ity was offended. Anything
approaching a slur upon her beloved uncles, or their place of business,
or South Harniss, or the Cape Cod people, she resented with all her
might. Her eyes snapped.

"I do not HAVE to keep store at any time," she said crisply, "in the
country or elsewhere. I do it because I wish to and I shall continue to
do it as long as I choose. If my friends do not understand that fact and
appreciate my reasons, they are not my friends, that is all."

Crawford threw up both hands. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "Don't shoot; I'll
come down! Great Scott! If you take a fellow's head off like that when
he pays you a compliment what would you do if he dared to criticize?"

"Was that remark of yours intended as a compliment?"

"Not exactly; more as a statement of fact. I meant--I meant--Oh, come
now, Mary! You know perfectly well what I meant. Own up."

Mary tried hard to be solemn and severe, but the twinkle in his eye was
infectious and in spite of her effort her lips twitched.

"Own up, now," persisted Crawford. "You know what I meant. Now, don't
you?"

"Well--well, I suppose I do. But I think the remark was a very silly
one. That is the way Sam Keith talks."

"Eh? Oh, does he!"

"Yes. Or he would if I would let him. And he does it much better than
you do."

"Well, I like that!"

"I don't. That is why I don't want you to do it. I expect you to be
more sensible. And, besides, I won't have you or anyone making fun of my
uncles' store."

"Making fun of it! I should say not! I have a vivid and most respectful
memory of it, as you ought to know. By the way, you told me your uncles
had sent you their photographs. May I see them?"

Mary brought the photographs from her room. They had been taken by the
photographer at Ostable in compliance with what amounted to an order
on her part, and the results showed two elderly martyrs dressed in
respectable but uncomfortable Sunday clothes and apparently awaiting
execution. On the back of one mournful exhibit was written, "Mary
Augusta from Uncle Shadrach," and on the other, "Uncle Zoeth to Mary
Augusta, with much love."

"Now, don't laugh," commanded Mary, as she handed the photographs to
Crawford. "I know they are funny, but if you laugh I'll never forgive
you. The poor dears had them taken expressly to please me, and I am
perfectly sure either would have preferred having a tooth out. They ARE
the best men in the world and I am more certain of it every day."

Cra