a walk," said Wade, boldly. "It's a great
morning, too fine to be spent indoors."

"Is it?" Eve looked up at the fleecy sky critically. "Don't you think it
looks like rain?"

"Not a bit," he answered, stoutly. "We're in for a long drought.
Zephania told me so not half an hour ago."

"Is Zephania a weather prophet?"

"She's everything. She knows so much that she makes me ashamed of
myself. And she never makes a mistake about the weather."

Wade waited anxiously.

"We-ll," said Eve, finally, "if you're sure it isn't going to rain, and
Carrie really doesn't want me--"

"I do not," said Miss Mullett, crisply. "A walk will do you good. She
stayed up until all hours last night, Mr. Herrick, writing. I wish you'd
say something to her; she pays no attention to me."

Wade flushed. Eve turned and shot an indignant glance at Miss Mullett,
but that lady was busy over the kettle with her back toward them.

"I'm afraid she would pay less heed to me than to you," answered Wade
with a short laugh. "But if you'll persuade her to walk, I'll lecture
her as much as you wish."

"If I'm to be lectured," replied Eve, "I shan't go."

"Well, of course, if you put it that way," hedged Wade.

"Go along, dear," said Miss Mullett. "You need fresh air. But do keep
out of the sun if it gets hot."

"I wonder," observed Wade, with a smile, "what you folks up here would
do down in New Mexico, where the temperature gets up to a hundred and
twenty in the shade."

"I'd do as the Irishman suggested," answered Eve, pertly, "and keep out
of the shade. If you'll wait right where you are and not move for ten
minutes I'll go and get ready."

"I won't ruffle a feather," Wade assured her. "But you'd better come
before dinner time or I may get hungry and eat all the jelly."

Twenty minutes later she was back, a cool vision of white linen and
lace. She wore no hat, but had brought a sunshade. Pursued by Miss
Mullett's admonitions to keep out of the sun as much as possible, they
went down the garden and through the gate, and turned countryward under
the green gloom of the elms. Alexander the Great, laboring perhaps under
the delusion that he was a dog instead of a cat, followed them
decorously for some distance, and then, being prevailed on to desist,
climbed a fence-post and blinked gravely after them.

"It really is nice to-day," said Eve. "When the breeze comes from the
direction of the coast it cools things off deliciously. I suppose it's
on