f
his search; but when his fingers touched a round, soft ball he drew it
forth and hastily presented it to the lady's Roman nose.

She, with closed eyes, was taking deep whiffs when a laugh startled
her.

"Oh, Aunt Clara, it's your powder-puff!" cried Ruth, unable to
restrain her mirth.

Mrs. Nelson rose with as much dignity as her draggled condition would
permit. "You'd better get me home," she said solemnly. "I may be
internally injured." She turned to Sandy. "Boy, can't you get that
phaeton back on the road?"

Sandy, whose chagrin over his blunder had sent him to the background,
came promptly forward. Seizing the wheel, he made several ineffectual
efforts to lift it back to the road.

"It is not moving an inch!" announced the mournful voice from above.
"Can't you take hold of it nearer the back, and exert a little more
strength?"

Sandy bit his lip and shot a swift glance at Ruth. She was still
smiling. With savage determination he fell upon the wheel as if it had
been a mortal foe; he pushed and shoved and pulled, and finally, with
a rally of all his strength, he went on his knees in the mud and
lifted the phaeton back on the road.

Then came a collapse, and he leaned against the nearest tree and
struggled with the deadly faintness that was stealing over him.

"Why--why, you are the boy who was sick!" cried Ruth, in dismay.

Sandy, white and trembling, shook his head protestingly. "It's me
bellows that's rocky," he explained between gasps.

Mrs. Nelson rustled back into the phaeton, and taking a piece of money
from her purse, held it out to him.

"That will amply repay you," she said.

Sandy flushed to the roots of his close-cropped hair. A tip,
heretofore a gift of the gods, had suddenly become an insult. Angry,
impetuous words rushed to his lips, and he took a step forward. Then
he was aware of a sudden change in the girl, who had just stepped into
the phaeton. She shot a quick, indignant look at her aunt, then turned
around and smiled a good-by to him.

He lifted his cap and said, "I thank ye." But it was not to Mrs.
Nelson, who still held the money as they drove out of the avenue.

Sandy went wearily back to the house. He had made his first trial in
behalf of his lady fair, but his soul knew no elation. His beautiful
new armor had sustained irreparable injury, and his vanity had
received a mortal wound.

CHAPTER VIII

AUNT MELVY AS A SOOTHSAYER

It was a crisp afternoon in late Oc