As for Euphemia herself, that merry but unthoughtful maiden saw so clearly the signs of a coming storm in the now wintry smile of her stepmother, that she actually put on her hat and walked across the green with Sibyl Brayton and Val.
The latter had done his part to admiration, and was therefore content to delegate to George Brayton the duty of seeing Effie safely home again.
A long way home, considering the size of the green. At least, that was what Mrs. Brayton made up her mind to before she heard her son close the door of his room on his return.
Whatever may have been Mrs. Brayton’s thoughts, however, she wisely kept them to herself.
So did Zebedee Fuller, although he remarked aloud, as he returned to his father’s house that evening:
“Yes, I fully approve of that. Euphemia is a fine young woman, and George is displaying good sense. I wonder how it will strike old Sol? I hope he won’t like it. I’ve seen Dorothy Jane look sideways at George. There’s every reason to hope she hates him. Wouldn’t that be a pill, now? And they’d have to take it, for the property’s all Euphemia’s, and she’ll be of age in less’n two years. I could scarcely have planned it better myself.”
And Zebedee chuckled an exceedingly great and satisfied chuckle.
He had been over to see Bar Vernon about having a grand good time on the lake, next day, and had been sharply disappointed at the disturbance of his plans. Bar had finally persuaded him, however, that there was plenty of room on the lake, and that he and the other fellows might just as well get such boats as they could and have their fishing.
“And I suppose, Bar,” said Zebedee, “you and Val and the rest will know enough not to interfere with us. If there’s anything in the wide world that unsettles my intellect, it’s a young lady.”
“You shan’t be afflicted,” laughed Bar. “You may have the whole lake except the very patch of water we are fishing in.”