“They’re awful purty,” said I, “especially the dress.  Where did you get ’em, Virginia?”

“They were found in Miss Royall’s bedroom,” said Mrs. Stone emphasizing the “Miss”—­for my benefit, I suppose; but it never touched me.  “But I guess she knows where they come from.”

“They were Ann’s,” said Virginia, a little sadly, and yet blushing and smiling a little at our open admiration, “my sister’s, you know.”

I scarcely said another word during all that trip.  I was furious at the thought of Buck Gowdy’s smuggling those clothes into Virginia’s room, so she could have a good costume for the party.  How did he know she was invited, or going?  To be sure, her sister Ann’s things ought to have been given to the poor orphan girl—­that was all right; but back there along the road she would never speak his name.  Had it come to pass in all these weeks and months in which I had not seen her that they had come to be on speaking terms again?  Had that scoundrel who had killed her sister, after a way of speaking, and driven Virginia herself to run away from him, and come to me, got back into her good graces so that she was allowing him to draw his wing around her again?  It was gall and wormwood to think of it.  But why were the dress and shawl smuggled into her room, instead of being brought openly?  Maybe they were not really on terms of association after all.  I wished I knew, or that I had the right to ask.  I forgot all about the Bunkers, until the judge whipped up the horses as we turned into the Wade place, and brought us up standing at the door.

“Well,” said he, with a kind of nervous laugh, “the Bunkers didn’t get us after all!”

I was out before him this time, and helped Virginia and Mrs. Stone to get down.  The judge was wrestling with the heavy bag.  The governor came out to welcome us, and he and Judge Stone carried it in.  Mrs. Wade, a scared-looking little woman, stood in the hall and gave me her hand as I went in.

“Good evening, Mr.——­,” said she.

“Mr. Vandemark,” said the judge.  “My body-guard, Mrs. Wade.”

The good lady looked at my worn, tight-fitting corduroys, at my clean boiled shirt which I had done up myself, at my heavy boots, newly greased for the occasion, and at my bright blue and red silk neckerchief, and turned to other guests.  After all I was dressed as well as some of the rest of them.  There are many who may read this account of the way the Boyds, the Burnses, the Flemings, the Creedes, the Stones and others of our county aristocracy, came to this party in alpacas, delaines, figured lawns, and even calicoes, riding on loads of hay and in lumber wagons with spring seats, who may be a little nettled when a plain old farmer tells it; but they should never mind this:  the time will come when their descendants will be proud of it.  For they were the John Aldens, the Priscillas, the Miles Standishes and the Dorothy Q’s of as great a society as the Pilgrim Fathers and Pilgrim Mothers set a-going:  the society of the great commonwealth of Iowa.