ike Regret on the
heels of Pleasure."

"Pretty simile," commented Ruth. "If we go to the tea, we'll have to
miss the wedding."

"Well, we've been to a wedding quite recently, so I suppose it's
better to go to the tea. Perhaps, by arranging it, we might be given
nourishment at both places--not that I pine for the 'Widder's' cooking.
Anyhow, we've sent our gift, and they'd rather have that than to have
us, if they were permitted to choose."

"Do you suppose they'll give us anything?"

"Let us hope not."

"I don't believe we want any at all," she said. "Most of them would be
in bad taste, and you'd have to bury them at night, one at a time, while
I held a lantern."

"The policeman on the beat would come and ask us what we were doing,"
he objected; "and when we told him we were only burying our wedding
presents, he wouldn't believe us. We'd be dragged to the station and
put into a noisome cell. Wouldn't it make a pretty story for the morning
papers! The people who gave us the things would enjoy it over their
coffee."

"It would be pathetic, wouldn't it?"

"It would, Miss Thorne. I think we'd better not tell anybody until its
all safely over, and then we can have a little card printed to go
with the announcement, saying that if anybody is inclined to give us a
present, we'd rather have the money."

"You're a very practical person, Carl. One would think you had been
married several times."

"We'll be married as often as you like, dear. Judging by your respected
aunt, one ceremony isn't 'rightfully bindin', and I want it done often
enough to be sure that you can't get away from me."

As they entered the gate, Uncle James approached stealthily by a
roundabout way and beckoned to them. "Excuse me," he began, as they came
within speaking distance, "but has Mis' Ball give you furniture?"

"Yes," replied Ruth, in astonishment, "why?"

"There's clouds to starboard and she's repentin'. She's been admirin'
of it the hull mornin' in the attic. I was sot in the kitchen with
pertaters," he explained, "but the work is wearin' and a feller needs
fresh air."

"Thank you for the tip, Uncle," said Winfield, heartily.

The old man glowed with gratification. "We men understand each other,"
was plainly written on his expressive face, as he went noiselessly back
to the kitchen.

"You'd better go home, dear," suggested Ruth.

"Delicate hint," replied Winfield. "It would take a social strategist
to perceive your hidden meani