Gilbert had noticed, but when she was amused
her eyes danced. They were sparklingly radiant now.

He felt his face growing hot. "I--I----" he began.

"Oh, never mind," she cried, and this time she permitted her lips to
join her eyes in a smile. "Don't apologize. I know why he did it.
He's so transparent, poor lad. I knew last night, when he went over to
see you, that he had some tremendous scheme on foot."

"But you are not going to punish me for his sins, surely?" said
Gilbert, recovering. "If you knew with how much pleasure I grasped the
opportunity you would come. Won't you?"

"Oh, yes," she answered frankly. "It would be too bad to spoil poor
Malc's happy day; and besides," she added, with a return of her grave
dignity, "I am sure I shall enjoy the drive, thank you."

Gilbert felt strangely grateful. The girl always made him feel as
though she were immeasurably above him. "Because she really is, I
suppose," he concluded, as he watched her, and thought of all she was
sacrificing, silently, for the careless, happy boy walking so gaily
ahead. Yes, she was very noble, he confessed. And then he sighed, he
did not know why.

They squeezed their way into the building and passed slowly around.
The long tables were piled with every sort of work that a woman's
needle might encompass, and while the two girls examined each exhibit
minutely, going into raptures over this or that, the two young men
gazed vacantly about in weary bewilderment. There were doilies and
tidies and pillow-covers of all patterns, crocheted lace and knitted
lace and lace made every other way. There was painting on china and
satin and velvet and silk and every other known fabric, and the walls
were hung with homespun blankets, quilts and floor rugs.

Notwithstanding the growing display and keen competition that each
successive fair brought, there were those who had been winners of first
prizes ever since the Elmbrook show was instituted, and would probably
always be. The Elmbrook prize-list was a stable institution, and if
any one but Ella Anne Long should have taken first for managing a
horse, or Bella Winters for painting apple blossoms on white velvet, or
old Miss McQuarry for bread and butter, all Oro would have felt uneasy,
and folks would have begun to doubt the stability of the British Empire.

For example, there was Mrs. Spectacle John Cross's quilt. It had taken
first prize for the last ten years, and was likely to do so fo