ays. Evan peeked out to ascertain whether or not it was a
customer who could be avoided. A bright eye met the bare spot in the
frosted glass he was utilizing, and with a laugh he opened the door.

"Mr. Nelson," said Lily, blushing; "I beg your pardon, but could you
let me have a little mucilage?"

"Sure," he said; "come in. We'll have to shut the door or some gink
will be coming along for a loan."

Lily hesitated a moment, but seeing no way out finally entered. Evan
went behind his desk to get the mucilage. While he was rummaging there
another rap came to the door, and Lily peered out.

"It's a farmer," she whispered, running back to where Evan was.

"Don't let him know we're here then," said the clerk; "I can't open up
for him."

The disappointed customer hung around, hoping, no doubt, to be humored,
as he had often been. Nelson and the young girl from the post-office
stood behind a high desk waiting for the intruder to leave.

"Just think," whispered Lily, "what the gossips of this town would say
if they knew--"

"They won't know," said Evan, reassuringly.

"It would hurt your business, Mr. Nelson, wouldn't it?"

The sweet face was turned up to him. There was the confidence of
innocence in her eyes. Fate had denied the lonely bankclerk a trip
home, but it had placed a pair of baby lips within easy reach. He
gazed, flushed--and kissed Lily. She trembled and the tears came into
her blue eyes.

"Oh, Mr. Nelson!" she cried, crimson with excitement and pleasure.

He drew away, feeling ashamed and guilty. His embarrassment was
ten-fold greater than the girl's: she was acting consistently with her
childish fancies of the past few months, while Evan was betraying a
girl in Hometon.

Beginning to realize the futility of waiting at the bank door, the
farmer dragged himself away, muttering anathemas on high collars and
patent locks.

"Here's your mucilage," said Evan, handing Lily a small bottle. "Don't
get it on your clothes."

He uttered the last sentence for want of something to say.

"You must think I'm a regular baby," she replied, with a touch of
scorn. When a young girl has just been kissed by a young man she wants
him to understand she is a woman, full-grown.

Evan laughed and said she was anything but a baby.

That afternoon a letter arrived, by stage mail, from Frankie Arling.
It was another of her school compositions.

"Dear Evan: Your letter just came, telling us you can't get o