There was a great deal to be said about the runaway, and Mrs. Foster longed to see Dab and thank him on Ford’s account, but he himself had no idea that he had done anything remarkable, and was very busily at work decking Miranda’s parlors with the “greens.”

A very nice appearance they made, all those woven branches and clustered sprays, when they were in place, and Samantha declared for them that,

“They had kept Dab out of mischief all the afternoon.”

At an early hour after supper, the guests began to arrive, for Mrs. Kinzer was a woman of too much sense to have night turned into day when she could prevent it.  As the stream of visitors steadily poured in, Dab remarked to Jenny Walters: 

“We shall have to enlarge the house after all.”

“If it were only a dress, now?”

“What then?”

“Why, you could just let out the tucks.  I’ve had to do that with mine.”

“Jenny, shake hands with me.”

“What for, Dabney?”

“I’m so glad to meet somebody else that’s outgrowing something.”

There was a tinge of color rising in Jenny’s face, but, before she could say anything, Dab added: 

“There!  Jenny, there’s Mrs. Foster and Annie.  Isn’t she sweet?”

“One of the nicest old ladies I ever saw——­”

“Oh, I didn’t mean her mother.”

“Never mind.  You must introduce me to them.”

“So I will.  Take my arm.”

[Illustration:  “MAY I HAVE THE HONOR?”]

Jenny Walters had been unusually kindly and gracious in her manner that evening, and her very voice had much less than its accustomed sharpness, but her natural disposition broke out a little some minutes later, while she was talking with Annie.  Said she: 

“I’ve wanted so much to get acquainted with you.”

“With me?”

“Yes.  I’ve seen you in church, and I’ve heard you talked about, and I wanted to find out for myself.”

“Find out what?” asked Annie a little soberly.

“Why, you see, I don’t believe it’s possible for any girl to be as sweet as you look.  I couldn’t, I know.  I’ve been trying these two days, and I’m nearly worn out.”

Annie’s eyes opened wide with surprise, and she laughed merrily as she answered: 

“What can you mean?  I’m glad enough if my face doesn’t tell tales of me.”

“But mine does,” said Jenny, “and then I’m so sure to tell all the rest with my tongue.  I wish I knew what were your faults.”

“My faults?  What for?”

“I don’t know.  Seems to me if I could think of your faults instead of mine, it wouldn’t be so hard to look sweet.”

Annie saw that there was more earnestness than fun in the queer talk of her new acquaintance.  The truth was that Jenny had been having almost as hard a struggle with her tongue as ever poor Dick Lee with his, though not for not the same reason.  Before many minutes she had frankly told Annie all about it, and she could never have done that if she had not somehow felt that Annie’s “sweetness” was genuine.  The two girls were sure friends after that, much to the surprise of Mr. Dabney Kinzer.