scattered in every
direction. Small silver articles, undeniably feminine in nature, lay on
the grass; a spangled scarf which they had all admired on Sally's
slender shoulders had to be tenderly extricated from the brake.

With shrieks of laughter, the Bevis family righted the case and
repacked it. Sally was frozen with anger.

"Mother SAID she knew you two would run off and get married quietly
some day!" said pretty, audacious Mary Bevis.

"Dearie!" protested her mother. "I only said--I only thought--I said I
thought--Mary, that's very naughty of you! Sally, you know how
innocently one surmises an engagement, or guesses at things!"

"Oh, mother, you're getting in deeper and deeper!" said her older son.
"Never you mind, Sally! You can elope if you want to!"

"San Rafael's the place to go, Sally," said Mary. "All the elopers get
married there. The court-house, you know. No delays about licenses!"

"They're very naughty," said their mother, beginning to see how
unwelcome this joking was to the visitors. "Are you going straight
home, dear?"

"Straight home!" said the doctor.

"Well, speaking of San Rafael," pursued the matron, kindly--"can't you
two and Elsie and Ferd go with us all to-night, say about an hour from
now, up to Pastori's and have dinner?"

"Oh, thanks!" said Sally, trying to smile naturally. "I'm afraid not
to-night. I've got a headache, and I'm going home to turn in."

Amid cheerful good-bys, she wheeled the car, and drove it along
rapidly, pursuing thoughts of the Bevis boys hardly short of murderous.
The doctor was silent; but Sally, glancing at him, saw his quiet smile
change to an apologetic look, and hated both the smile and the apology.

They went more slowly on the steep road from the water front to the
hillside. The level light of the sinking sun shone brilliantly on
daisies and nasturtiums at the roadside. Boats, riding at anchor,
dipped in the wash of another incoming steamer. Dr. Bates hummed; but
Sally frowned, and he was immediately hushed.

"Boy looking for you?" he said presently, as a small and dusty boy rose
from a boulder at one side of the road and shouted something
unintelligible.

"Why, I guess he is for me!" said Sally, in the first natural tone she
had used that afternoon.

But the boy, upon being interrogated, said that the telegram was for
"the doc that was visiting up to Miss Sally's house."

Dr. Bates read the little message several times, and absently dismissed