He's just that chipper and gay." Nevertheless, as with a muttered "Good-morning" the young fellow turned away, she quietly brushed past her father, and followed him--with her hands still penitently behind her, and the rosy palms turned upward--as far as the gate.

Her single long Marguerite braid of hair trailing down her back nearly to the hem of her skirt, appeared to accent her demure reserve.

At the gate she shaded her eyes with her hand, and glanced upward.
"It don't seem to be a good day for arbitrating.

A trifle early in the season, ain't it ?" "Good-morning, Miss McKinstry." She held out her hand.

He took it with an affected ease but cautiously, as if it had been the velvet paw of a young panther who had scratched him.