“And Stella, doesn’t she mind what you do to her, either?”
“Stella! Oh, she doesn’t know what I do for her. Of course when you do things for your friends you don’t tell them about it.”
“And doesn’t Stella know that you wrote to the governor in her behalf?”
“Of course not!” said Ladybird, with great dignity; and rising, she gathered up Cloppy, hung him over her arm and said: “Now, if you please, we will go to the house.”
Remarking to himself that this was certainly a jolly go, Chester Humphreys followed the picturesque figure of Ladybird as she flew through the orchards.
Crossing the great sweep of lawn, they came to Primrose Hall, where, on the front veranda, sat the Misses Flint, placidly knitting.
“My aunties,” cried Ladybird, as she came near them, “this is a friend of mine I have brought to see you. His name is Mr. Chester Humphreys, and he lives in New York, and he came here to see me.”
“Chester Humphreys!” exclaimed Aunt Priscilla, rising and dropping her knitting. “Excuse me, sir, but was your mother a Stedman?”
“She was,” said the young man; “and my father was Chester Humphreys of Newburyport.”
“Then you are the son of one of my dearest girlhood friends,” said Miss Priscilla, “and I am very glad to see you.”