"Oh, no, no!" answered Stuyvesant, looking on John suspiciously. Then he mopped his forehead, leaving it streaked with the dust that came off. "Hot," he said.
They rounded the last hill before the Madden gateway, and through a gap in some stately poplars they caught a glimpse of a white speck on an upper terrace.
"Cecilia!" blurted out Stuyvesant. "Oh, gosh! John, is my tie, that is, do I look——"
"Sure, you do," said John, comfortingly. Stuyvesant mopped some more. His face looked like a futurist painting of "The Dancers" or some one's aunt.
They rounded up the hill slowly. Evangeline bounded from the shrubbery and barked welcome.
"Evangeline," said Stuyvesant, as one in a trance.
"Yes," answered John; "Norah named him for Cecilia. Norah is an old family servant." Had Stuyvesant heard, he might have smiled, but Stuyvesant was past hearing.
"You poor boys!" said Cecilia. "How hot and tired you must be!" Then she looked at Stuyvesant and laughed. "I judge it was dusty?" she said.
"No, that is, I mean quite so," stuttered Stuyvesant. He stood before her silent, openly staring.
When John saw Cecilia flush he put his hand on Stuyvesant's arm. "Come on," he said. "We'll go brush up."