the law can punish me. If a young lady comes willingly into my car for a
ride, as you did"--she turned sharply to Myrtle--"and if a young fool
chooses to sit in my front yard instead of registering to serve his
country, it is not my fault. As a matter of fact, I can probably have
him arrested for trespass."

As I have said, the farmhouse is still furnished with Tish's mother's
things. She was a Biggs, and all the things the Biggses had not wanted
for sixty years were in the house. So at least we had chairs to sit on,
and if we had only had water, for we were all thirsty from excitement
and dust, we could have been fairly comfortable, although Myrtle
complained bitterly of thirst.

"And I want to wash," she said fretfully. "If I could wash I'd change my
blouse and look like something."

"For whom?" Tish demanded. "For that slacker outside?"

Suddenly Myrtle laughed. She had been in tears for so long that it
surprised us. We all stared at her, but she seemed to get worse and
worse.

"She's hysterical, poor child," Aggie said, feeling for her smelling
salts. "I don't know that I blame her, Tish. No one knows better than I
do what it is to expect to be married, and then find the divine hand of
Providence intervening."

But Myrtle suddenly walked over to Aggie and, stooping, kissed her on
the top of her right ear.

"You dear thing!" she said. "I still don't get all the idea, but I don't
much care if I don't. I haven't had so much excitement since I ran away
from boarding school."

She then straightened and looked at Tish. It was clear that her feeling
for dear Tish was still vague, but was rather more of respect than of
love.

"As for the--the young man outside," she said, "I seem to gather that he
hasn't registered, and that I am not to marry him until he has. Very
well. I hadn't thought about it before, but that speech of
yours--suppose you tell him that I won't marry him until he has a--a
magic blue card. I should like to see his face."

But Tish is a woman of delicacy, and she suggested that Myrtle do it
herself, from an upper window. I went up with her, and we found Mr.
Culver again under the tree. The conversation ran like this:

MYRTLE, (looking very pretty indeed but very firm): Look here, I--I've
decided not to marry you.

MR. CULVER (rousing suddenly and staring up at her): I beg your pardon!

MYRTLE: I know now that I was making a terrible mistake. No matter how
much I care for you, I cannot mar