"He's going to take her to the Flower Show," she said, as she set the breakfast-table. "He told Bob Johnson so last night, and Bob told me this morning."
"That's very bad, Susan Kate," I said. "A man should never break his promise. I'm surprised at John William. Hasn't he said anything to you about it?"
"We haven't spoken a word to each other since I gave him a piece of my mind about meeting him and her in Low Field Lane," said Susan Kate. "Nay, if he prefers her to me he can have her, and welcome. I shall have naught no more to do with young men—they're that fickle!"
"Shall you go to the Flower Show, Susan Kate?" I inquired.
"No, I shan't!" snapped out Susan Kate. "They can have it to themselves, and then they'll happen to be suited."
I walked into Cornborough during the day and discovered the whereabouts of Miss Duxberry's shop. It was not difficult to pick out the hat to which Susan Kate had referred, nor to realize that the girl had uncommonly good taste, and that it would look very well indeed on her wealth of raven hair. A label attached to its stand announced that it came from Paris, and that its price was a guinea—well, Susan Kate was well worthy of twenty-one shillings'-worth of the latest Parisian fashion. Besides, there was John William's future to consider. So I dispatched the Paris hat to Sweetbriar Farm by a specially commissioned boy, who solemnly promised to remember with what duty he was charged.
That evening, after my return to the farm, and following upon my supper and a short conference with Susan Kate, I made my way to the courtyard, where Bob Johnson, the second "liver-in," was invariably to be found in his leisure moments, seated on the granary steps, and engaged either in plaiting whip-lashes or making whistles out of ash-twigs. Mr. Johnson was a stolid, heavy-faced, heavily-fashioned young gentleman of twenty, with just sufficient intelligence to know a plough from a harrow, and a firm conviction that the first duty of all well-regulated citizens was to eat and drink as much as possible. I gave him a cigar, at which he immediately began to suck as if it had been his own pipe, and passed the time of day with him.
"I suppose you'll be going to the Flower Show to-morrow?" I said.
Mr. Johnson shook his head over his whiplash.
"I'm sure I don't know," he answered. "The master's given us a half-day off, but I'm none so great on them occasions. I doubt I shan't be present."