o a goblet on the table.

"What's the matter?" Mrs. Floyd was kneading dough in a great wooden
tray, and she looked at Harriet over her shoulder.

"Nothing."

"I know there _is_." Mrs. Floyd turned and began rubbing the dough
from her fingers as a woman puts on a kid glove.

"Mr. Westerfelt has asked me to drive with him after dinner," said the
girl. "That's all."

"Harriet!" Mrs. Floyd's eyes sparkled with excitement as she sprinkled
some flour over her dough and began to roll the mass back and forth.
"I reckon you will acknowledge _now_ that I know something about young
men. If you had refused to go with Bascom Bates yesterday, Mr.
Westerfelt would have had no respect for you; as it is, he couldn't
wait twenty-four hours to see you. For all you do, don't let him see
too plain that you care for him. Mind what I say!"

Westerfelt was impatient for two o'clock to arrive. It was one when he
left Bradley's after dinner. He went to the stable and ordered Jake to
get out his horse and buggy. He would call for her at once; he could
not wait any longer. He felt a sort of sinking sensation at his heart
as Jake gave him the whip and reins, and he was actually trembling when
he stopped at the hotel. Harriet came out on the veranda above and
told him she would be down at once. She did not keep him waiting long,
and when she came down, prettily flushed and neatly attired, his heart
bounded and his pulse quickened. Had she been a queen he could not
have felt more respect for her than he did as he stood shielding her
skirt from the wheels and helped her get seated. He was just about to
get in himself when an old man came down the sidewalk from Worthy's
store, headed for the buggy. It was old John Wambush with a basket of
eggs on his arm.

"Howdy' do," he said, nodding to them both. "Miss Harriet, is yore ma
needin' any more eggs now? I diskivered another nest this mornin', an'
'lowed she mought be able to use 'em. She's about the only one in the
place 'at ever has cash to pay fer produce."

"I don't know, Mr. Wambush," Harriet replied, politely. "She is in the
house; you might go in and see her."

The old man shifted his basket to his other arm and hesitated.
Westerfelt got into the buggy and took up the reins.

"I reckon, Miss Harriet, you hain't heerd frum Toot sence I seed you?"

"No, Mr. Wambush." Westerfelt was not looking at her as she spoke, and
the saddest part of it lay in the fact that he w