ert,
I 'm getting mighty tired of this kind of foolishness. You and I are
fitted for each other by reason of natural situation, if nothing else.
What other man is there around here who is anywhere near your equal,
socially? What kind of a life will you lead cooped up on this hillside
farm as the years go by?--a living death, only think of it!

"Your father is willing, anxious, that you should be married and safely
provided for--I have talked with him; he has told me so. My father
simply worships you, and nothing on earth would please him so much as
to have you for a daughter-in-law."

"But, Arthur," said Pert, almost pleadingly, "I have told you how I
feel about it. I don't love you, and how can I marry a man I do n't
love? I am fonder of you, much fonder, than of any other man I know,
and I can't begin to tell you how bad I should feel to lose your
friendship, but--"

She paused as a sound of voices reached them, and in a moment, to her
great relief, Sadie and Checkers, with the banjo, came round the house
and joined them.

One sweep of the strings, to be sure it was in tune, and Checkers
tendered Pert the instrument.

"No, I shan't play; we want to hear you," she laughingly exclaimed,
putting her hands behind her. "I am only a novice, and you know the
old proverb, 'The poor ye have always with ye.'"

Without more ado Checkers sat down and played a couple of lively airs.

"Now, a song," exclaimed Pert; "I am sure that you sing."

"How did you guess it?" asked Checkers, smiling. "Well, what shall it
be, a 'serio-chronic,' or a song about some 'old oaken' thing?"

"Oh, something funny, Mr. Campbell," said Sadie.

Checkers sang a song of an Irish dance. This he followed with one of
the popular ballads of the day, full of melody.

He had a clear, high voice, with a touch of that boyish sweetness in
it, which made Emmet so famous. A sweetness to which the open air and
the sharpness of the banjo added a charm.

The girls were delighted. They called upon him for song after song,
until Arthur, pulling out his watch, said abruptly, "It is time to be
going," and went to untie the horses.

Amid hearty hand-shakings and cordial invitations to call again soon,
Checkers said good-by, and climbed into the buggy as Arthur drove up.

Down the driveway, out upon the moon-lit road, they sat in silence.
Each was busy with his own thoughts. Arthur cut the horses viciously
from time to time for no apparent reason