On Friday morning, while the girls were flying busily around, and Mrs. Dering was deep in the task of getting a tall cake browned just to a turn, there came a note from Mrs. Dane.

"How unfortunate," she mused, reading it hurriedly, as the girls ran in to see what it was. "Mr. Dane has gone to the city and will not be back until ten to night, and Mrs. Dane wants me to come and stay with her, as she has one of her dreadful nervous attacks. I feel as though I ought to go, if you can spare me girls!"

"Things will go higgle-ty-piggle-ty, sure as the world," said Kat, balancing on the edge of the table, and fanning with the duster.

"No, they will not either," corrected Bea. "We ought to be ashamed if they do. Go, of course, mama, though I will be dreadfully sorry not to have you here this evening."

"The cake is not quite done, and has to be iced," said Mrs. Dering, glancing from the fire to the clock. "I don't know,—"

"I'll finish it," said Kittie, letting down her dress, and replacing her sweeping cap with a big kitchen apron. "Go, and get ready mama, then come and tell me how to do the icing; the cake will be done by that time."

"It must cool first, but you can get five eggs, and take the whites, get the beater and the sugar, and then I'll be back," replied Mrs. Dering, brushing some flour from her sleeves, and hurrying out.

"Now something is going to happen," said Kat with prophetic certainty. "I feel it in my bones, and I bet you a postage-stamp it will be my fault."

"Then I'd advise you to be careful," said Kittie, taking a hurried peep into the oven.

"Never!" cried Kat. "Something would be sure to go wrong then; it always does when I'm trying my very level best to be a credit to my family. The only thing for me to do, is to go at it with a slap and a bang; then things twist about like proper magic."

"What nonsense!" said Kittie, breaking eggs with deft fingers. "Have you cleaned the lamps yet?"

"No, nor done much else either; it's too hot; the thermometer is boiling, down cellar, and Ralph said that I was so good natured that I'd turn to grease if I got too heated, so I'm being careful, you see," said Kat, with a lazy laugh; and she sat in the window and fanned, with the duster in one hand and the egg-beater in the other.

"Well, I think the parlors look so pretty," said Kittie, with an air of relief, as the last egg deposited its silvery white in the big platter. "What an addition a piano is, and how nicely the curtains are done up; everything seems to be going right."

"I smell the cake; it's burning!" cried Kat, jumping from her seat in a hurry; but Kittie threw open the oven, and jerked out the precious contents which did smell burnt, and was deep black right around one edge.

"What a shame!" she cried regretfully; but Kat resumed her seat with the comforting remark:

"Slice it over, and cover it up with icing; it will never show in the world; you see, if I hadn't been in here, it would have been burnt up."

"I guess I've got a nose," retorted Kittie, beginning to beat eggs with a swiftness that brought high color to her cheeks. "Now go on, Kat, and fix the lamps and help Bea, for she mustn't be on her foot much."

"That's right, beat them just as stiff as possible before you put in the sugar," said Mrs. Dering, coming in with her things on, to note the progress, and leave orders. "Put it on with a large knife as smoothly as possible, then set it down cellar. As to the coffee, you know about that just as well as I do. The milk that is raising cream is on the back swing-shelf, down cellar. That is all, isn't it?"

"Yes'm, and I guess we'll manage all right. Tell Mrs. Dane I'm sorry she's sick. Good-bye."

"Everything looks beautiful, and I hope you'll have a pleasant time, dears," was Mrs. Dering's next remark, as she glanced into the parlors on her way out. "Don't tax your ankle too much, Bea, and Kat, try and not have anything happen to you this time. I suppose I will be here before they all go home, but if I am not, present my compliments and regrets. A merry time to you all. Good-bye."

"There, how does that look?" asked Kat, balancing herself on the step-ladder with a caution born of bitter experience, and looking cock-eyed at the blooming basket she had just hung.

"Beautiful," answered Bea, with her head, in a big sweeping-cap, turned admiringly side-ways. "Yes, that effect is lovely. I hope it will look as pretty by lamp-light. There comes Ralph with two big packages. I wonder what they are: something good, I expect?"

Kat sat down on the ladder to look out the window, as Bea hurried out on to the porch to meet the young man of packages, and receive his burdens, if they were offered to her.

"I was meditating this morning," said Ralph, sitting down on the steps with an exhausted air. "And it struck me, that to drink coffee on such a night as this—with the thermometer at blood heat in an ice chest—would be nothing less than a new order of suicide, so I have brought a substitute, which I venture to hope, will meet with your approval;—lemonade."

"Oh, you're a blessing," cried Bea, with a joyful pounce on to the bundles. "It will be so much nicer, and what splendid big lemons, and enough sugar to make a gallon."

"A gallon won't come amiss, I guess, people are ravenously thirsty such weather as this; why, I feel like I could drink a quart myself this very minute;—where's Kat?" asked Ralph, drawing another package from his pocket.

"Here I am; what's wanted?" answered Kat, putting her head out at the top of the window.

"Here's something that you are fond of—catch," said Ralph, tossing the package, which Kat grasped as it flew by. "I looked all over town for some decent candy for this evening, and couldn't find a thing except that, which I knew would suit Kat, and put her in a good humor." "Butter-scotch!" cried Kat, with a shriek of delight. "I haven't had any in the natural life of ten coons. What bliss! Ralph you're a top!"

"Thank you. I'm getting along, I see; for I suppose a top is a little higher than a trump, isn't it?"

But Kat had disappeared, so Ralph leaned up lazily against the post, fanning with his big straw hat, while drinking in with dreamy delight the quiet beauty before and around him. How intensely quiet nature can become in the sunshine of a summer afternoon! Even the birds in sheltering nooks among the shady leaves find greatest happiness in helping the solitude; and save a light breeze, touching the tops of the trees, and dipping down to stir the cool grass, lying in deep shade, there is no evidence that nature's pulse still answers to the quiet beating of her heart. The Dering home at a time like this, looked more like an old picture steeped in cool shadows, with glints of sunshine here and there, and one could almost imagine now, in looking at it, that the open windows, with glimpses of snowy curtains, the great front door with the cool, deep hall beyond, the shady, vine-covered porch, and the indolent figure on the steps, with dreamy, dark eyes, and hat idly dropped, were but witcheries of the artist's brush and colors.

Something entirely averse to the idea of a painting, namely, a moving figure, appeared at this moment, coming from the front door, and bearing a small waiter with a glass of cool lemonade.

"Here's something to make your eyes shine!" cried a voice that made him start up from his reverie in a hurry and look delighted.

"Kat! Is it possible? For me? Who made it?"

"I did, to be sure, all alone by myself."

"Where's the other glass?"

"Other? Patience! won't one glass do you?"

"No, but wait; I'll get it," and away he went, coming back in a moment with an empty glass, into which he poured half the cool refreshing contents.

"There! To be more social, you see. Now, mademoiselle, let's drink to health, happiness, and everlasting peace and friendship between us, from this moment henceforth. Shall we?"

"Yes," said Kat, with her brightest smile; so they clinked glasses and drank merrily in the shady porch; then shook hands to strengthen the contract, and made mutual resolves to smoke the pipe of peace forever.

Meantime Kittie, unconscious of the great reconciliation just being sealed, was having a sorry time by herself out in the hot kitchen. The icing wouldn't ice worth a cent, but persisted in being sloppy and unmanageable; and the more she spatted and smoothed, the worse it looked; and finally she called to Bea, in worn-out despair: "I don't see what in the world is the matter with it," cried the discouraged icer, setting forth her work with a sigh of exhausted energy. "Do you see what's wrong?"

"You've iced it on the wrong side," said Bea, smothering her own disappointment, out of consideration for Kittie's tired despair. "You see the top always puffs and bakes out of shape, so the way to do is to ice the bottom, so it will look smooth and nice."

"Yes, to be sure; what a goose I was not to think! I tried to make it look even by filling the dents up, and they're all perfect little puddles;" cried Kittie in heated disgust. "What shall we do, make another one? Though I'd be afraid to try. I never made any kind but the very plainest and that wouldn't do."

"No, I had rather have this. Put it down cellar in the very coolest place, and I guess it will harden up all right," advised Bea, smothering a little sigh of regretful anxiety, as she tried to give comfort to the discouraged cook. So Kittie carried it down cellar, and throughout the rest of the day made regular trips down to see if it was hardening any; but it wasn't, and her spirits sank so low that the astonishing sight of Ralph and Kat, sworn enemies when last she saw them, coming slowly up from the pond under one umbrella and evidently on such amicable grounds, did not rouse her, except to a moment of amaze; after which, she sank back into a world of troubled dreams, where there seemed to be nothing but cakes, swimming about in puddles of icing, while a dreadful penalty hung above her defenceless head, if the puddles did not congeal into ornamental coverings before a given time.

"Oh, dear, oh! What can the matter be?" sang Ralph, stopping at the kitchen window, just in time to see her coming from the cellar-way with a face bereft of all hope. "What has happened?"

"Oh, Ralph! I don't know what I shall do," she cried, with desponding agony, and then sat down on the wood-box and burst into tears.

"Why, bless your poor little heart! Tell me about it," exclaimed Ralph, swinging himself into the window, and hurrying to turn comforter.

"The ca-ake is ruined," sobbed Kittie, entirely given over to despair and grief. "It's all slopped and soaked to pieces in the old icing—and I don't want to tell Bea—and I don't know what to do, either. I—I—fan—fanned it a whole hour to make it colder, and it didn't do a bit of good, and—oh, dear me!"

"Well, that is a calamity, to be sure," said Ralph, feeling a masculine helplessness since the trouble lay within the domain of cookery. "But then, never mind; we'll drink lemonade, and let the cake go."

"Yes, I'd just as soon, but Bea—she'll be so disappointed, and I hate to tell her," sobbed Kittie, wailing. "But Bea is reasonable," urged Ralph. "She will know you did your best, and ought to be ashamed if she says anything cross."

"Oh, it isn't that," cried Kittie, hastily. "She knows I tried, and she won't say a word, but then she'll be so disappointed, because she wants everything nice for Miss Barnett, and—and, I hate to tell her."

"Exactly," said Ralph, much touched at this little evidence of sisterly consideration, and feeling a greater desire than ever to do something to help the cause along. "See here, Kittie," he exclaimed suddenly, and Kittie looked up quickly, for there was something promising in the voice. "Do you dry those eyes out in a hurry, and run out doors to get cool and cheerful, and don't ask me any questions."

"But Ralph—"

"Go, I say, and do just as I tell you. Don't give that cake another thought, but go and fix yourself as pretty as you can for this evening, and I promise you everything shall be all right."

"Oh, you blessed boy," cried Kittie, with a gasp of relief.

"Boy! Don't insult me; remember I will vote this Fall."

"To be sure; I beg your pardon," and Kittie began to laugh through her tears. She hadn't the slightest idea what he could do to make matters all right, but then he had said he would, and that was enough. She never doubted but what he could do whatever he set his mind to.

Just after it came time to light the parlors, it became evident to all that something was the matter with Kat. She didn't say anything, but on coming in from a late tow on the pond, and finding everything lighted, she gave a gasp, and stood perfectly still in the parlor door.

"Well, what were you down to the pond this late for?" asked Bea, flitting about in her white dress, with the softest color in her cheeks, a knot of blush roses in her hair, and another in her belt.

"I—I was cool—I mean I wanted to get cool," answered Kat with a stammer, and her eyes going hurriedly from one room to the other.

"What did you light up so early for?"

"I don't call seven o'clock early—there goes the gate now."

Kat groaned, as if in deepest despair, then dashed up stairs, and cast herself into the first chair with a tragic air.

"I knew it! I knew it! oh, what a miserable wretch I am, and whatever will I do? I never never will be anything but a black sheep to the longest day that I live?" After which cheerful prophesy, she ran both hands over her hair by way of smoothing any stray locks, gave her skirts a twist, and herself a general shake, and started slowly down stairs again, with a grimly resigned air. It was only the most informal of little evening company, so every one came early, and in a little while the quiet evening air grew musical with merry voices and gay laughter, then became quieter, and was replaced by notes from the piano, or some one voice trilling out a popular song or a pretty ballad. Everything went flourishingly; to be sure, there were more ladies than gentlemen, which required much watching and managing on Bea's part, that no lady should suffer a dearth of masculine attention. Once, Ralph was missing from the room for some little time, which worried her greatly, but when he came back, she noticed that he nodded and smiled to Kittie, which was unintelligible to her, but was readily understood by her sister, to mean that everything was right. Just as the young hostess had decided that it was time to serve refreshments, some one asked her to sing.

"I? Oh, I never sing," she said with a modest blush, and drawing back, while her heart began to flutter nervously.

"I'm quite sure you do," persisted the young lady; whereupon the request was strengthened by all voices; and conscious that it would be impolite to still refuse, Bea walked to the piano, with her fingers growing cold as ice, and a die-away feeling in her throat. It took a few minutes to spin up the stool and decide what to sing, then in a voice that would quaver, she began a little Scotch song, and was just through the first verse when things began to look strange. Was it because she was so nervous, or was it growing dark? She played a few rambling chords, then she stopped and looked at the lamp with a chilly foreboding, and—it was going out!

Somebody else had noticed it before she did, and now as she sat in blank, dazed mortification, some one crossed the room, and lifting the lamp, blew it out, saying with a careless laugh:

"Several adventurous bugs were burning themselves to death, so I have ended their, and our misery, by putting out what they were slowly killing, and now while they are being dislodged, and the lamp relighted, shall we adjourn to the porch, ladies and gentlemen? The moon is coming up gorgeously."

Bea could have gone down on her knees in gratitude to him, and Kat, the terrible, actually threw him a kiss in the dark, before she rushed out to the kitchen, where Bea had carried the lamp.

"It's all my fault, every bit," she cried remorsefully. "I thought this morning, when I cleaned the lamps, that I would wait until it got cooler to go up after the coal-oil, and then I forgot it, clean as a shingle, and I'll do anything under the sun if you'll forgive me."

"Don't talk," said Bea sharply, too excited and nervous to say much. "Go, bring every lamp in the house, quick!" "Never mind," exclaimed Kittie, coming hurriedly in, as Kat went off on a rush. "Don't feel bad, Bea, not a soul noticed it, and you were singing beautifully; besides you just ought to look in the dining-room; there's the most magnificent cake that you ever saw, and a freezer of delicious ice-cream!"

Bea dropped the lamp-top from her trembling fingers, and turned her face with incredulous relief and delight.

"Oh, Kittie!"

"Yes, and I'm going right out now to distribute plates and napkins, and let them eat out in the moonlight; it's nearly as light as day, so don't worry another bit; the other big lamp will burn over two hours, yet, and you can empty enough from the little ones into this to make it go, and everybody but Dr. Barnett thinks it was bugs. Only hurry and come out;" and away fluttered Kittie, with the memory of Bea's brightened face, to provide the young guests with plates and expectations.

So, when Bea replaced the lamp in the parlor, with its blaze high and bright, and came out on to the porch, she found the merriest party imaginable, and there were generous saucers of cream going round amid "Oh's," and "Ah's" of satisfaction, and Kat following after them with an immense cake, its top shining white as snow in the moonlight. Bea knew only too well who was the author of all this generosity, and she seized the first opportunity of giving Ralph's hand a squeeze of inexpressible gratitude, to which he made answer by giving her a fraternal pat on the shoulder, as they stood in the shadow of the vine, and whispered slyly:

"Barnett's a trump, isn't he? I never saw anything neater."

Bea thought so and was treasuring up a little speech of thanks to make him when the good-night moment should arrive, but she didn't make it, for that moment turned out to be something so different from what she expected. It was this way. After having reduced the cake and lemonade to a state of bankruptcy, and made way with all the ice-cream, the young people strolled around the yard for a while in the moonlight, took rides in the Water-Rat across the pond, and then decided that it was time to go home, and began making their parting thanks accordingly; so that in a few moments every one was gone but Dr. Barnett and his sister; and that sister, with feminine quickness, understood that this moment might be the very one her brother wanted, so she engaged Kittie and Kat in a lively conversation, and together they all went up stairs for her wrappings.

"It was so kind in you," began Bea when she found that they were quite alone on the porch. "I don't know what I should have done, and it was so terribly mortifying, but then—" and there she came to a pause, for looking up, she met his eyes, wearing an expression, such as chased all further words from her lips, and made her forget entirely what it was that she was going to say next.

"Don't you suppose," began the young doctor rather hurriedly, "that it is very pleasant for me to know that I saved you any pain, and don't you know that I wish I might feel that you would give me the right to do so always? don't you, Beatrice?"

"Oh—I—don't know;" stammered Bea, with a foolish little quaver to her voice, and dropping her face clean out of sight, yet making no resistance when she found her hands imprisoned.

"Please look at me," was the first request, in very tender tones. "I need some encouragement. Won't you give me a little? If you love me ever so little, dear, won't you put your hand in mine again?"

Bea dropped her head still lower, all in a tremor of happy, shy delight, and looked at the hand which he had released, and was waiting to claim from her. Should she give it? She knew she would, even while she hesitated, for didn't she love him from the top to the bottom of her devoted little heart? Yes, of course she did. And didn't she foolishly think that the loveliest music in heaven could never be more delightful to listen to than his voice asking for her love? To be sure she did. Oh, it's wonderful how such times affect us all!

"I'm waiting, Beatrice," said Dr. Walter, with a very proper degree of beseeching impatience. "Don't you love me any, darling?"

Up came her head with a little flash of courage, giving him one glance of the shy, happy eyes, then down it went again, as she held out her hand, and felt it covered with an eager firmness, while something was said close to her rosy ear that did well enough for her to hear, but cannot be told to you.

It is wonderful how much time Miss Lottie managed to consume in putting on a single wrap—a fleecy covering over her head; but she realized the importance of keeping out of the way a while, so loitered and chatted and admired the moon-lit view from the windows, and finally started slowly down stairs, fervently hoping that the important words had been spoken.

They evidently had, for both parties looked so happy, and when the doctor bade the twins good night, it really seemed as though he would shake their hands off, in the excess of some feeling that possessed him; and there is no mistake about it, he certainly kissed Bea in the shadow of the vines, as he said to her in parting:

"To-morrow, I am coming to see your mother, and then I hope to put my seal on this little hand that you have given to me."

At first, Bea did not know whether to tell the girls or not, but then, of course they knew, for after they were alone, what unheard-of capers they did go through with, such winks, and sighs, and groans, and tragic acting. So Bea sat over in the shadow where they couldn't see her face, and said with a laugh:

"Stop your nonsense, if you want me to tell you about it."

"Tell!" echoed Kat. "As if we didn't know, and hadn't seen for months. I've been nearly dead to tease, 'cause you're such a good subject, but then mama said we shouldn't. Engaged! Oh, here's a go!"

"What did you both say?" asked Kittie, in romantic interest, and feeling as though a great hole had been made in the family, with Bea set apart from them in some way.

"Not much," answered Bea, with a little smile to think how quickly it had all been done. "I hear voices at the gate; it's mama and Mr. Dane; I guess I'll go down and meet her;" so off she went, leaving the twins to laugh and mourn over the event.

Dr. Barnett came the next day, and he and Mrs. Dering talked in the sitting-room together for a long time. Then Bea was sent for, and after a while, when she came out with a quiet, almost sad happiness in her face, she wore a rim of gold on her left hand, and for a long time she sat alone in her room, thinking much, shedding a few tears, and saying a little prayer, as though she felt that she stood on the threshold of something that would require help, and that was hard for her to realize. After this, the summer days came and went, with little to disturb the quiet life at the Dering's. The heat was so intense that amusements of all kinds were laid aside, just as little work done as possible, and the greater portion of the long days spent out on the old roof, where it was constantly shady. So nothing further happened until the time came for Ralph to return to home and studies. The prospect of such an event drove despair into the hearts of the girls and made them extensively rebellious. Even Kat mourned and felt a great deal more than she showed, for with all pretensions to dislike, would it have been possible to have had Ralph Tremayne there for six months, and not like him?

"I'll come back," he would say over and over again, as though in some way, he gained comfort himself from the assertion. "In two years I'll be through with my studies, and my very first trip will be here and then—" but somehow, he never finished, but would look thoughtful for a little while, as though the move after then, was going to be a very important one.

"I believe you're glad to go," Kittie would say to him when he would often be telling of what he was going to work for and accomplish. "You'll go back to Boston, and study, and make yourself a great lawyer, and you'll see such elegant ladies in society there, that you will forget all about this little country town, and these little country girls." "Kittie," Ralph would exclaim in return, as though this little doubt of his faithfulness hurt him, "you know you don't mean it, and if you knew what this summer has been to me, you never would say so."

"Why don't you tell us, then?" asked Kat, who happened to overhear this remark one day.

"Perhaps I will some time, if I find that you are glad to see me when I come back," answered Ralph with a mysterious smile.

"Can you ever doubt that?" asked Bea. "After the blessing and comfort that you have been to us all? I don't know what we ever will do without you, Ralph; it will be so lonesome."

"Why, you ought not to care," said Ralph with a laugh, and touching the hand that wore the gold ring, with a significant gesture. "My place was taken long ago in your fickle heart, mademoiselle."

It did not really seem as though they were going to lose him until September came, and the days crept around, till the one came when a trunk stood packed in the hall, the front room up stairs looked forsaken, and Ralph was really going next morning.

Right after dinner, Kat took her book and went off to the farthest corner of the back-yard, where a gigantic apple-tree stood, with a magnificent seat of curled branches up in its centre, into which, Kat found her way, with some speedy climbing, and then sat down and looked thoughtfully at nothing for nearly half an hour. Yes, she did look very thoughtful, and after a while, she opened her book, but did not read much, for something kept coming between her and the leaves, and two or three times she might have been seen to slide her hand across her eyes, and wink pretty fast, which plainly indicated that something must be the matter. She never could have told afterwards what made her stay there all the afternoon, but stay she did, and never came down until the sun had commenced to throw slanting shadows across the grass. On the way up to the house, she walked slowly, and appeared to be holding some internal communion or argument with herself, and was seen to shake herself rather fiercely before she went in.

"Well, where in the world have you been?" was the remark that greeted her, as she appeared in the sitting-room door; and the speaker was Bea, who turned from the window with wet eyes.

"Been? Up in the big tree out below the pond."

"Why I thought you had gone up town," exclaimed Kittie, who was crying on the piano-stool, like one bereft. "Ralph's gone."

"Gone!" echoed Kat, slowly.

"Yes, gone," repeated Bea. "He found that he could make connections right through by taking this afternoon's train, and he raced all around town an hour before train-time, to find you. Kittie said you were going after dinner."

"Yes, but I changed my mind," said Kat slowly, then turned and went out. Gone, and with no good-bye to her! She wondered a little to see how much the thought hurt her. Ralph's old straw hat, with its broad band of blue ribbon, just as he used to wear it around the yard, hung on the rack. She took it down with a queer little feeling in her throat, and slapped it on to her head, then went out into the yard again.

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