"Aren't you going to get down, my dear?"
Gay rose rather reluctantly; he had hoped to be permitted to drive the horses to the stable, which was a good half-mile back on the road. "Good-by," he said, grasping the driver's hand; "I hope I shall see you soon, and Lyman, too. I'll come round to your stable and see the Holstein cattle you told me about—they must be immense, particularly the yearling. I never had such a good drive in my life."
After this cordial farewell Gay dropped like a ripe plum off the side of the coach to the ground. Off came the daisy-wreathed hat, then he drew his heels well together and bowed profoundly. It was a salute that would have delighted General Haines' military soul, but it did not please the group on the porch. Miss Linn, Miss Celia, the judge's mother, the doctor's wife and the minister rose and stood in a row, like dahlias,—but no one spoke a word!
CHAPTER IX
SAW AND AXE.
"Celia," said Miss Linn, the next day, "I understand it perfectly; Elinor has been sick so much that the younger children have been left with the servants and this is the result. Now we must make May over."
Miss Linn and Miss Celia were sewing in their morning room. They were old-fashioned gentlewomen, not altogether in touch with modern habits and they held to their needlework of a forenoon as religiously as though it had been a practise ordained by a bishop, and when Miss Linn said, "We must make May over," she spoke as though the petticoated fraud was a misfit garment.
Now Miss Celia never opposed the will or wishes of her elder sister. Contradiction was not a weapon to be used with stately Miss Linn, who was, in the phrase of their servant, Margery, "terrible sot in her way!" But Miss Celia did venture to say,—
"May is a trifle hoydenish, perhaps, but time will remove that blemish from her bearing without our assistance, sister."