“I wouldn’t trust this high-mindedness,” retorted Tilly, wrinkling up her forehead.

“Now, Tilly, you don’t mean that,—­you don’t mean that you’ve come all the way from naughty New York to find such dreadful faults in nice, primmy New England.  The very dogs here are above such things.  Look at Punch there making friends with that little plebeian yellow dog.”

“And look at Dandy barking at everybody who isn’t well dressed,” laughed Tilly, pointing to a handsome collie, who was vigorously giving voice to his displeasure at the approach of a workman in shabby clothing.

The Robson girls and Will Wentworth joined in Tilly’s laugh; but Agnes Brendon, who could never see a joke, looked disgusted, and glancing at the little yellow dog, asked petulantly,—­

“Whose dog is it?”

“It belongs to the girl who sits at the corner table,” answered Will Wentworth, “and its name is Pete.  I heard the girl call him this morning.”

“What a horrid, vulgar name!” exclaimed Agnes.  “It suits the dog, though; and the people, I suppose, are—­”

“Oh, Agnes, look at that horrid worm on your dress!”

Agnes jumped up in a panic, screaming, “Where, where?”

Dora, bending down to brush off the smallest of small caterpillars, whispered,—­

“The girl who owns the yellow dog is in the other hammock.  I just saw her, and she can hear every word you say.”

“I don’t care if she does hear,” said Agnes, without troubling herself to lower her voice.  “You needn’t have frightened me with your horrid worm story, just for that.”

Will Wentworth, as he heard this, fell backward into his reclining position, with an explosive laugh.  The next minute he sprang out of the hammock, and, tucking “Jack Hall” under his arm, was up and off, giving a sidelong look as he went at the other hammock, which, though only a few rods away, was half hidden by the foliage of the two low-growing trees between which it hung.  Meeting Tilly and the Robson girls as he ran around the corner of the house, he said breathlessly,—­

“Look here; that girl must have heard everything that we’ve said.”

“Well, there wasn’t anything said that concerned her, until Agnes began about the yellow dog; and I stopped that,” said Dora, gleefully.

“She may be acquainted with the Pelhams,—­how do we know?” exclaimed Will, ruefully.

“The Pelhams!” cried Dora and Amy, in one breath.

“Yes, how do we know?” repeated Will.

“That girl who sits over at the corner table with that stuffy old woman, acquainted with the Pelhams!  Oh, Will, if Agnes could hear you!” cried Dora, with a shout of laughter.

“Well, I can’t see what there is to laugh at,” broke in Will, huffily.  “Why shouldn’t she and the stuffy old woman, as you call her, know the Pelhams?  She’s a nice-looking girl, a first-rate looking girl.  What’s the matter with her?”