, and don't hender me talkin'."

The "Little Lady of the Manor," as President Ryall had called her,
walked away with her nose in the air. Preferred to chop wood, did he?
And it wasn't nice of him--it certainly wasn't nice--to set her
thinking of that miserable old truck-farm and the days of her direst
poverty. She was Dorothy Calvert now; a girl with a name and heiress
of Deerhurst. She'd show him, horrid boy that he was!

But just then his cheerful whistling reached her, and her indignation
vanished. By no effort could she stay long angry with Jim. He was
annoyingly "common-sensible," as he claimed, but he was also so
straight and dependable that she admired him almost as much as she
loved him. Yes, she had other friends now, and would doubtless gain
many more, but none could ever be a truer one than this homely,
plain-spoken lad.

She spied the girls and Monty in the arbor and joined them; promptly
announcing:

"If our House Party is to be a success you three must help. Jim won't.
He's going to chop wood. Monty, will you ride to the village and send
that telegram to Mabel Bruce?"

The lad looked up from the foot he had been contemplating and over
which Molly and Alfy had been bending in sympathy, to answer by
another question:

"See that shoe, Dolly Calvert? Close shave that. Might have been my
very flesh itself, and I'd have blood poisoning and an amputation, and
then there'd have been telegrams sent--galore! Imagine my mother--if
they had been!"

"It wasn't your flesh, was it?"

"That's as Yankee as I am. Always answer your own questions when you
ask them and save a lot of trouble to the other fellow. No, I _wasn't_
hurt but I _might_ have been! Since I'm not, I'm at your service, Lady
D. Providing you word your own message and give me a decent horse to
ride."

"There are none but 'decent' horses in our stable, Master Stark. I
shall need Portia myself, or we girls will. You can go ask a groom to
saddle one--that he thinks best. I see through you. You've just been
getting these girls to waste sympathy on you and you shall be punished
by our leaving you alone till lunch time. I'll write the message, of
course. I'd be afraid you wouldn't put enough in. Only--let me think.
How much do telegrams cost?"

"Twenty-five cents for ten words," came the prompt reply.

"But ten would hardly begin to talk! Is telephoning cheaper? You ought
to know, being a boy."

"Long distance telephoning is about as expensive a