I've lost my smart little London shoe. I was sitting in a
tree taking a pebble out of the heel, when I saw a caterpillar, and I
dropped it into the river--the shoe, you know, not the caterpillar.'

[Illustration: I offered it to her with distinguished grace]

Hereupon she came in sight, and I witnessed the somewhat unusual
spectacle of my 'nut-brown mayde' hopping, like a divine stork, on one
foot, and ever and anon emitting a feminine shriek as the other, clad in
a delicate silk stocking, came in contact with the ground. I rose
quickly, and, polishing the patent leather ostentatiously inside and out
with my handkerchief, I offered it to her with distinguished grace. She
sat hurriedly down on the ground with as much dignity as possible, and
then, recognising me as the person who picked up the contents of Aunt
Celia's bag, she said, dimpling in the most distracting manner (that's
another thing there ought to be a law against): 'Thank you again; you
seem to be a sort of knight-errant.'

'Shall I--assist you?' I asked. I might have known that this was going
too far. Of course I didn't suppose she would let me help her put the
shoe on, but I thought--upon my soul, I don't know what I thought, for
she was about a million times prettier to-day than yesterday.

'No, thank you,' she said, with polar frigidity. 'Good-afternoon.' And
she hopped back to her Aunt Celia without another word.

I don't know how to approach Aunt Celia. She is formidable. By a curious
accident of feature, for which she is not in the least responsible, she
always wears an unfortunate expression as of one perceiving some
offensive odour in the immediate vicinity. This may be a mere accident
of high birth. It is the kind of nose often seen in the 'first
families,' and her name betrays the fact that she is of good old
Knickerbocker origin. We go to Wells to-morrow--at least, I think we do.

_She_

Salisbury, _June 3_.

I didn't like Salisbury at first, but I find it is the sort of place
that grows on one the longer one stays in it. I am quite sorry we must
leave so soon, but Aunt Celia is always in haste to be gone. Bath may be
interesting, but it is entirely out of the beaten path from here.

_She_

Bath, _June 7_,
The Best Hotel.

I met him at Wells and again this afternoon here. We are always being
ridiculous, and he is always rescuing us. Aunt Celia never really sees
him, and thus never recognises him when he appear