“I like that,” he said.

“So do I—­but Mr. Ralph is so—­”

“What, Miss Redbud?” said Ralph, laughing, “eh?”

“Oh, I did’nt know—­”

“I heard you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, at least I did.  I don’t see why I should not be affectionate to Fanny—­”

“Humph!” from Fanny.

“She is my dearest cousin—­is Miss Fanny Temple; and we have been in love with each other for the last twenty years, more or less!”

Fanny burst into laughter.

“Twenty years!” she cried.

“Well?” said Ralph.

“I’m only seventeen, sir.”

“Seventeen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Seventeen—­three from seventeen,” said Ralph, thoughtfully calculating on his fingers, “ah! yes! you are right—­you have been in love with me but fourteen years.  Yes! yes! you have reason to say, as you did, that it was not twenty years—­quite.”

After which speech, which was delivered in an innocent tone, Mr. Ralph scratched his chin.

Fanny stood for a moment horrified at the meaning given to her exclamation—­then colored—­then cried “Humph!”—­then burst into laughter.  The party joined in it.

“Well, well,” said the bright girl, whose dancing eyes were full of pleasure, “don’t let us get to flirting to-day.”

“Flirting?” said Ralph.

“Yes.”

“I never flirt.”

“No, never!”

“There, you are getting ironical—­you fly off from—­”

“The subject, I suppose—­like that flying squirrel yonder—­look!”

Indeed, a mottled little animal, of the description mentioned, had darted from the tulip toward a large oak, and falling as he flew—­which we believe characterizes the flight of this squirrel—­had lit upon the oak near the root, and run rapidly up the trunk.

“Did you ever!” cried Fanny.

“I don’t recollect,” said Ralph.

“Why how can he fly?”

“Wings,” suggested Verty,

“But they are so small, and he’s so heavy.”

“He starts high up,” said Verty, “and makes a strong jump when he flies.  That’s the way he does.”

“How curious,” said Redbud.

“Yes,” cried Fanny, “and see! there’s a striped ground squirrel, and listen to that crow,—­caw! caw!”

With which Fanny twists her lips into astonishing shapes, and imitates the crow in a manner which the youngest of living crows would have laughed to scorn.

Redbud gathered some beautiful flowers, and with the assistance of Verty made a little wreath, which she tied with a ribbon.  Stealing behind Fanny, she placed this on her head.

“Oh, me?” cried Miss Fanny.

“Yes, for you,” said Ralph.

“From Redbud?  Oh! thank you.  But I’ll make you one.  Come, sir,”—­to Ralph,—­“help me.”

“To get flowers?”

“Yes.”

“Willingly.”

“There is a bunch of primroses.”