“Yours respectfully,

“Jasper Jasperson.

“P.S.—­Important.  The ranch is four hundred and three acres, paid for.  And there’s money somewhere to build a nice residence, and to furnish it according to Hoyle.  We’d keep a hired girl.

“P.P.S.—­And a pianner.  J.J.(A true lover).”

This billet-doux was sealed and despatched, and in due time brought an acceptance.  The engagement was formally ratified at a banquet given by the Swiggarts, and the health of the high contracting parties was enthusiastically drunk in pink lemonade.  The marriage was arranged to take place during the summer vacation, and Pacific Grove was selected as the best spot in California for the honeymoon.

Thus smoothly for a season ran the course of true love.  But three weeks later, when the landscape was wearing its imperial livery of lupin and eschscholtizia, when the fields at night were white with moonflowers, when a glorious harvest was assured, and all beasts and birds and insects were garrulous of love and love’s delight—­upon May-day, in short—­was disclosed a terrible rift within poor Jasperson’s lute.

He had escorted his sweetheart to the annual picnic, and returning late at night found Ajax and me enjoying a modest nightcap before turning in.  We asked him to join us, but he refused with some asperity, and upon cross-examination confessed that he had promised Miss Button to take the pledge at the next meeting of the lodge.  Now, we knew that Jasperson was the pink of sobriety, but one who appreciated an occasional glass of beer, or even a mild cocktail; and we had heard him more than once denounce the doctrines of the Prohibitionists; so we were quite convinced that meek submission to the dictates of the Grand Secretary of Corona Lodge was both unnecessary and inexpedient.  And we said so.

“Birdie knows I don’t drink,” stammered our hired man, “but she thinks I’d ought to take the pledge as an example.”

“An example,” echoed Ajax.  “To whom?  To us?”

“She said an example, gen’lemen, jest—­an example.”

“But she meant us,” said Ajax sternly.  “Our names were mentioned.  Don’t you deny it, Jasperson.”

“They was,” he admitted reluctantly.  “She as’t me, careless-like, if you didn’t drink wine with your meals, and I said yes.  I’d ought to have said no.”

“What!” cried my brother, smiting the table till the decanter and glasses reeled.  “You think that you ought to have lied on our account.  Jasperson—­I’m ashamed of you; I tremble for your future as the slave of Miss Dutton.”