A roar of laughter followed.

“Good for you, Lilian!” cried Jack, flinging off his hat and blanket, and leaping on the offender’s shoulders to pinion his arms.  “He shan’t have your spoons, Lilian.  But allow me to present to you our cousin, Harold Wyman, just arrived from Wyoming.  We found him at Uncle Abner’s, come to spend New Year’s with us.”

Lilian, who had captured part of the spoons, blushed and dropped them on the floor.

“It’s real mean of you to scare me so,” she stammered.  “Mother, did you know it was the boys?”

“Not until Jamie winked at me from the floor, and then it was all so ridiculously clear I could not help laughing aloud.  I saw you were well over your first fright, so I thought I’d let the boys carry out their fun.”

“My, but I’m hot!” ejaculated Ben.  “Sis has good grit, hasn’t she Harold?”

“Yes,” cried Jack, “and she kept her promise about the rosebud china.  Let’s have dinner.  All we lack now is the coffee, Lilian.”

When the new cousin, and Uncle Abner’s boys and the four teasing brothers were seated about the table, Lilian asked: 

“Where did you get your toggery, Jack?”

“Oh, Uncle Abner’s garret is full of all sorts of Indian traps.  This morning when you were crying for callers—­especially Indians—­the thought struck us it would be lots of fun to give you your wish.  We found Cousin Harold at Uncle Abner’s, and he helped us out.  He’s been on a ranch for years.  We knew you wouldn’t recognize him.  The rest of us kept in the background.”

“If you hadn’t been so scared, Lilian, you’d have known the ponies,” said Jamie.

When they had nearly finished dinner, Lilian said: 

“I’ll write it all to the Deerfield girls.  I don’t believe they’ve had half as jolly a time as we have.  Their calls will be just the poky, polite ones.  But mine are genuine wild West.”

[This Story began in No. 52.]

TRUDY AND KIT;

or,

What a Summer Brought Forth.

by EMMA A. OPPER,

Author of “Susanne,” “Barbara and Dill,”
etc., etc., etc.

CHAPTER XVIII.

In the Depths of Woe.

Collin stood staring at Trudy.  She had not loosened her clinching hold for an instant, and, before he had realized it, the last warning had been shouted, the plank had been withdrawn, and the Sandy Hook was moving off.  And he stood on the pier.

Many emotions were rife in his good-looking, boyish face, but anger was chief among them.

“Trudy,” he said, sharply, “what are you doing?  What have you done?”

He looked after the moving boat.

Trudy tried to stop her shower of tears, and Collin could but look at her.  It was a rare thing to see Trudy cry, and it was on his account she was crying.

“Well, what’s the matter?” he demanded, gruffly enough.  “You’ve got what you wanted, haven’t you?  What are you going to do now?  What are you going to do with me?  Tell me that!”