t a very intimate friend could
presume upon such a thing."

"And Melinda is an intimate friend," Richard answered, a little warmly,
as he left his wife, and went back to Melinda with the message, that
"some time she should be happy to make Miss Jones' acquaintance, but
to-night she really must be excused, as she was too tired to come down."

All this time Andy had been standing with his back to the fire, his
coat-skirts taken up in his arms, his light, soft hat on his head, and
his ears taking in all that was transpiring. Andy regarded his stylish
sister-in-law as a very choice gem, which was not to be handled too
roughly, but he was not afraid of her; he was seldom afraid of anybody,
and when Richard was gone, he walked boldly up to Ethelyn and said:

"I don't want to be meddlesome, but 'pears to me if you'd spoke out your
feelings to Dick, you'd said, 'Tell Melinda Jones I don't want to see
her, neither to-night nor any time.' Mebby I'm mistaken, but honest, do
you want to see Melinda?"

There was something so straightforward in his manner that, without being
the least offended, Ethelyn replied:

"No, I do not. I am sure I should not like her if she at all resembles
her brother^ that terrible Timothy."

Andy did not know that there was anything so very terrible about Tim. He
liked him, because he gave him such nice chews of tobacco, and was
always so ready to lend a helping hand in hog-killing time, or when a
horse was sick; neither had he ever heard him called Timothy before, and
the name sounded oddly, but he classed it with the fine ways of his new
sister, who called him Anderson, though he so much wished she wouldn't.
It sounded as if she did not like him; but he said nothing on that
subject now--he merely adhered to the Jones question, and without
defending Tim, replied:

"Gals are never much like their brothers, I reckon. They are softer, and
finer, and neater; leastways our Daisy was as different from us as
different could be, and Melinda is different from Tim. She's been to
Camden high-school, and has got a book that she talks French out of; and
didn't you ever see that piece she wrote about Mr. Baldwin's boy, who
fell from the top of the church when it was building, and was crushed to
death? It was printed, all in rhyme, in the Camden _Sentinel_, and Jim
has a copy of it in his wallet, 'long with a lock of Melinda's hair. I
tell you she's a team."

Andy was warming up with his subject, and finding Et