ake my motive, and----"

"What? suspect you of being----"

"A girl of the true stuff!"

"O but, sweet, how could he?"

As they laughed Fannie generously prepared to keep her guess to herself,
and to imply, still more broadly, that all she imputed to her friend was
the determination secretly to circumvent a father's evil designs.

Barbara roused from a reverie. "I know who'll help us, Fan,--Mr. Fair."
She withstood her companion's roguish look with one of caressing gravity
until the companion spoke, when she broke into a smile as tranquil as a
mother's.

"Barb, Barb, you deep-dyed villain!"

The only reply of the defendant--they were once more in the shady
lane--was to give her accuser a touch of challenge, and the two sprang
up a short acclivity to where a longer vista opened narrowly before
them. But here, as if rifles had been aimed at them, they shrank
instantly downward. For in the dim sylvan light two others walked slowly
before them, their heads hidden by the evergreen branches, but their
feet perfectly authenticated and as instantly identified. One pair were
twos, one were elevens, and both belonged to the Committee on
Decorations. An arm that by nature pertained unto the elevens was about
the waist that pertained unto the twos, and at the moment of discovery,
as well as could be judged by certain sinuosities of lines below, there
was a distance between the two pairs of lips less than any assignable
quantity.

XLVII.

LEVITICUS

The two maidens were still laughing as they re-entered their gate.
Fannie threw an arm sturdily around her companion's waist and sought to
repeat the pantomime, but checked herself at the sight of a buggy
drawing near.

It was old, misshapen, and caked with wet and dry mud, as also was the
mule which drew it. In the vehicle sat three persons. Two were negro
women. One of them--of advanced years--was in a full bloom of crisp
calico under a flaring bonnet which must have long passed its teens. The
other was young and very black. She wore a tawdry hat that only helped
to betray her general slovenliness. From between them a negro man was
rising and dismounting. A wide-brimmed, crackled beaver rested on his
fluffy gray locks, and there was the gentleness of old age in his face.

The spring sap seemed to have started anew in the elder woman's veins.
She tittered as she scrambled to rise, and when the old man offered to
help her, she eyed him with mock scorn and waved him