those circumstances, certainly not," she answered, indignantly.
"You can eat all you like at home."

"Well, I call that low-down mean," he said, stabbing another sausage,
"and you gettin' all the fruit and flowers from Mr. French's place
sent to you every day. I wish Polly and Ben were there still--they
wouldn't begrudge me a little fruit."

Polly and Ben had taken Stephen's place for the summer, during his
protracted absence, and had but recently returned to New York.

"Polly and Ben would despise your snobbishness just as I do; besides,
I do not approve of your taking eatables to school," she added,
disingenuously, for her objection was to furnishing food for Harmouth
gossip--not to Dicky.

"Oh, pshaw!" he exclaimed. "As if I didn't know why you won't let me
take 'em! Mr. French will give me anything I ask for when he gets
home--that's one comfort. Did you know he may be here any day? The man
who brought the flowers told me so yesterday."

Deena's complexion flushed a lively pink, or else it was the
reflection from the wood fire, leaping in tongues of flame behind the
tall brass fender. She certainly looked singularly girlish as she sat
behind the array of Ponsonby breakfast silver, her severe black frock,
with the transparent bands of white at throat and wrists, only serving
to mark her youthful freshness. Her beauty was of little consequence
to her brother, who was busy considering the advantages that might
accrue to himself from Stephen's return.

"When Mr. French went away, he said I could ride his saddle horse, and
though I've been there half a dozen times since Ben left, that old
beast of a coachman won't let me inside the stable. Will you tell Mr.
French when he comes home what an old puddin' head he's got to look
after his horses? The man ought to be kicked out!"

"I shall hardly venture to complain to Mr. French about his servants,"
said Deena.

"You might be good-natured," he urged; "here's the whole autumn gone
without my getting any riding, and Mr. French would do anything you
asked----"

"It is time for you to go to school," said Deena, shortly.

"No, it isn't; not for three minutes yet," he contradicted. "'Tenny
rate, I don't mean to be early this morning--it's jography, and I
don't know my lesson; but I do think you might speak about the horse,
Deena; I never get a bit of sport worth countin'"--this in a high,
grumbling minor. "There was Ben; he had his automobile here the whole
summer, an