ing was on that sidewalk than
the one I had just left, when I heard somebody whistling, and, looking
up, I saw Will Richardson, a mutual acquaintance, approaching. The cold
perspiration started to my brow--how could I endure to be seen going home
with a girl? I could not! No, never! The idea was out of the question!
I flew to the wall, sprang over, and threw myself down behind a pile of
stones.

I heard Will and Florence laughing together in a vastly amused way--and
then she took his arm, and off they went! I shook my clenched hand after
them; at that moment, I think I could have cudgeled Will without
compunction.

The ridiculous story of my adventure got wind; no doubt Will spread it,
and I was the laughing stock of the village. My mother gave me a sound
berating, and my staid, punctilious father administered the severest
rebuke of all--he said I was a disgrace to my ancestors.

I managed to live through it, though, and a few months later entered
college. I will not linger on the days spent with my Alma Mater; the
history of the scrapes which my mischief-loving fellow students got me
into during those four years, would fill three volumes of octavo.

At the end of the prescribed time, I graduated with the highest honors,
for I had always been a most determined bookworm; and, with my diploma in
my pocket, I returned home.

My friends were rejoiced to see me, they said; aunt Alice informed me
that I had improved wonderfully in manners, as well as looks; she thought
me decidedly handsome, she said, which remark, I privately concluded, was
the most sensible of any I had ever heard her make.

The day following my arrival at home, my mother spoke of Florence. I
had been longing to ask about her, but dared not hazard the question.
My mother thought that I ought to call on the Hay family, we had always
been intimate, she said, and it would be no more than courteous for me
to surprise them with my presence.

I told her the truth. I should be extremely happy to do so, but I lacked
the courage.

"Mother," said I, frankly, "you know my cardinal failing. Be merciful
unto me. I should only make a fool of myself."

"I will make an errand for you," she replied, quickly; "Mrs. Hay is
troubled with a cough, and she wanted some of my tomato preserves for it.
You shall carry them over."

Ah! it takes a woman to manage things; depend on that.

I caught eagerly at the suggestion, for the imaged face of Florence Hay
had obtruded