Suddenly a voice came from above:  “Dorothy, come here!”

My cousin frowned, glanced at me, then laughed.

“Dorothy, I want my watch!” repeated the voice.

Still looking at me, my cousin slowly drew from her bosom a huge, jewelled watch, and displayed it for my inspection.

“We were matching mint-dates with shillings for father’s watch; I won it,” she observed.

“Dorothy!” insisted the voice.

“Oh, la!” she cried, impatiently, “will you hush?”

“No, I won’t!”

“Then our cousin Ormond will come up-stairs and give you what Paddy gave the kettle-drum—­won’t you?” she added, raising her eyes to me.

“And what was that?” I asked, astonished.

Somebody on the landing above went off into fits of laughter; and, as I reddened, my cousin Dorothy, too, began to laugh, showing an edge of small, white teeth under the red lip’s line.

“Are you vexed because we laugh?” she asked.

My tongue stung with a retort, but I stood silent.  These Varicks might forget their manners, but I might not forget mine.

She honored me with a smile, sweeping me from head to foot with her bright eyes.  My buckskins were dirty from travel, and the thrums in rags; and I knew that she noted all these matters.

“Cousin,” she lisped, “I fear you are something of a macaroni.”

Instantly a fresh volley of laughter rattled from the landing—­such clear, hearty laughter that it infected me, spite my chagrin.

“He’s a good fellow, our cousin Ormond!” came a fresh young voice from above.

“He shall be one of us!” cried another; and I thought to catch a glimpse of a flowered petticoat whisked from the gallery’s edge.

I looked at my cousin Dorothy Varick; she stood at gaze, laughter in her eyes, but the mouth demure.

“Cousin Dorothy,” said I, “I believe I am a good fellow, even though ragged and respectable.  If these qualities be not bars to your society, give me your hand in fellowship, for upon my soul I am nigh sick for a welcome from somebody in this unfriendly land.”

Still at gaze, she slowly raised her arm and held out to me a fresh, sun-tanned hand; and I had meant to press it, but a sudden shyness scotched me, and, as the soft fingers rested in my palm, I raised them and touched them with my lips in silent respect.

“You have pretty manners,” she said, looking at her hand, but not withdrawing it from where it rested.  Then, of an impulse, her fingers closed on mine firmly, and she looked me straight in the eye.

“You are a good comrade; welcome to Varicks’, cousin Ormond!”

Our hands fell apart, and, glancing up, I perceived a group of youthful barbarians on the stairs, intently watching us.  As my eyes fell on them they scattered, then closed in together defiantly.  A red-haired lad of seventeen came down the steps, offering his hand awkwardly.