"I never did think that Nettie Meyers had very good manners," announced Mrs. Pritchett.

They overtook the schoolmaster jogging along behind his old gray mare.

He, likewise, bowed profoundly to the Bray girls.

"I am afraid you did not enjoy yourself last night at the club, Miss Bray," he said to Lyddy, who was on his side of the buckboard, as Lucas pulled out to pa.s.s him. "You went home so early. I was looking for you after it was all over."

"Oh, but you are mistaken," declared Lyddy, pleasantly. "I had a very nice time."

As they drove on Mrs. Pritchett's fat face became a study.

"And he never even asked arter Sairy!" she gasped. "And he let her come home alone last night. Humph! he must ha' been busy huntin' for _you_, Miss Bray."

Lucas cast oil on the troubled waters by saying:

"An' I carried Miss Lyddy and Miss 'Phemie away from all of 'em. I guess _all_ the Pritchetts ain't so slow, Maw."

"Humph! Wa-al," admitted the good lady, somewhat mollified, "you _hev_ seemed to 'woke up lately, Lucas."

The chapel was built of graystone and its north wall was entirely covered with ivy. It nestled in a grove of evergreens, with the tidy fenced graveyard behind it. The visitors thought it a very beautiful place.

Everybody was rustling into church when they arrived, so there were no introductions then. The pastor was a stooped, gray old man, who had been the inc.u.mbent for many years, and to the Bray girls his discourse seemed as helpful as any they had ever heard.

After service the girls of Hillcrest Farm were introduced to many of the congregation by Mrs. Pritchett. Naturally these were the middle-aged, or older, members of the flock--mostly ladies who knew, or remembered, the girls' mother and Aunt Jane. Indeed, it was rather noticeable that the young women and girls did not come forward to meet Lyddy and 'Phemie.

Not that either of the sisters cared. They liked the matrons who attended Cornell Chapel much better than they had most of the youthful members of the Temperance Club.

Some of the young men waited their chance in the vestibule to get a bow and a smile of recognition from the newcomers; but only the schoolmaster dared attach himself for any length of time to the Pritchett party.

And Mrs. Pritchett could not fail to take note of this at length. The teacher was deep in some unimportant discussion with Lyddy, who was sweetly unconscious that she was fanning the fire of suspicion in Mrs.

Pritchett's breast.

That lady finally broke in with a loud "Ahem!" following it with: "I re'lly don't know what's happened to my Sairy. She's right poorly to-day, Mr. Somers."

"Why--I--I'm sorry to hear it," said the startled, yet quite unsuspicious teacher. "She seemed to be in good health and spirits when we were on our way to the club meeting last evening."

"Ya-as," agreed Mrs. Pritchett, simpering and looking at him sideways.

"She seems to have changed since then. She ain't been herself since she walked home from the meeting."

"Perhaps she has a cold?" suggested the teacher, blandly.

"Oh, Sairy is not subject to colds," declared Mrs. Pritchett. "But she is easily chilled in other ways--yes, indeed! I don't suppose there is a more sensitive young girl on the ridge than my Sairy."

Mr. Somers began to wake up to the fact that the farmer's wife was not shooting idly at him; there was "something behind it!"

"I am sorry if Miss Sairy is offended, or has been hurt in any way," he said, gravely. "It was a pity she had to walk home from the club. If I had known----"

"Wa-al," drawled Mrs. Pritchett, "_you_ took her there yourself in your buggy."

"Indeed!" he exclaimed, flushing a little. "I had no idea that bound me to the necessity of taking her home again. Her brother was there with your carriage. I am sure I do not understand your meaning, Mrs. Pritchett."

"Oh, I don't mean anything!" exclaimed the lady, but very red in the face now, and her bonnet shaking. "Come, gals! we must be going."

Both Lyddy and 'Phemie had begun to feel rather unhappy by this time. Mrs.

Pritchett swept them up the aisle ahead of her as though she were shooing a flock of chickens with her ample skirts.

They went through the vestibule with a rush. Lucas was ready with the ponies. Mrs. Pritchett was evidently very angry over her encounter with the teacher; and she could not fail to hold the Bray girls somewhat accountable for her daughter's failure to keep the interest of Mr. Somers.

She said but little on the drive homeward. There had been something said earlier about the girls going down to the Pritchett farm for dinner; but the angry lady said nothing more about it, and Lyddy and 'Phemie were rather glad when Hillcrest came into view.

"Ye better stop in an' go along down to the house with us," said the good-natured Lucas, hesitating about turning the ponies' heads in at the lane.

"Oh, we could not possibly," Lyddy replied, gracefully. "We are a thousand times obliged for your making it possible for us to attend church. You are all so kind, Mrs. Pritchett. But this afternoon I must plead the wicked intention of writing letters. I haven't written a line to one of my college friends since I came to Hillcrest."

Mrs. Pritchett merely grunted. Lucas covered his mother's grumpiness by inconsequential chatter with 'Phemie while he drove in and turned the ponies so that the girls could get out.

"A thousand thanks!" cried 'Phemie.

"Good-day!" exclaimed Lyddy, brightly.

Mrs. Pritchett's bonnet only shook the harder, and she did not turn to look at the girls. Lucas cast a very rueful glance in their direction as he drove hastily away.

"Now we've done it!" gasped 'Phemie, half laughing, half in disgust.

"Why! whatever is the matter, do you suppose?" demanded her sister.

"Well, if you can't see _that_----"

"I see she's angry over Sairy and the school teacher--poor man! But what have we to do with that?"

"It's your fatal attractiveness," sighed 'Phemie. Then she began to laugh. "You're a very innocent baby, Lyd. Don't you see that Maw Pritchett thought--or hoped--that she had Mr. Somers nicely entangled with Sairy?

And he neglected her for you. Bing! it's all off, and we're at outs with the Pritchett family."

"What awful language!" sighed Lyddy, unlocking the door. "I am sorry you ever went to work in that millinery shop, 'Phemie. It has made your mind--er--almost common!"

But 'Phemie only laughed.

If the Pritchett females were "at outs" with them, the men of the family did not appear to be. At least, Cyrus and his son were at Hillcrest bright and early on Monday morning, with two teams ready for plowing. Lyddy had a serious talk with Mr. Pritchett first.

"Ya-as. That's good 'tater and truckin' land behind the barn. It's laid out a good many years now, for it's only an acre, or so, and we never tilled it for corn. It's out o' the way, kinder," said the elder Pritchett.

"Then I want that for a garden," Lyddy declared.

"It don't pay me to work none of this 'off' land for garden trucks," said Cyrus, shortly. "Not 'nless ye want a few rows o' stuff in the cornfield jest where I can cultivate with the hosses."

"But if you plant corn here, you must plant my garden, too," insisted Lyddy, who was quite as obstinate as the old farmer. "And I'd like to have a big garden, and plenty of potatoes, too. I am going to keep boarders this summer, and I want to raise enough to feed them--or partly feed them, at least."

"Huh! Boarders, eh? A gal like you!"