CHAPTER X.
ROB AND FRED ENTERTAIN CALLERS.
"I say, cousin Bess," said Rob, coming into the library one evening, "why weren't you at church last night?"
"Father and mother went to Boston Saturday afternoon, to stay till Wednesday, and it was going to be rather dismal for Fred to stay alone here, so we spent the evening reading," answered Bess, moving to let Rob perch himself on the arm of her great easy-chair.
"I tried to make her go, but she just wouldn't," remarked Fred, in a remorseful parenthesis.
"Well, you'd better have been there, both of you," responded Rob, as he slyly drew a long shell pin from his cousin's hair, and tucked it into his side pocket. "Do you remember that friend of Mr. Washburn that sang here one night in January, that New York tenor? He was here again last night, and sang splendidly. We had the worst time in the recessional. It was 'How sweet the name,' and just as we were coming down the steps,—I don't know what made him do it, but Phil dropped his book right whack down on his own toes. We both got to laughing so we couldn't sing any coming out. Wasn't it mean, when we wanted to do our best? And Mr. Washburn was awfully cross about it."
"I don't know that I wonder, Rob," said Bess.
"What did Phil do?" asked Fred. "Did he pick up his hymnal?"
"Course not," answered Rob, as he secured another hairpin; "he couldn't stop and stoop down for it. We just had to go ahead and leave the others to hop over it best way they could. Say, cousin Bessie, did you ever notice that old woman in the front seat, the one in the great big black bonnet, with the wreath of purple flowers?"
Bess nodded assent, and then turned her head to watch her little cousin, as he still sat on her chair-arm, steadying himself with a hand on her shoulder, while he talked animatedly, with his dimples coming and going, and his eyes sparkling with fun. At her other side sat Fred, with both elbows on the table, and his chin in his hands, as he listened to Rob's merry chatter, and occasionally threw in a word or two of his own.