r I have no
will of my own. I borrow all from you. I cannot say 'no' when you wish
'yes'; I cannot say 'yes' when you wish 'no.' I fear you will despise
me, I am so cheap; but I am as I am, and it is your fault that I have so
many faults. You have made me what I am. Will it not be wonderful, Dic,
if I, who clung to your finger in my babyhood, should be led by your
hand from my cradle to--to my grave? I have never in all my life, Dic,
known any real help but yours--and some from Billy Little. So you see my
dependence upon you is excusable, and you cannot think less of me
because I am so weak." She looked up to him with a tearful smile in
which the past and the future contributed each its touch of sadness.

"Rita, come to the house this instant!" called Mrs. Bays (to Dic her
voice sounded like a broken string in Billy Little's piano).

Dic and Rita went to the house, and Mrs. Bays, pointing majestically to
a chair, said to her daughter:--

"Now, you sit there, and if you move, off to bed you go." The threat was
all-sufficient.

Dic sat upon the edge of the porch thinking of St. George and the
dragon, and tried to work his courage up to the point of attack. He
talked ramblingly for a while to Mr. Bays; then, believing his courage
in proper form, he turned to that gentleman's better nine-tenths and
boldly began:--

"I want Rita, Mrs. Bays. I know I am not worthy of her" (here the girl
under discussion flashed a luminous glance of flat contradiction at the
speaker), "and I know I am asking a great deal, but--but--" But the
boldness had evaporated along with the remainder of what he had to say,
for with Dic's first words Justice dropped her knitting to her lap, took
off her glasses, and gazed at the unfortunate malefactor with an
injured, fixed, and icy stare. Dic retired in disorder; but he soon
rallied his forces and again took up the battle.

"I'm going to New York in a few days," he said. "I will not be home till
November. I have Rita's promise. I can, if I must, be satisfied with
that; but I should like your consent before I go." Brave words, those,
to the dragoness of Justice. But she did not even look at the
presumptuous St. George. She was, as Justice should be, blind. Likewise
she appeared to be deaf.

"May I have your consent, Mr. Bays?" asked Dic, after a long pause,
turning to Rita's father.

"Yes," he replied, "yes, Dic, I will be glad--" Justice at the moment
recovered sight and hearing, and gazed ston