“Well, I am free to confess,” said his mother, thoughtfully, “that I do not know just how to treat Mr. Marsh. He tried to have me invite him to ride with us to-day; but I do not want him.”
“You say the word, mother,” said Nat, belligerently, “and Ned and I will send him to the right-about-face.”
Mrs. White laughed. “Oh, I fancy he is not very dangerous, my boy.”
“Then, if that’s the case,” added Nat, grinning, “why not sick Tavia onto him?”
“Nathaniel!”
“You horrid thing!” exclaimed Tavia, perfectly able to fight her own battles with the boys. “You talk as though I might be a bulldog.”
“You’re a sight more dangerous,” chuckled Nat. “If you once rolled those big eyes of yours at Philo—as you did at that cowboy, Lance, for instance——”
“Nathaniel!” exclaimed his mother again. “I am ashamed of you.”
“You’d have been ashamed of Tavia if you’d seen her,” grunted the young fellow.
That was the beginning of a tiff between Tavia and Nat. “You wait, Mr. Smartie!” she whispered, giving him a vicious pinch as he passed her chair. “I’ll get square with you for saying that.”