ught in some red peaches and blue grapes
on an outlandish little Jap waiter in all colors, "just too 'cute for
anything." Miss Josey was Mell's only connecting link with the country
"quality," and hence appreciated in due proportion to her importance.

"I declare, Mell, you spoil me to death," simpered Miss Josey, "and
nothing else in life is half so nice as being spoiled to death. But I
must eat and run--must, really--I'm just so busy I hardly know which
way to turn. I want you to go to a picnic with me to-morrow."

"A picnic!"

Mell's heart got into her throat at one single bound, and stuck there.
Jerome had said something about a picnic.

"What picnic, Miss Josey?"

"The Grange picnic. I'm one of the lady managers, as perhaps you know,
and I want you to help me with the tables. Mrs. Rutland cannot go, and
there are so few to be depended on."

"You can depend on me," said Mell; "I will go with you gladly--gladly
spend and be spent for you, who have been always so kind to me."

Hadn't she, though? But this was the crowning act of all Miss Josey's
kindness. At this picnic she would see Jerome, and, who knows, perhaps
find out his difficulties!

"You are a sweet girl, Mell," returned Miss Josey, gratified. "So
grateful, in a world chock full of the basest ingratitude. I told Miss
Rutland, 'Mell Creecy is the girl to take your place. She knows what
to do, and she'll do it!'"

After this, Mell could scarcely follow the drift of her visitor's
conversation. She was in a ferment of impatience for Miss Josey to be
gone, that she might put the finishing touches to a new white dress in
readiness for to-morrow's festivities. But Miss Josey, who couldn't
possibly stay two short minutes when she arrived, did not get off
under two mortal hours, or more. This is one of those little
peculiarities of the sex, which the last one of them disavows.

Gone at last, Mell went dancing over the house and singing over her
work at such a lively rate, that her father put his head in at the
chamber-door wanting to know "what she was er makin' sich er fuss
erbout?"

"The Grange picnic, father, tra-la-la! I'm going with Miss Josey,
folderolloll!"

"Oho! Devilho gwine ter be thar, I s'pose?"

"Yes, indeed! Hail, all hail! La-la-tra-la!"

"Make him toe the mark, darter!"

Mell's song abruptly ceased.

To make an individual of Mr. Jerome Devonhough's subtle intellect and
masterful will toe the mark was going to be no easy matter. H