The girl's aunt had prepared a dinner especially for the visitors, at which the incorrigible youngster had been instructed to appear only when his elders had finished. It was Saturday, and the priest's school was not in session that day. Freedom from this restraint had had its effect upon the urchin, and his mother found it in her heart to frequently wish that it had been a school day instead. With care she instructed him in what manner to behave himself, and what things he must under no consideration do, one of which was not to talk too much.
"In that case, mother, what I do say must count," said the boy, not dull as to wit.
"Count fifty before you speak at all. Then you must consider what you say, and you will not be foolish. I daresay you will still show yourself feather-headed enough," and his mother sighed, apparently striving to be resigned to the suspense of her position.
The visitors were telling of their recent voyage to the islands. The youngster could keep quiet no longer.
"Eyllen has been long expecting you, Mr. Shismakoff. She often went to the hilltop to wave to you, and I suppose she also called you. Did you hear her across the water, and come in answer?"
The young man smiled.
"Be silent! you naughty boy!" commanded his mother, with as much force as she could master.
Eyllen's color grew like the wild roses in the window.
"Did you hear her calling?" persisted the mischief loving youngster.
"I do not think so. I take it the saints directed me here, for none but they could bring me this present happiness," said the visitor, gallantly inclining his head to the one with the roses in her cheeks.