(Miss Dinsmore's gold was fast becoming
silver); "Sary Ann's is changin', too, I see. Miss Bray says she isn't
over-fond of stirrin' round; and I shouldn't wonder if 't was so. Sary
Ann don't look no more like workin' than a buttercup; but then, as I
tell Miss Bray, corn is made for usin' and flowers for starin' at, and I
don't know as any special sign is set on either of 'em to show which is
the best. Don't mind them youngsters, Sandy; they're always pretty
chipper of an evenin'. You see, I've measured off this piece of
calico,--nine yard and a finger; if you like it, seein' it's for you and
Annie, and a remnant, I'd want it to go cheap."

It was as near the shade of Miss Merton's dress as the coarser material
could copy it; and with all the embarrassment of a novice in such
matters, I signified my wish to take it, when the door swung open to
admit Annie Bray herself, who had come to make some trifling purchase
for her mother.

"All right, Sandy; we'll settle some other time," whispered Miss
Dinsmore, quite aware that I should scarcely like to make so public a
presentation of my gift, and quietly concealing it in a sheet of
wrapping-paper, while Annie, surprised and pleased at seeing me,
approached the counter.

"Bless your sweet face, it isn't often I see it of an evenin'," was Miss
Dinsmore's welcome to her favorite.

"Beauty's but a witherin' flower," said Mr. Purdo, by way of
professional improvement of the occasion, and pointing the remark by a
glance at Miss Dinsmore, whose early bloom he undoubtedly remembered.
"Still it's cause for great gratitude, Sary, that your cheeks are so
rosy,"--here a general laugh warned him of the dangerous admission, and
he added,--"it shows you're healthy, and that's a most aboundin'
blessin'."

"That's so!" exclaimed Tracy Waters. "You're mighty pretty now, Sary
Ann; and it a'n't no use to look ahead to the time when you won't be, is
it?"

Annie's cheeks glowed more deeply still now. She was accomplishing her
errand as quickly as possible; and while Miss Dinsmore tied up her
parcel, Tracy Waters bent over her, whispering. It may have been only
that "innate gallantry" alluded to by Miss Darry that made me reprove
his evidently unwelcome admiration.

"Annie is a shy little thing. Don't you see, Tracy, that she doesn't
like flattery?" I exclaimed, angrily approaching them.

"I see pretty plain that you don't want her to have it from any other
fellow than yourself," he answ