er on the lawn, it seemed to him very much as if she
were looking for him. This he did not like, and he hurried toward her.

"Miss Asher," said he, "I wish to propose an amendment."

"To what?" asked Olive. "But first tell me where you have been and what
you have been doing? You are covered with dust, and look as hot as if
you had been pulling the boat against the rapids. I have not seen you
the whole morning."

"I have been walking," said he, "and thinking. It is dreadful hot work
to think. That should be done only in winter weather."

"It would be a woeful thing to take a cold on the mind," said Olive.

"That is so!" he replied. "That is exactly what I am afraid of this
morning, and that is the reason I want to propose my amendment. I beg
most earnestly that you will not make this interview definitive. I am
afraid if you do I may get chills in my mind, soul, and heart from which
I shall never recover. I have an idea that the weather may not be as
favorable as it was yesterday for the unveiling of tender emotions."

"Why so?" asked Olive.

"There are several reasons," returned Mr. Locker. "For one thing, that
musical uproar last night. I have not heard anything about that, and I
don't know where I stand."

Olive laughed. "It was splendid," said she. "I liked you a great deal
better after that than I did before."

"Now tell me," he exclaimed hurriedly, "and please lose no time, for
here comes a surrey from the station with a gentleman in it--do you like
me enough better to give me a favorable answer, now, right here?"

"No," said Olive. "I do not feel warranted in being so precipitate as
that."

"Then please say nothing on the subject," said Locker. "Please let us
drop the whole matter for to-day. And may I assume that I am at liberty
to take it up again to-morrow at this hour?"

"You may," said Olive. "What gentleman is that, do you suppose?"

"I know him," said Locker, "and, fortunately, he is married. He is Mr.
Easterfield."

"Here's papa! Here's papa!" shouted the two little girls as they ran out
of the front door.

"And papa," said the oldest one, "we want you to tell us a story just as
soon as you have brushed your hair! Mr. Rupert has been telling us
stories, but yours are a great deal better."

"Yes," said the other little girl, "he makes all the children too good.
They can't be good, you know, and there's no use trying. We told him so,
but he doesn't mind."

There was story-telling after lu