"Oh, yes, it agrees so well with the children here," answered Mr. Andrews apologetically. "I did not know where they would be any better off."
"Well, we must be grateful to them for keeping you, I suppose. I don't think you have been a very valuable neighbor so far, however. You haven't lived enough in the country to know what is expected of neighbors, perhaps."
"No, I must confess—"
"Why, neighbors in the country have a serious duty in the winter. They spend evenings very often together; they play cribbage, they bring over the evening paper; they take watches to town to be mended; they mail letters, they even carry bundles."
"I should think Mr. Andrews would give up the lease of his house if you put much more before him as his duty for next winter."
Missy said this quite loftily, having grown red and white, possibly a little yellow, since her aunt began to speak. Her loftiness, perhaps, piqued Mr. Andrews a little, for he said, turning to her:
"Hasn't a neighbor any summer duties? I hope Miss Varian will make me out a list."
"With pleasure," cried Miss Varian, scenting mischief in the air.
"My aunt's ideas of duty are individual, pray let me say," Missy put in, in not the most perfectly suave tone.
"A neighbor, in the summer," went on Miss Varian, as if she had not spoken, "a neighbor in the summer comes across after dinner, and smokes his cigar at the beach gate, if any of the family are sitting on the lawn. In rainy weather he comes over for a game of cards; occasionally he comes in time for tea; if he has a sail-boat, he takes his neighbors out sometimes to sail; he brings them peaches, the very first that come to market, and he never minds changing a book at the library in town."