"He is determined to be literal," she said with a sigh.
Lou gathered up a handful of flowers that lay in Mrs. Mayfield's lap. "Let me have these," and she began to weave them into the city woman's hair.
"Why, daughter," cried Margaret, "don't do that. She mout not like it."
"Oh, don't stop her, please," Mrs. Mayfield replied, and then to Jim she added: "Did you ever have a fawn touch you with its velvety lip? The thrill of innocence, the—"
"Auntie, don't be extravagant," Tom broke in, and Lou gave him a look of tender reproof. "I wish you'd hush, Mr. Tom. I like to hear her talk."
"Why—why don't you like to hear me talk?"
"I do except when you interrupt her."
He hung his head. "Thank you. Wishes should be sacred when set to music."
"A very pretty speech," said Mrs. Mayfield, nodding Tom a compliment, and Margaret, not to be left behind, declared: "Oh, he couldn't be pearter if he tried."
"There," exclaimed the girl, patting Mrs. Mayfield's head, "you are in bloom."