The sport for to-morrow is tomato pickles, and the man who skipped to-day left because Aunt Sally wanted him to help scald and peel the tomats.

Your job is cut out for you." "All right," he replied humbly.

"I'll do anything you say but plough or cut wood.

My enchanted youth on the farm was filled with those delights, and before I go back to that a swift Marathon runner must trip me." He was aware presently that one by one the girls were slipping away; he saw them through the windows settling themselves at the round table of the living-room, where Mrs.Owen was reading a newspaper.

Not more than a quarter of an hour had passed when he and Sylvia found themselves alone.
"I haven't scarlet fever or anything," he remarked, noting the flight with satisfaction.
"I suppose we might go inside, too," suggested Sylvia obtusely.
"Oh, I came up for the fresh air! Most of my nights lately have been spent in a hot office with not even a June bug for company.