Sukey promptly relented, but the chill in Fownes’ fingers was clearly not unendurable, for in a moment he came to the table, and putting his hand over that of Janice, which held the pestle, he said:—­

“Let me do the crushing.  ’T is too hard work for you.”

“I wish you would,” Miss Meredith somewhat breathlessly replied.  “My arms are almost ready to drop off.”

“’T would set the quidnuncs discussing to which of the Greek goddesses they belonged,” remarked Fownes.  Then he was sorry he had said it, for Miss Meredith promptly unrolled her sleeves; not because in her secret heart she did not like the speech, but because of a consciousness that Charles was noticing what the Greek goddesses generally lack.  A low-cut frock was almost the unvarying dress of the ladies, there was nothing wrong in the display of an ankle, and elbow sleeves were very much the vogue, but to bare the arms any higher was an immodesty not permitted to those who were then commonly termed the “bon ton.”

This addition to the working staff promptly produced an order from Sukey for Janice to assume the duty of stirring a pot just placed over the fire, “while I ‘se goes down cellar an’ cars a shelf for them jellies to set on.  Keep a stirrin’, honey, so ’s it won’t burn,” was her parting injunction.

No sooner was the cook out of hearing than Charles spoke:  “For two days,” he said in a low voice, “I have tried to get word with you.  Won’t you come to the stable when I am there?”

“Are you going to crush that sugar?” asked Miss Meredith.

“Art going to come to the stable?” calmly questioned Charles.

“Give me the pestle!” said Janice, severely.

“Because if you won’t,” continued the groom, “I shall have to say what I want now.”

“I prefer not to hear it,” Janice announced, moving from the fire.

“You must keep on stirring, or ’t will burn, Miss Janice,” the man reminded her, taking a mean advantage of the situation.

Janice came back and resumed her task, but she said, “I don’t choose to listen.”

’T is for thy father’s sake I ask it.”

“How?” demanded the girl, looking up with sudden interest.

“I went to the village t’ other night,” replied the man, “to drill—­” Then he checked himself in evident disconcertion.

“Drill?” asked Janice.  “What drill?”

“Let us call it quadrille, since that is not the material part,” said Charles.  “What is to the point is that after—­after doing what took me, I stayed to help in Guy Fawkes’ fun on the green.”

“Well?” questioned the girl, encouragingly.

“The frolickers had some empty tar barrels and an effigy of the Pope, and they gave him and a copy of the Boston Port Bill each a coat of tar and leaves, and then burned them.”

“What fun!” cried Janice, ceasing to stir in her interest.  “I wish mommy would let me go.  She says ’t is unbecoming in the gentility, but I don’t see why being well born should be a reason for not having as good a time as—­”