ht that a sweater and a pair of leggings could muffle
their ears as to what had gone before, I soon found my mistake.

"A sleigh-ride, supper, and not come home until evening?" cried
Mother. "And with whom, did you say?"

"Paul Mayhew," I answered. I still tried to speak casually; at the
same time I tried to indicate by voice and manner something of the
great honor that had been bestowed upon their daughter.

Father was impressed--plainly impressed; but not at all in the way I
had hoped he would be. He gave me a swift, sharp glance; then looked
straight at Mother.

"Humph! Paul Mayhew! Yes, I know him," he said grimly. "And I'm
dreading the time when he comes into college next year."

"You mean--" Mother hesitated and stopped.

"I mean I don't like the company he keeps--already," nodded Father.

"Then you don't think that Mary Marie--" Mother hesitated again, and
glanced at me.

"Certainly not," said Father decidedly.

I knew then, of course, that he meant I couldn't go on the
sleigh-ride, even though he hadn't said the words right out. I forgot
all about being casual and indifferent and matter-of-course then. I
thought only of showing them how absolutely necessary it was for
them to let me go on that sleigh-ride, unless they wanted my life
forever-more hopelessly blighted.

I explained carefully how he was the handsomest, most popular boy
in school, and how all the girls were just crazy to be asked to go
anywhere with him; and I argued what if Father had seen him with boys
he did not like--then that was all the more reason why nice girls like
me, when he asked them, should go with him, so as to keep him away
from the bad boys! And I told them, that this was the first and last,
and only sleigh-ride of the school that year; and I said I'd be
heart-broken, just heart-broken, if they did not let me go. And I
reminded them again that he was the very handsomest, most popular boy
in school; and that there wasn't a girl I knew who wouldn't be crazy
to be in my shoes.

Then I stopped, all out of breath, and I can imagine just how pleading
and palpitating I looked.

I thought Father was going to refuse right away, but I saw the glance
that Mother threw him--the glance that said, "Let me attend to this,
dear." I'd seen that glance before, several times, and I knew just
what it meant; so I wasn't surprised to see Father shrug his shoulders
and turn away as Mother said to me:

"Very well, dear. Ill think it over an