“Ethelyn never would like him again,” he said, calling himself “a great blundering fool, who never ought to eat at the same table with civilized folks.”

But when Ethelyn, who heard from Eunice of Andy’s distress, went out to see him, assuring him that but little damage had been done, that soft water and magnesia would make the dress all right again, he brightened up, and was ready to hold Mr. Harrington’s horse when, after dark, that gentleman drove over from Olney with his wife and sister to call on Mrs. Richard.  It would almost seem that Ethelyn held a reception that evening, for more than the Harringtons knocked at the front door, and were admitted by the smiling Eunice.  It was rather early to call, the Olneyites knew, but there on the prairie they were not hampered with many of Mrs. Grundy’s rules, and so curious to see the “Boston lady,” several of the young people had agreed together between the Sunday services to call at Mrs. Markham’s the following night.  They were well-meaning, kind-hearted people, and would any one of them gone far out of their way to serve either Richard or his young wife; but they were not Eastern bred, and feeling somewhat awed by Ethelyn’s cold, frigid manner, they appeared shy and awkward—­all except Will Parsons, the young M.D. of Olney, who joked, and talked and laughed so loudly, that even Richard wondered he had never before observed how noisy Dr. Parsons was, while Andy, who was learning to read Ethelyn’s face, tried once or twice, by pulling the doctor’s coat-skirts and giving him a warning glance, to quiet him down a little.  But the doctor took no hints, and kept on with his fun, finding a splendid coadjutor in the “terrible Tim Jones,” who himself came over to call on Dick and his woman.

Tim was rigged out in his best, with a bright red cravat tied around his neck, and instead of his muddy boots with his pants tucked in the tops, he wore coarse shoes tied with strings and flirted his yellow silk handkerchief for the entire evening.  It was dreadful to Ethelyn, for she could see nothing agreeable in Richard’s friends; indeed, their presence was scarcely bearable, and the proud look on her face was so apparent that the guests felt more or less ill at ease, while Richard was nearer being angry with Ethelyn than he had ever been.  Will Parsons and Tim Jones seemed exceptions to the rest of the company, especially the latter, who, if he noticed Ethelyn’s evident contempt, was determined to ignore it, and make himself excessively familiar.

As yet, the open piano had been untouched, no one having the courage to ask Ethelyn to play; but Tim was fond of music, and unhesitatingly seating himself upon the stool, thrust one hand in his pocket, and with the other struck the keys at random, trying to make out a few bars of “Hail, Columbia!” Then turning to Ethelyn he said, with a good-humored nod, “Come, old lady, give us something good.”

Ethelyn’s eyes flashed fire, while others of the guests looked their astonishment at Tim, who knew he had done something, but could not for the life of him tell what.