Mary Bell walked slowly back through the fragrant lanes, passed now and then by a surrey loaded with joyous passengers already bound for Pitcher’s barn.  She was at her own gate, when a voice calling her whisked her about as if by magic.

“Hello, Mary Bell!” said Jim Carr, joining her.  But she looked so pretty in her blue cotton dress, with the yellow level of a field of mustard-tops behind her, and beyond that the windbreak of gold-tipped eucalyptus trees, that he went on almost confusedly, “You—­ you look terribly pretty in that dress!  Is that what you’re going to wear?”

“This!” laughed Mary Bell.  And she raised her dancing eyes, to grow a little confused in her turn.  Nature, obedient to whose law blossoms were whitening the fruit trees, wheat pricking through the damp earth, robins mating in the orchards, had laid the first thread of her great bond upon these two.  They smiled silently at each other.

“I’m not even sure I’m going!” said Mary Bell, ruefully.

The sudden look of concern in his face went straight to her heart.  Jim Carr really cared, then, that she couldn’t go!  Big, clever, kindly Jim Carr, who was superintendent at the power-house, and a comparative newcomer in Deaneville, was an important personage.

“Not going!” said Jim, blankly.  “Oh, say—­why not!”

Mary Bell explained.  But Jim was encouraging.

“Why, of course your aunt will come!” he assured her sturdily.  “She’ll know what it means to you.  You’ll go up with the Dickeys, won’t you?  I’m going up early, with the Parmalees, but I’ll look out for you!  I’ve got to hunt up my kid brother now; he’s got to sleep at Montgomery’s to-night.  I don’t want him alone at the hotel, if Johnnie isn’t there.  If you happen to see him, will you tell him?”

“All right,” said Mary Bell.  And her spirits were sufficiently braced by his encouragement to enable her to call cheerfully after him, “See you later, Jim!”

“See you later!” he shouted back, and Mary Bell went back to the kitchen with a lightened heart.  Aunt Mat wouldn’t—­couldn’t—­fail her!

She carried a carefully prepared tray in to her mother at five o’clock, and sat beside her while the invalid slowly finished her milk-toast and tea, and the cookies and jelly Mary Bell was famous for.  The girl chatted cheerfully.

“You don’t feel very badly about the dance, do you, deary?” said Mrs. Barber, as the gentle young hands settled her comfortably for the night.

“Not a speck!” answered Mary Bell, bravely, as she kissed her.

“Bernie and Johnnie going—­married women!” said the old lady, sleepily.  “I never heard such nonsense!  Don’t you go out of call, will you, dear?”

Mary Bell was eating her own supper, ten minutes later, when the train whistled, and she ran, breathless, to the road, to meet Lew Dinwoodie.

“What did Aunt Matty say, Lew?” called Mary Bell, peering behind him into the closed surrey, for a glimpse of the old lady.