with never a let-up so one could get to one’s books and to one’s real thoughts.  But perhaps he would venture up again some time next week or the week after—­not getting coarse in her work, understand, even with him flopping around there out on the bank—­and he give her one long, meaning look and said why not to-morrow night, and she carelessly said that would be charming, she was sure—­she didn’t think of any engagement at this minute—­and it was ever so nice of him to think of poor little me.

“Then she went back and gave the social evening of their life to them four boys that had stayed.  She said she couldn’t thank them enough for coming this evening—­which is probably the only time she had told the truth in thirty-six hours—­and they all made merry.  Roth Hyde sang ‘Sally in Our Alley’ so good on the high notes that the Duttons was all out in the hall listening; and Riley Hardin singing ’Down, Diver, Down, ‘Neath the Deep Blue Waves!’ and Mac Gordon singing his everlasting German songs in their native language, and Charlie Dickman singing a new sentimental one called ‘Ain’t There at Least One Gentleman Here?’ about a fair young lady dancer being insulted in a gilded cafe in some large city; and one and all voted it was a jolly evening and said how about coming back to-morrow night, but Hetty said no, it was her one evening for study and she couldn’t be bothered with them, which was a plain, downright so-and-so and well she knew it, because that girl’s study was over for good and all.

“Well, why string it out?  I’ve give you the facts.  And my lands!  Will you look at that clock now?  Here’s the morning gone and this room still looking like the inside of a sheep-herder’s wagon!  Oh, yes, and when Hetty was up here this time that she wouldn’t wear my riding pants down, she says.  ’Not only that, but I’m scrupulously careful in all ways.  Why, I never even allow dear Burchell to observe me in one of those lace boudoir caps that so many women cover up their hair with when it’s their best feature but they won’t take time to do it.’

“Now was that spoken like a wise woman or like the two-horned Galumpsis Caladensis of East India, whose habits are little known to man?  My Lord!  Won’t I ever learn to stop?  Where did I put that dusting cloth?”

VI

COUSIN EGBERT INTERVENES

“It takes all kinds of foreigners to make a world,” said Ma Pettengill—­irrelevantly I thought, because the remark seemed to be inspired merely by the announcement of Sandy Sawtelle that the mule Jerry’s hip had been laid open by a kick from the mule Alice, and that the bearer of the news had found fourteen stitches needed to mend the rent.