“I don’t see why plain farming people need enjoy mud more’n other folks.  You ought to be ashamed to ask your wife and daughter to ride in such a wagon.”

“I don’t know why I should be more ashamed to-morrow than on any other Sunday, and you was never ashamed before.  Your boarders don’t seem inclined to take any rides and pay for them, so I don’t see why I should fix up any more’n usual.  Anyhow, it’s too late now; Jotham’s gone home, I’m too tired, and Roger’s dressed to go out.  Why can’t she go with Roger?”

“She says she’d rather go with us, and if you men-folk let her ride in that wagon I hope the minister will give you a scorching sermon”—­and she turned toward her son, who, dressed in his rural finery, was finishing an early supper, To her surprise he, from whom she expected no aid, gave her a significant nod and put his finger on his lips.  He had already decided upon one bold stratagem, in the hope of opening Mildred’s eyes, and if this failed his mother’s words suggested another line of policy.

“Sue,” he said, with affected carelessness, “I may bring Amelia Stone to spend part of the evening with you.”

“Amelia Stone isn’t my style, if the young men do say she’s the prettiest girl in town.”

“If you don’t treat her well she’ll think you’re jealous,” said Roger, and with this artful stroke he departed to carry out his experiment.  “I’ll teach my city lady that I’m not a clodhopper that other girls won’t look at,” he thought as he drove away.

Everything went according to his mind, for Amelia broke an engagement in order to come with him, and was very friendly.  The young fellow thought that Mildred must see that he was not a person to be politely ignored when so handsome a girl was flattering in her favors.  Susan would not be thought jealous for the world, and so was rather effusive over Miss Stone.  She also imbibed the idea that it might be a good chance to make Mildred aware that they knew some nice, stylish people; therefore, as the rural beauty mounted the steps of the porch she introduced her to Mildred and Belle.  Roger meanwhile stood near, and critically compared the two, girls.  They certainly represented two very different types, and he might have brought a score of his acquaintances that would have been more to Mildred’s taste than the florid beauty whose confidence was boldness, and who had inventoried her own pronounced charms more often than had any of her admirers.  One girl was a lily, with a character like a delicate, elusive fragrance; the other, a tulip, very striking, especially at a distance.  The one no more asserted herself than did the summer evening; the manner of the other the same as button-holed all present, and demanded attention.  Her restless black eyes openly sought admiration, and would speedily sparkle with anger and malice should their request be unrewarded.  Roger was quick enough to feel Mildred’s superiority, although he could scarcely account for it, and he soon experienced so strong a revulsion of feeling toward his unconscious ally that he would have taken her home again with a sense of relief.