and those who thought it wiser
to take neither side, still amused themselves with card parties, tea
parties and dances, with now and then an evening at the theater, and
driving. There were so many fine long roads not yet cut up into blocks
that were great favorites on a day like this. Doris felt the
exhilaration and her eyes shone like stars.

Presently Cary turned, and here they were at Common Street.

"That has been fine!" he began as he drew up to the door. "It sets your
blood all a-sparkle. Have I taken your breath away, little cousin?"

He came around and offered his hand to his father. Then he lifted Doris
as if she had been a feather, and stood her on the broad porch. That
recalled Warren Leverett to her mind.

"It was splendid," answered Doris.

They all walked in together, and Cary shook hands cordially with Miss
Recompense.

He was almost as tall as his father, with a fair, boyish face and thick
light hair that did not curl, but tumbled about and was always falling
over his forehead.

Warren was stouter and had more color, and there was a kind of laughing
expression to his face. Cary's had a certain resolution and that
loftiness we are given to calling aristocratic.

When Doris had carried the foot-stove to Dinah, and her own wraps
upstairs, she stood for a moment uncertain. Cary and his father were
talking eagerly in the study, so she sat down by the hall fire and began
to think about the Vicar and Mrs. Primrose, and wanted to know what
Moses did at the Fair. She had been at one town fair, but she could not
recall much besides the rather quaintly and gayly dressed crowd. Then
there was a summons to supper.

"Oh," cried Cary, "sit still a moment. You look like a page of Mother
Goose. You can't be Miss Muffet, for you have no curds and whey, and you
are not Jack Horner----"

She sprang up then and caught Uncle Winthrop's hand. "Nor Mother Goose,"
she rejoined laughingly.

The plates were moved just a little. Cary sat between her and his
father.

"I have heard quite a good deal about you," he began. "Are you French or
English?"

She caught a tiny gleam in Uncle Win's eye, and gravely answered in
French.

"How do you get along there in Sudbury Street? Who does the talking?" he
asked in surprise.

"We all talk," she answered.

He flushed a little and then gave an amused nod.

"Upon my word, you are not slow, if the weather is cold. And you
_parlez-vous_ like a native. Now, if you and fathe