“REALLY, Mary,” said Imogene coldly, “Mr. Temple must have a singular opinion of you.”

Even the mildest natures are capable of indignation at times, and Mary showed her sense of her cousin’s injustice.

“I don’t know why,” she said.

“It isn’t the custom for young ladies to call on young men and ask their escort.”

“Who has done it?” demanded Mary.

“It looks very much as if you had done it,” said Imogene.

“Your suspicion is ridiculous,” said Mary with dignity.

“Considering that my father supports you, you might treat me with greater respect,” said Imogene angrily.

“I am not likely to forget my dependence, Imogene,” said Mary. “You take care to remind me of it often enough. You might spare me at least before Mr. Temple.”

“I suppose you wish him to think you a rich young lady,” said Imogene coarsely, “but it is of no use. He understands that you are a beggar, and are being educated for a governess.”

“I’d like to wring the girl’s neck,” thought Tom, who felt for Mary, under the coarse abuse which her cousin thought fit to heap upon her. He thought it quite time to speak.

“I have just as much respect for Miss Somers as if she were an heiress,” he said, with a look of sympathy which Mary saw and appreciated. “I was fortunate enough to meet your cousin a short time since, Miss Davenport, when she was exposed to a great danger.”

“From which Mr. Temple’s courage saved me,” said Mary gratefully.

“Really, one would think you had been attacked by a wild beast.”

“That is really the case,” said Tom.

“A wild beast—in Plympton!” exclaimed Imogene in amazement.

“Yes, the worst kind of a wild beast—a mad-dog. Fortunately, I had a stick with me and killed him.”

“After your brother James had run away and left me to my fate,” said Mary, a little bitterly.

Imogene’s curiosity led her to inquire into the details of the rescue. Though not altogether pleased with the growing intimacy of Tom and her poor cousin, she was glad that it was only a chance meeting, and that it was only an instinct of common humanity that led to our hero’s interfering in her behalf. Considering the youth of the parties, I may be charged with exaggerating her feelings, but Imogene is by no means the only girl of fifteen who suffers from jealousy. She was not in love of course, but she was covetous of attention, and the possible rivalry of her cousin made her very angry. She begun to think, on the whole, that she had been too open in her spite, and that this was not the surest way of winning Tom’s favor. She was clear-sighted enough to see that his sympathies in the present case were with Mary.

Softening her tone, therefore, she said:

“At any rate, I am glad it has brought you to the house, Mr. Temple. Pray come in, and let me offer you a plate of strawberries and cream.”

Tom was not heroic enough to withstand such an offer as this. He was fond of strawberries, and he knew there was no chance of getting any at the Middletons’. They would have thought it sinful extravagance to spend money on such a luxury.

“Thank you,” he said, and entered.

“You’d better go up-stairs and change your dress, Mary,” said her cousin. “Really the one you have on looks disgracefully dirty.”

“I fell while I was running away from the dog,” said Mary.

Just here James entered. He looked rather sheepish when he saw Mary.

“Halloo! Are you all right, Mary?” he asked.

“Yes!” she said, rather significantly. “I am glad you were prudent enough not to run into danger on my account.”

“The dog came so suddenly,” said James, coloring, “that I didn’t have time to think.”

“So you jumped over the wall. I don’t know what would have become of me if Mr. Temple had not come along.”

“Did you have a gun?” asked James.

“No; I had a stick that I cut in the woods.”

“He killed the dog with it,” said Mary, “and afterward he conquered the dog’s owner.”

“You don’t mean to say you fought with Ben Miller?” exclaimed James, in surprise.

“He insisted on my paying for the dog or fighting him,” said Tom. “I chose the last.”

“Why, he’s twice as strong as you,” said James. “He could whip you and me together, that is if I would condescend to fight with such a low fellow.”

“I had to condescend,” said Tom laughing, “as he attacked me furiously.”

“What did you do?”

“I condescended to give him the worst of it. He won’t want to fight with me again.”

“I don’t understand it. He is certainly stronger than you.”

“He doesn’t know how to use his strength. I can box, and while I warded off his blows I put in a few that he didn’t like.”

“Then you box?”

“A little.”

“I’ll take care not to get into a fight with him,” said James to himself. “If he can whip Ben Miller he’s more than a match for me.”

Meanwhile Mary had gone up-stairs and changed her dress, as her cousin suggested.

Imogene, having Tom to herself, became very agreeable, loaded his plate with strawberries, and strove to ingratiate herself with him. But Tom did not easily forget the spite which she had exhibited toward her cousin, and Imogene would hardly have felt flattered had she been able to read the real opinion which he entertained concerning her.

“Take some more strawberries—do, Mr. Temple,” said Imogene.

“Thank you,” said Tom, “but I have eaten heartily. Besides, your cousin hasn’t had any.”

“Oh, Mary doesn’t care for strawberries,” said Imogene carelessly.

“Yes, I do,” said Mary, who that moment entered. “I think they are beautiful.”

Imogene frowned.

“Oh, well, empty the dish if you like,” said she rudely.

“If she does, she won’t have as much as we have eaten,” said Tom. “Let me help you, Miss Mary.”

And to Imogene’s vexation he deposited the remaining strawberries in a plate and handed them to Mary.

“Thank you,” said Mary, and chafed by her cousin’s rudeness she defiantly seasoned and ate the strawberries.

Imogene rose abruptly while Mary was still eating.

“Come into the parlor, Mr. Temple,” she said. “I would like to show a piece of music which my music-teacher just brought me.”

“You must excuse me, Miss Davenport,” said Tom, bowing. “I have not been home since morning, and I need to change my dress as well as your cousin.”

“Don’t mind your dress. I’ll excuse it.”

“But I feel dirty. I have been tramping about the woods. I wouldn’t have ventured into a young lady’s presence except under the circumstances.”

“I am sorry the dog is dead for your sake, Mary,” said Imogene sarcastically. “You might contrive to get rescued again in a day or two.”

“I would rather be excused,” said Mary Somers. “I wouldn’t have such a fright again for a thousand dollars.”

“It would pay you, as you are never likely to get so much money in any other way.”

“I am not likely to forget that I am poor, Imogene,” said Mary, in a hurt tone.

“Good-by,” said Tom.

When Tom had gone the luckless Mary had to undergo another attack.

“I should be ashamed to lay myself out to attract attention as you do, Mary,” said her amiable cousin.

“Who says I have?”

“I say so. It is really sickening to see how you try to attract Mr. Temple. You seem to forget that he is rich, or going to be, and that you will only be a poor governess.”

“I think it is mean, Imogene, to remind me of my poverty before strangers.”

“I wouldn’t if you didn’t put on so many airs. Really it is sickening.”

“If we were to change places I would not taunt you with your dependence.”

“Wait till I am dependent,” said Imogene. “I flatter myself there is no fear of that. My father is the wealthiest man in the town, which is fortunate for you. Although you are permitted to share in the same advantages with his children, you ought always to remember your true position. You ought to be more respectful to me and James, for, though we are your cousins, we are far above you in social position.”

Poor Mary! It was not the first time she had been compelled to listen to such admonitions from her haughty cousin.

She left the room with an aching heart. Her material wants were provided for—she lacked not for food or clothing—but she sought in vain for the sympathy which the heart craves. She felt that she was regarded with disdain by her uncle’s family, and she longed for the time when she could throw off the thralldom of dependence and earn her own living.

“I hate her!” said Imogene to herself, as her cousin closed the door. “With her meek face and cajoling ways, she is artfully trying to get Tom Temple interested in her. She sha’n’t succeed if I can help it. I’ll show him her real character. I wish pa would send her off to some cheap boarding-school.”