quite a different style from that of the country
bumpkins and rural exquisites they were accustomed to meeting. There
was in the big black eyes, as they had met his a moment, a suggestion
of interest that was strangely flattering, and left a trace of not
unpleasant agitation.

"Who was that?" he asked, as they passed out of hearing.

He only thought of asking for one, although there were six, nor she
apparently of answering differently.

"Lina Maynard. They are 'Sem.' girls."

It was a dulled voice she spoke in, quite unlike her usual eager way of
giving information. She, poor thing, was terribly afraid he would ask
her why they did not seem acquainted with her, and it would have been a
painful humiliation to have explained. Arthur was conscious that he no
longer had exactly the same feeling of merely contemptuous annoyance
toward Lina Maynard, on account of her treatment of Amy. He sympathized
as much with his sister, of course, but somehow felt that to be
recognized by Lina Maynard was not such a childish ambition as he had
taken for granted.

It was dusk when they reached home and found Mr. and Mrs. Steele on the
piazza, which served as an out-door parlor in summer, with a neighbor
who had dropped in to see Arthur. So he got out his cigar-case and told
stories of city life and interesting law cases to an intent audience
till the nine o'clock bell rang, and the neighbor "guessed he 'd go
home," and forthwith proved that his guess was right by going.

"'Gad, I'd forgotten all about the watermelons! Perhaps they 're at 'em
already!" cried Arthur, jumping up and running around the end of the
piazza to the garden.

When he returned, it was to meet a combined volley of protestations
against his foolish project of keeping watch all night, from his father,
his mother, and Amy. But he declared it was no use talking; and where
were the gun and the beans? So they adjourned from the piazza, a lamp
was lit, the articles were hunted up, and the gun duly loaded with a
good charge of powder and a pint of hard beans. It was about ten o'clock
when Arthur, with a parting protest from his mother, went out into
the garden, lugging his gun and a big easy-chair, while Amy followed,
bringing one or two wraps, and a shocking old overcoat hunted up in the
garret, for the chill hours after midnight.

The front of Mr. Steele's lot abutted on one of the pleasantest and most
thickly housed streets of the village; but the lot was deep, a