The two girls looked at each other with a smile of understanding as the big figure of the Judge moved ponderously away.

“We never had ice cream before at a church sociable,” said Fanny.  “And I didn’t know Mrs. Solomon Black had so many lanterns.  Did you buy all this?”

Her gesture seemed to include the shaded lamps, the masses of flowers and trailing vines, the gay strains of music, and the plentiful refreshments which nearly every one was enjoying.

“It’s just like a regular party,” she added.  “We’re not used to such things in Brookville.”

“Do you like it?” Lydia asked, doubtfully.

“Why, of course,” returned Fanny, the color rising swiftly to her face.

She had caught a glimpse of Wesley Elliot edging his way past a group of the younger boys and girls, mad with the revelry of unlimited cake and ice cream.  He was coming directly toward their corner; his eyes, alas! fixed upon the stranger in their midst.  Unconsciously Fanny sighed deeply; the corners of her smiling lips drooped.  She appeared all at once like a lovely rose which some one has worn for an hour and cast aside.

“It’s such a little thing to do,” murmured Lydia.

Then, before Fanny was aware of her intention, she had slipped away.  At the same moment Judge Fulsom made his appearance, elbowing his smiling way through the crowd, a brimming saucer of vari-colored ice cream in each hand.

“Here we are!” he announced cheerfully.  “Had to get a habeas corpus on this ice cream, though.  Why, what’s become of Miss Orr?  Gone with a handsomer man—­eh?”

He stared humorously at the minister.

“Twa’n’t you, dominie; seen’ you’re here.  Had any ice cream yet?  No harm done, if you have.  Seems to be a plenty.  Take this, parson, and I’ll replevin another plate for myself and one for Miss Orr.  Won’t be gone more’n another hour.”

Fanny, piteously tongue-tied in the presence of the man she loved, glanced up at Wesley Elliot with a timidity she had never before felt in his company.  His eyes under close-drawn brows were searching the crowd.  Fanny divined that she was not in his thoughts.

“If you are looking for Miss Orr,” she said distinctly, “I think she has gone out in the kitchen.  I saw Mrs. Solomon Black beckon to her.”

The minister glanced down at her; his rash impulse of an hour back was already forgotten.

“Don’t you think it’s awfully warm in here?” continued Fanny.

A sudden desperate desire had assailed her; she must—­she would compel him to some sort of an explanation.

“It’s a warm evening,” commented the minister.  “But why not eat your cream?  You’ll find it will cool you off.”

“I—­I don’t care much for ice cream,” said Fanny, in a low tremulous voice.

She gazed at him, her dark eyes brimming with eager questions.

“I was wondering if we couldn’t—­it’s pleasant out in the yard—­”