"Take that pink ribbon right off your braid," commanded her mother, reëntering the house.
"Oh, no, ma, it goes so good with this dress," pleaded Minty, looking down affectionately at the red plaid.
"Let her keep 'em on," said Cap'n Lem. "They ain't no time to change. They're a-comin' right up. Thinkright asked me to tell ye they'd be here for supper. They hain't had nothin' but trash on the road, I guess. Miss Lacey looks kind o' peak-ed;" and so saying, the old man drove on to the barn, his eyes closed tight as he slapped his knee in enjoyment of this second witticism, possibly even better than the first.
Minty skipped around helping her mother with the tea things, but her round eyes were first to discern the pair who came in sight on the hillside.
"There they be," she exclaimed, running to the window; "and ma," in deep excitement, "they're hookin' arms!"
"What are you talkin' about?" exclaimed her mother, whose pompadour fairly heaved in the jerk with which its wearer rose from the oven at this significant information.
"They are," repeated Minty, secure in her tremendous discovery; "come and look. Do you s'pose," in a hushed tone, "do you spose they're beaux, ma?"
"Hold your tongue, Minty Foster; you're too young to say such things," returned her mother; but the pompadour continued in a state of violent unrest as Mrs. Lem gazed at the new-comers and rapidly reviewed the situation and its possibilities. "I can't say it wouldn't be fittin'," she murmured, as she stood behind her daughter.
The approaching pair seemed absorbed in close conversation as they sauntered slowly, the lady's face downcast and her companion's eyes upon her.
"I'll never stay here with her, though, never in this world,"—went on Mrs. Lem, "and probably she wouldn't want me to."