sn't he? What do they find to talk
about? That's the mystery to me! Day after day; hours and hours--My
soul! What do they SAY?"

Mrs. Baxter laughed indulgently. "People are always wondering that about
the other ages. Poor Willie! I think that a great deal of the time their
conversation would be probably about as inconsequent as it is now. You
see Willie and Joe Bullitt are walking one on each side of Miss Pratt,
and Johnnie Watson has to walk behind with May Parcher. Joe and Johnnie
are there about as much as Willie is, and, of course, it's often his
turn to be nice to May Parcher. He hasn't many chances to be tete-a-tete
with Miss Pratt."

"Well, she ought to go home. I want that boy to get back into his
senses. He's in an awful state."

"I think she is going soon," said Mrs. Baxter. "The Parchers are to have
a dance for her Friday night, and I understand there's to be a floor
laid in the yard and great things. It's a farewell party."

"That's one mercy, anyhow!"

"And if you wonder what they say," she resumed, "why, probably they're
all talking about the party. And when Willie IS alone with her--well,
what does anybody say?" Mrs. Baxter interrupted herself to laugh. "Jane,
for instance--she's always fascinated by that darky, Genesis, when he's
at work here in the yard, and they have long, long talks; I've seen them
from the window. What on earth do you suppose they talk about? That's
where Jane is now. She knew I told Genesis I'd give him something if
he'd come and freeze the ice-cream for us to-day, and when we got here
she heard the freezer and hopped right around there. If you went out to
the back porch you'd find them talking steadily--but what on earth about
I couldn't guess to save my life!"

And yet nothing could have been simpler: as a matter of fact, Jane and
Genesis (attended by Clematis) were talking about society. That is to
say, their discourse was not sociologic; rather it was of the frivolous
and elegant. Watteau prevailed with them over John Stuart Mill--in a
word, they spoke of the beau monde.

Genesis turned the handle of the freezer with his left hand, allowing
his right the freedom of gesture which was an intermittent necessity
when he talked. In the matter of dress, Genesis had always been among
the most informal of his race, but to-day there was a change almost
unnerving to the Caucasian eye. He wore a balloonish suit of purple,
strangely scalloped at pocket and cuff, and more strangely