soon as I
found he'd sneaked off to the post-office. I cal'late it's all over town
by now."

"What do you mean by that?" Lute's dignity was outraged. "All over town!
I never told him nothin'."

"No. Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three o'clock
in the afternoon. And goodness knows how much more! DO be quiet! Seems
sometimes as if I should lose patience with you altogether. Is this
Carver the Colton girl's young man? Are they engaged?"

"I don't know. I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the looks. I
got as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much they said. Only,
just as they was goin' out, he said somethin' about goin' for a little
spin in the car. She said no, her father would want his letters. Carver,
he said, why not send Oscar home--that's the chauffeur, you know--with
the letters, and he'd run the car himself. She kind of laughed, and said
she guessed not, she'd taken one trip with him already that day and she
didn't believe she cared for another. He seemed kind of put out about
it, I thought."

I had been feelin