“Or me!  Am I included?”

“You don’t let me speak, Christie.  I mean, I am not talking seriously,” continued Mr. Carr, with his most serious aspect, “of you and Jessie in this matter; but it may be a serious thing to these young men to be thrown continually in the company of two attractive girls.”

“I understand—­you mean that we should not see so much of them,” said Christie, with a frank expression of relief so genuine as to utterly discompose her father.  “Perhaps you are right, though I fail to discover anything serious in the attentions of young Kearney to Jessie—­or—­whoever it may be—­to me.  But it will be very easy to remedy it, and see less of them.  Indeed, we might begin to-day with some excuse.”

“Yes—­certainly.  Of course!” said Mr. Carr, fully convinced of his utter failure, but, like most weak creatures, consoling himself with the reflection that he had not shown his hand or committed himself.  “Yes; but it would perhaps be just as well for the present to let things go on as they were.  We’ll talk of it again—­I’m in a hurry now,” and, edging himself through the door, he slipped away.

“What do you think is father’s last idea?” said Christie, with, I fear, a slight lack of reverence in her tone, as her sister reentered the room.  “He thinks George Kearney is paying you too much attention.”

“No!” said Jessie, replying to her sister’s half-interrogative, half-amused glance with a frank, unconscious smile.

“Yes, and he says that Fairfax—­I think it’s Fairfax—­is equally fascinated with me.”

Jessie’s brow slightly contracted as she looked curiously at her sister.

“Of all things,” she said, “I wonder if any one has put that idea into his dear old head.  He couldn’t have thought it himself.”

“I don’t know,” said Christie musingly; “but perhaps it’s just as well if we kept a little more to ourselves for a while.”

“Did father say so?” said Jessie quickly.

“No, but that is evidently what he meant.”

“Ye-es,” said Jessie slowly, “unless—­”

“Unless what?” said Christie sharply.  “Jessie, you don’t for a moment mean to say that you could possibly conceive of anything else?”

“I mean to say,” said Jessie, stealing her arm around her sister’s waist demurely, “that you are perfectly right.  We’ll keep away from these fascinating Devil’s Forders, and particularly the youngest Kearney.  I believe there has been some ill-natured gossip.  I remember that the other day, when we passed the shanty of that Pike County family on the slope, there were three women at the door, and one of them said something that made poor little Kearney turn white and pink alternately, and dance with suppressed rage.  I suppose the old lady—­M’Corkle, that’s her name—­would like to have a share of our cavaliers for her Euphemy and Mamie.  I dare say it’s only right; I would lend them the cherub occasionally, and you might let them have Mr. Munroe twice a week.”