Mout's well be a gittin' on, I reckon.

Gin her time to come round, I 'low." With such wooing, renewed from time to time, the clumsy and complacent Dave whiled away his days, and comforted himself that he had the persimmon-tree all to himself, as he expressed it.

Meanwhile, the notes of Westcott were fast undoing all that Albert had done to separate him from "the purty little girl." [Illustration: "WHAT ON AIRTH'S THE MATTER ?"] Of course, when the right time came, he happened to meet Katy on the street, and to take off his hat and make a melancholy bow, the high-tragedy air of which confirmed Katy's suspicions that he meant to commit suicide at the first opportunity.

Then he chanced to stop at the gate, and ask, in a tone sad enough to have been learned from the gatherers of cold victuals, if he might come in.

In three days more, he was fully restored to favor and to his wonted cheerfulness.