t slide down him to the floor. Now, a month
ago, I would rather have had anything happen to me than to sit in the
presence of Mr. Douglass Byrd, but all that reverential awe has
gone--changed, the awe gone and only reverence left. As we feared, he
has bought the new spring clothes, but we see no alarming signs of
affection toward Helena Kirby yet developed by them. How magnificent
he is in them, is beyond my pen to describe to you, Louise.

"What has Miss Belle done that needs an expression of appreciation on
just this particular day of May?" he asked, with that delightful
interest he always shows in all of us--Roxanne's friends.

And while it is trying in a way to girls whose dresses are still just
at their shoe tops to be called "Miss," we never resent it from him,
because it denotes real respect and not teasing like it does from some
of our friends and older relations. It is a very thin line that
separates ridicule from affectionate interest in girls of our age, but
he is always on the right side.

"The reason Phyllis wants to do something nice for Belle is that she
has the kind of disposition that requires more to make her a friend
than the rest of us. It has to be something that will shock her into
seeing how fond of her Phyllis is." Roxanne's explanation was so well
expressed that the Idol saw the point and reason immediately.

"You want to throw a kind of bombshell friendship into the camp of her
prejudices, Miss Phyllis," he said with his mouth twitching with a
laugh, as if he didn't know whether we would like it or not.

"Yes, that is just what I want--an explosion, and I can't think of
anything but a gold bracelet or a ring, neither of which is a
skyrocket," I answered with the flow of wit that always comes in the
presence of the Idol, and which, I am sure, is just a reflection of
his genius.

"I know a explode that I can git you, Phyllie," said Lovelace Peyton,
looking up from the bottle he was trying to get into his apron pocket,
his attention having been caught by the word that interested his
scientific mind.

"Not the kind Miss Phyllis wants, bug-doctor," the Idol answered with
a laugh, as he filled his bag with tobacco that he keeps in a queer
old jar which the Douglass grandfathers brought from England before
the Revolution.

"I _kin_ git a 'splode that Phyllie wants," answered Lovelace
Peyton indignantly. "Phyllie always wants what I git her, even
squirms; don't you, Phyllie?"

"Yes, I do,"