eldom, if ever, equalled by an undutiful
daughter.

"You don't know how wicked I can be," she said, in great earnestness.

"I know how good and beautiful you are," answered Dic. "I know you are
the one perfect human being in all the world--and it is useless for me
to try to tell you how much you are to me. When I am alone, I am better
able to realize what I feel, but I cannot speak it."

"Oh, Dic, is it really true?" asked the girl. "Neither can I tell
how--how--" but those emotions which cannot be spoken in words, owing to
the poverty of our language, must be expressed otherwise. God or Satan
taught the proper method to Adam and Eve, and it has come down to us by
patristic succession, so that we have it to-day in all its pristine
glory and expressiveness. Some have spoken against the time-honored
custom, and claim to mark its decadence. Connecticut forbade it by law
on Sundays, and frowned upon it "Fridays, Saturdays, and all"; but when
it dies, the Lord will whitewash this old earth and let it out as a moon
to shine upon happier worlds where the custom still lives.

Rita and Dic did not disturb Mrs. Bays, and she, unconscious of his
presence, did not disturb them until Mr. Bays returned.

When Mrs. Bays learned that Dic had been in the kitchen an hour, she
felt that the highest attribute of the human mind had been grossly
outraged. But her husband was about to ask a favor of Dic, and she
limited her expression of dissent to an exhibition of frigid, virtuous
dignity, worthy of the king's bench, or Judge Anselm Fisher himself.

When Bays came home, Dic and Rita went into the front room and took
their old places on the ciphering log. Mr. and Mrs. Bays sat on the
hearth before the fire. Mrs. Bays brought a chair and indicated by a
gesture that Rita should occupy it; but with Dic by her side that young
lady was brave and did not observe her mother's mute commands. Amid the
press of other matters in the kitchen, Rita had not remembered to warn
Dic not to lend her father the money. When that fluttering heart of hers
was in great trouble or joy, it was apt to be a forgetful little organ,
and regret in this instance followed forgetfulness. The regret came
after she was seated with Dic on the hearth log, and, being in her
mother's presence, dared not speak.

Mr. Bays was genuinely glad to see Dic, and listened with delight to the
narrative of his trip. When an opportunity arose, Tom, Sr., said:--

"I have a fine opportu