“That’s she!” ejaculated Mr. Wilbur, clutching Phil by the arm.

Phil looked, and saw a tall young lady, three or four inches taller than his friend and as many years older.  He looked at his companion with surprise.

“Is that the young lady you are in love with?” he asked.

“Yes; isn’t she a daisy?” asked the lover fervently.

“I am not much of a judge of daisies,” answered Phil, a little embarrassed, for the young lady had large features, and was, in his eyes, very far from pretty.

CHAPTER XIV.

Consulting the Oracle.

Phil did not like to hurt the feelings of his companion, and refrained from laughing, though with difficulty.

“She doesn’t appear to know you,” he said.

“No,” said Wilbur; “I haven’t had a chance to make myself known to her.”

“Do you think you can make a favorable impression upon—­the daisy?” asked Phil, outwardly sober, but inwardly amused.

“I always had a taking way with girls,” replied Mr. Wilbur complacently.

Phil coughed.  It was all that saved him from laughing.

While he was struggling with the inclination, the lady inadvertently dropped a small parcel which she had been carrying in her hand.  The two boys were close behind.  Like an arrow from the bow Mr. Wilbur sprang forward, picked up the parcel, and while his heart beat wildly, said, as he tendered it to the owner, with a graceful bow and captivating smile: 

“Miss, I believe you dropped this.”

“Thank you, my good boy,” answered the daisy pleasantly.

Mr. Wilbur staggered back as if he had been struck.  He fell back in discomfiture, and his face showed the mortification and anguish he felt.

“Did you hear what she said?” he asked, in a hollow voice.

“She called you a boy, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” answered Mr. Wilbur sadly.

“Perhaps she may be near-sighted,” said Phil consolingly.

“Do you think so?” asked Mr. Wilbur hopefully.

“It is quite possible.  Then you are short, you know.”

“Yes, it must be so,” said G. Washington Wilbur, his face more serene.  “If she hadn’t been she would have noticed my mustache.”

“True.”

“She spoke kindly.  If—­if she had seen how old I was, it would have been different, don’t you think so?”

“Yes, no doubt.”

“There is only one thing to do,” said Mr. Wilbur, in a tone of calm resolve.

“What is that?” inquired Phil, in some curiosity.

“I must wear a stove-pipe hat!  As you say, I am small, and a near-sighted person might easily suppose me to be younger than I am.  Now, with a stove-pipe hat I shall look much older.”

“Yes, I presume so.”

“Then I can make her acquaintance again, and she will not mistake me.  Phil, why don’t you wear a stove-pipe?”