t hurt their feelings for worlds. And she did wish them to
admire her. But she had a feeling that they didn't altogether, not
even Priscilla and Bruce.

Nevertheless, the next day when Laura asked whether she would take her
book out to the hay-field or stay where she was on the porch, Elliott
looked up from "Lorna Doone" and said, with the prettiest little
coaxing air, "If I go, will you let me pitch hay?" And Laura answered
as lightly, "Certainly." "I don't believe you," said Elliott. "You may
ride on the hay-load," smiled Laura. "That won't do at all," Elliott
shook her head. "If I can't pitch hay, I'll stay here." Laura laughed
and said: "You certainly will be more comfortable here. I can't quite
see you pitching hay." And Elliott retorted: "You don't know what I
could do, if I tried. But since you won't let me try--"

It was all smiling and gay, but it was a crawl, and Elliott knew it
and knew that Laura knew it, and she felt ashamed. Wasn't Stannard's
frank shirking better than her camouflaged variety? But hadn't she
picked berries all the morning in a stuffy sunbonnet under a broiling
sun, until she felt as red as a berry and much less fresh and sweet?

"It's a shame," said Laura, "that this is just our busy season; but
you know you have to make hay while the sun shines. Father thinks we
can finish the lower meadows to-day. Then to-morrow we begin cutting
on the hill. It's really fun to ride the hay-rake. I mostly drive the
rake, though now and then I pitch for variety."

She looked so strong and brown and merry, as she talked, that Elliott,
comfortably established with "Lorna Doone," felt almost like flinging
her book into the next chair, slipping her arm through Laura's, and
crying, "Lead on!" But she remembered just in time that, as she hadn't
wished to come to the Cameron Farm, it would ill become her to have a
good time there. Which may seem like a childish way of looking at the
thing, but isn't really confined to children at all.

So the hay-makers tramped away down the road, their laughter floating
cheerfully back over their shoulders; and Elliott sat on the big shady
veranda and read her book.

She might have enjoyed it less had she heard Henry's frank summary at
the turn of the lane, when his father inquired the whereabouts of
Stannard.

"Beau Brummell hiked over to Upton half an hour ago. I offered him the
other Henry, but he doesn't seem to care to drive anything short of a
Pierce-Arrow. Twins,