“That ruffly girl we saw this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Ach, don’t you worry, Ma. Our Mart won’t run after that kind of a girl! Anyhow, not for long.”
At that moment the object of their discussion was approaching the Reist farmhouse. The entire household, Millie included, sat on the big front porch as the caller came down the road.
“Look,” said Philip, and began to sing softly. “Here comes a beau a-courting, a-courting---”
“Phil!” chided Millie and Amanda in one breath.
“Don’t worry, Sis,” said the irrepressible youth, “we’ll gradually efface ourselves, one by one--we’re very thoughtful. I’ll flip a penny to see whether Isabel stays or you. Heads you win, tails she does.”
“Phil!”
The vehement protest from his sister did not deter the boy from tossing the coin, which promptly rolled off the porch and fell into a bed of geraniums.
“See,” he continued, “even the Fates are uncertain which one of you will win. I suppose the battle’s to the strongest this time. Oh, hello, Martin,” he said graciously as the caller turned in at the gate, “Nice day, ain’t it?”