up the rear. Lloyd still waited.

"Come on, Bernice," she urged. "The watahmelons are mighty fine, and
we'd love to have you come."

"No, dearie," was the reply. "I've a lot of things to do to-day, but
I'll see you to-night at the darky wedding."

"I'm mighty sorry you can't come," called Lloyd, then hurried on to
catch up with the others. As she joined Rob and Betty she felt
intuitively they had changed their subject of conversation at her
approach. She had caught the question, "Then are you going to warn her?"
and Betty's reply, "What's the use? It would only make her feel bad."

"What's that about warnings?" asked Lloyd, catching Betty's hand and
swinging it as she walked along beside her.

"Something that Betty doesn't believe in," began Rob, "just as I don't
believe in dreams. Why wouldn't Bernice come with you?"

"She said she had so much to do. Mistah Shelby is coming out latah. He
is going to take her to Sylvia's wedding to-night."

"Speaking of warnings," burst out Rob, impulsively, "I'm going to give
you one, Lloyd, whether you like it or not. Don't be too smiling and
gracious when you meet Alex Shelby, or Bernice will be assaulting you
for poaching on her preserves. You must keep out of her bailiwick if you
want to keep her friendship. It's the kind that won't stand much of a
strain."

"What do you mean, Rob Moore?" demanded Lloyd, hesitating between a
laugh and the old feeling of anger that always flashed up when he
referred to girls' friendships in that superior tone.

"I am devoted to Bernice and she is to me. If you are trying to pick a
quarrel you may as well go along home, for I'm positively not going to
fuss with you about anything whatsoevah until aftah all the company is
gone."

"No'm! I don't want to quarrel," responded Rob, with exaggerated
meekness. "I was merely giving you a warning--sort of playing Banshee
for your benefit, but you don't seem to appreciate my efforts. Let's
talk about watermelons."

CHAPTER XIV.

A SECOND MAID OF HONOR

It was a new experience to Miles Bradford, this trudging through the
dense beech woods on a summer night behind a row of flickering lanterns.
The path they followed was a wide one, and well worn by the feet of
churchgoing negroes, for it was the shortest cut between the Valley and
Stumptown, a little group of cabins clustered around the colored church.

Ranald led the way with a brakeman's lantern, and Rob occasionally
illuminated the