So the days sped pleasantly and May passed, and
June with all its riotousness of roses was upon them.

One warm June morning the family gathered in the pleasant, low-ceiled
dining-room for breakfast. Harriet, attired in a wash dress well
covered by a vast apron, flushed and rosy, stood at the head of the
table.

"I have cooked every bit of the breakfast myself," she declared
proudly. "Cousin David, if you and Clifford don't do justice to it I
shall take it as a personal affront."

"No wonder the breakfast is an hour late," murmured Clifford to Peggy
as they sat down. "I do think she might have invited Major Dale, or
that Yankee captain, instead of making us her victims."

"Clifford!" pouted his sister. "You are really trying. Madam my cousin
hath said that I can bake and brew almost equal to Peggy, so you will
have no need of simples after eating. Now does not that strawberry
tart look tempting?"

"It does indeed, lass," observed Mr. Owen. "Peggy will have to look to
her laurels if you can get up such a meal as this. Come, come,
Clifford! the proof of the pudding lies in the eating. Fall to, lad!"

"My death will be upon your head, Harriet," observed her brother with
such a sigh of resignation that Peggy could not help but laugh. "I do
wish John Drayton were here."

So with jest and laughter the family lingered over the meal, as if
loath to make further exertion in the growing heat. In the midst of
the cheer the knocker sounded, and, as though in answer to Clifford's
wish, the door swung back quietly, and John Drayton entered. Peggy
sprang up at sight of him.

"Thee is just in time, John," she cried gaily. "Clifford was just
wishing for thee. I'll lay a plate for thee."

"Clifford?" Drayton's tones were filled with astonishment.

There had been a sort of tacit truce established between the young
fellows, but the feeling between them was such that for either to
express desire for the other's company was cause for wonderment.

"Strange, is't not?" queried Clifford dryly. The insolence which he
could not keep out of his voice whenever he addressed Drayton crept
into it now. "You see, sir, my sister hath cooked this meal, and I was
wishing for other victims than Cousin David and myself."

"Knowing to whom Miss Harriet is indebted for her knowledge of cookery
I have no fears regarding results," remarked Drayton, with a slight
bow in Mrs. Owen's direction. "Miss Harriet, that strawberry tart
looks enticing. I