it up and down cordially in about the longitude
of their waists.

"I'm very happy to know you," said Patty, the pretty, red-haired one.

"How _do_ you do?" enquired Ide, the one with the fringe.

I fancied that they must both be Mrs. Trowbridge's daughters, but she
continued the ceremony of presentation by saying:

"Patty is Miss Pinkerton; and Ide is Miss Jay. They generally stay with
Mr. Trowbridge and me pretty nearly all the year round. Patty takes
music lessons in Arcona twice a week, and keeps up her other studies,
and Ide helps me look after the house and the milk. I should have hard
work to get along without either one of them, it seems to me; and I
expect I shall be feeling just the same way about you before you leave
us. Here comes Mr. Trowbridge, now. See, Cousin Jim, here comes your
Cousin Hezekiah. He's been hiving a swarm of bees; that's why he's got
that mosquito net veil around his hat. Something like your automobile
one, Lady Betty."

A man of fifty or more, in white duck trousers and a bluish shirt with
a turned-down collar a little open at the neck, was coming towards the
house from the direction of the beehive colony. He had on no coat; in
fact, I think a grey linen thing hanging over a wooden rocking-chair on
the verandah must have been his. His battered straw hat, with the
"mosquito-net veil" which Mrs. Trowbridge had mentioned, was on the
back of his head, and when he saw us, he snatched it off and waved it
as his wife had waved her spoon and Ide her towel. From a distance he
looked just an ordinary farmer, but when he came near enough for me to
make out his features I saw that he was very far from ordinary. He had
a splendid head, the head of a statesman, and his face was clear and
intellectual, with keen, kind eyes. It had a remarkable resemblance to
lots of pictures I had seen since coming to the States, of the Father
of his Country, General Washington.

He shook hands, too, with me and Mr. Brett, but first he wiped some
honey from his fingers, on the side of his trousers. As he did it, it
was a dignified and laudable act. There was no reason why he should
have been glad to see me, a perfect stranger, but he seemed to be so
honestly pleased that it warmed my heart, and made me feel already at
home in the sweet, old, red-brick farmhouse, which reminded me, in its
soft colours, of a great bunch of wall flowers.

"I reckon we're going to be real good friends," said he. "If we'd known
just