rties."

We didn't like the Crippses, but we did like "Ash Clump." We had almost
decided to take it when our plans were quashed by the member of our
party on whose account we had planned solely. Miss Morley flatly refused
to go to Leatherhead.

"Don't ask ME why," said Hephzy, to whom the refusal had been made. "I
don't know. All I know is that the very name 'Leatherhead' turned her
whiter than she has been for a week. She just put that little foot of
hers down and said no. I said 'Why not?' and she said 'Never mind.' So I
guess we sha'n't be Leatherheaded--in that way--this summer."

I was angry and impatient, but when I tried to reason with the young
lady I met a crushing refusal and a decided snub.

"I do not care," said Little Frank, calmly and coldly, "to explain my
reasons. I have them, and that is sufficient. I shall not go to--that
town or that place."

"But why?" I begged, restraining my desire to shake her.

"I have my reasons. You may go there, if you wish. That is your right.
But I shall not. And before you go I shall insist upon a settlement of
my claim."

The "claim" could neither be settled nor discussed; the doctor's warning
was no less insistent although his patient was steadily improving. I
faced the alternative of my compliance or her nervous prostration and I
chose the former. My desire to shake her remained.

So "Ash Clump" was given up. Hephzy and I speculated much concerning
Little Frank's aversion to Leatherhead.

"It must be," said Hephzy, "that she knows somebody there, or somethin'
like that. That's likely, I suppose. You know we don't know much about
her or what she's done since her father died, Hosy. I've tried to ask
her but she won't tell. I wish we did know."

"I don't," I snarled. "I wish to heaven we had never known her at all."

Hephzy sighed. "It IS awful hard for you," she said. "And yet, if we had
come to know her in another way you--we might have been glad. I--I think
she could be as sweet as she is pretty to folks she didn't consider
thieves--and Americans. She does hate Americans. That's her precious
pa's doin's, I suppose likely."

The next afternoon we saw the advertisement in the Standard. George,
the waiter, brought two of the London dailies to our room each day. The
advertisement read as follows:

"To Let for the Summer Months--Furnished. A Rectory in Mayberry, Sussex.
Ten rooms, servants' quarters, vegetable gardens, small fruit, tennis
court, etc., etc. W