xperience.
Belonging to a family that wore its clothes as long as they possessed
any wearing virtue, she found nothing in her immediate wardrobe fitted
for the venture. But from a rag-bag in the closet at the head of the
stairs, she resurrected some remains of last summer's apparel. First she
put on a blue calico, but the skirt was so badly torn in places that it
proved insufficiently protecting. Further search brought to light
another skirt, pink, in a still worse state of delapidation. However,
since the holes did not occur simultaneously in the two garments, by
wearing both she was amply covered. For a waist she wore a red crape
dressing sacque, and about her hair she tied a broad, ragged ribbon of
red to protect the soft waves from the ruthless twigs. She looked at
herself in the mirror. Nothing daunted by the sight of her own
unsightliness, she took a bucket and went into the back yard.

Gingerly she climbed into the tree, gingerly because Connie was not fond
of scratches on her anatomy, and then began her task. It was a glorious
morning. The birds, frightened away by the living scare-crow in the
tree, perched in other, cherry-less trees around her and burst into
derisive song. And Connie, light-hearted, free from care, in love with
the whole wide world, sang, too, pausing only now and then to thrust a
ripe cherry between her teeth.

She did not hear the prolonged ringing of the front-door bell. She did
not observe the young man in the most immaculate of white spring suits
who came inquiringly around the house. But when the chattering of a
saucy robin became annoying, she flung a cherry at him crossly.

"Oh, chase yourself!" she cried. And nearly fell from her perch in
dismay when a low voice from beneath said pleasantly:

"I beg your pardon! Miss Starr?"

Connie swallowed hard, to get the last cherry and the mortification out
of her throat.

"Yes," she said, noting the immaculate white spring suit, and the
handsome shoes, and the costly Panama held so lightly in his hand. She
knew the Panama was costly because they had wanted to buy one for her
father's birthday, but decided not to.

"I am Andrew Hedges," he explained, smiling sociably.

Connie wilted completely at that. "Good night," she muttered with a
vanishing mental picture of their lovely preparations the day previous.
"I--mean good morning. I'm so glad to meet you. You--you're late, aren't
you? I mean, aren't you ahead of yourself? At least, you di