The house party departed and Buck Hill settled into normalcy. Jeff had tried very hard to be what Mildred had expected him to be for the last few days. He had even said tender nothings to Jean Roland and expressed an eager desire to see her in Louisville, where she was to visit before returning to Detroit. So flattering was his manner that the girl forgave him for his inattention during her stay at Buck Hill and was all smiles at the parting.

The guests who did not leave by automobile took the noon trolley to Louisville. Among the latter was Tom Harbison. Mildred had rather hoped he would stay over Sunday at Buck Hill. He pleaded an engagement, however, but with melting eyes declared he would soon be back.

Jeff heaved a great sigh of relief when they were all gone, especially Miss Jean Roland. What a nuisance black-headed girls were, anyhow! He began to wonder what Judith was doing. Was she wearied after the ball? Was 194 she on the road in her little blue car selling toilet articles? Would she feed the motormen and conductors, in spite of having been up until morning? Of course she would! Judith was not the kind of girl to fail in an undertaking and to let men go hungry.

“Half past five! She furnishes dinner for the men on the six-thirty. I wonder what she is giving them to-day?” Jeff smiled when he remembered how Judith had satisfied Nan’s impertinent curiosity concerning what was in her basket. “I’ve a great mind to find out. Foolishness! I’ll do nothing of the sort.” The young man tried to lose himself in the intricate plot of a detective story but he had to confess he was not half so much interested in the outcome of the tale as he was in what Judith was to carry in her basket.

“I’ll go help her lift the heavy load on the trolley,” he decided, slinging aside the stupid book and starting across the meadows to the trolley station. He must traverse the broad acres of Buck Hill to the dividing line of Judith’s mother’s farm, then through a swampy creek bottom, up a hill to the grove of old beech trees, and then down to the trolley track.

“Can’t make it! There’s the whistle blowing for the next station,” he said as he reached the 195 grove. He stopped and, leaning against the smooth trunk of a great beech, looked out across the fields. There was Judith in a blue dress, standing on the little platform, a cooler of buttermilk in one hand, swinging it as before as a signal to the approaching trolley. She wore no hat and her hair shone like spun gold.

“I’ll wait here for her and maybe I can persuade her to sit down a minute and talk to me.” Lazily he settled himself on a mossy bank, leaning against the friendly trunk.

The trolley car stopped. Eager hands were ready to receive the heavy cooler and laden basket. Only one passenger—a man—alighted and then the car sped on. Judith picked up the basket of empty dishes and milk can that had been deposited on the platform and turned to follow the path homeward. Jeff sprang to his feet, meaning to hasten to her and relieve her of her burden, when his intention was changed by seeing the man who had just alighted from the trolley walk quickly to her side.

The beech grove was too far off for Jeff to hear what was said but he could plainly see the couple, although not discernible to them because of the dense shade of the beeches. It was a shock to him to recognize the man as Tom 196 Harbison. What was he doing back again when he had told Mildred he had an important engagement? Was his engagement with Judith Buck? She had not looked as though she expected anyone as she stood swinging her cooler. But then one can never tell. Young men don’t go gallivanting after girls unless they are encouraged. On the other hand, what encouragement had Judith given him, Jeff Bucknor? None!

However, Tom Harbison certainly had no right to play fast and loose with his sister, Mildred. Jeff tried to persuade himself that his anger against Tom was solely the righteous anger of a brother.

Judith and her cavalier followed the path that led directly to the beech grove. Jeff Bucknor again seated himself on the mossy bank and watched their approach. He was totally unconscious of his own invisibility. Again he felt extreme annoyance with Tom Harbison because of his protecting manner. Anyone might have surmised the fields were full of raging bulls, vicious rams or wild boars, judging from Tom’s solicitude for Judith’s safety. Tenderly he assisted the active girl up the hill. Just as they got within earshot of Jeff, who was endeavoring to calm himself sufficiently to meet the couple 197 with some appearance of equanimity, Judith paused.

“Now, Mr. Harbison, I appreciate very much your kindness in wishing to help me with this basket of dishes, which is not at all heavy, but I think you had much better go directly to your friends at Buck Hill. That path to the left will take you through the gap and over the meadow. I go to the right.”

“Ah, but I am not going to Buck Hill this evening. I came back to Ryeville only to see you. I told you, my beauty, that I was going to. Don’t you remember?”

“I am not your beauty and I do not remember.”

“Well, I did and I have and you are.”

“Maybe you have but I am not. I bid you good evening, Mr. Harbison. Give me my basket.”

“No, no! Not so fast! You don’t understand, my dearest girl. I really have come up here to see you and a fellow doesn’t take that beastly ride twice in one day without some reward. Come on, like the peach that you resemble, and sit down here in this grove of trees with me. I tell you, honey, I’m loving you good and right.”

“Nonsense! You don’t know me and besides 198 I have no time to sit down as I have two more trolley cars to meet with hot suppers for the motormen. Give me my basket! I must hurry home. I cannot let my customers go hungry.”

“But I am hungry for love,” cried Tom, seizing the hand Judith had stretched out for her basket. In the other hand she carried the empty milk can. Up to this time the girl had been half laughing. She was evidently amused by the gallantries of Tom and had met his advances with badinage, thinking he was in jest. However, when he grasped her hand and attempted to draw her towards him, she grew angry.

“Let me go, Mr. Harbison. You are forgetting yourself.”

“I am not forgetting myself. I am just remembering myself. Here I have been in the same neighborhood with you for days and never once have I had so much as a kiss. Please! Please!” He caught the resisting Judith to him.

Tom was making a fool of himself and no doubt he would have realized it had he known that another man was hearing his pleading. Jeff on the other hand was so conscious of himself that he had not realized, until Harbison plunged into the frantic love-making, that the 199 couple were not aware of his presence. Under the circumstances, what should he do? He certainly could not beat up a man for asking a beautiful girl to sit down in the shade of a beech tree with him, especially since he had meant to do that very thing himself had not Tom got there ahead of him. Should he make his presence known? Did Judith need his help?

The scene progressed so rapidly that before Jeff could make up his mind exactly what he should do Judith raised her empty milk can and gave the persistent Tom such a whack on the side of his head that the cavalier dropped the basket of china and, losing his balance, fell and rolled down the hill.

Evidently Judith did not need anyone’s help. Tom picked himself up ruefully. Without a word he retraced the path he had so blithely taken a moment before and, hearing the outgoing trolley whistling for the station, he speeded up and boarded the car for Louisville.

Then Judith proceeded to sit down by her basket of broken china and burst into tears.

“Oh, my dear, my dear!” cried Jeff, no longer uncertain of what he should do. “Don’t! Please don’t! I wish I had wrung his neck.”

“You! Where did you come from?” gasped Judith. “I didn’t see you. You needn’t think 200 I am crying because—because—”

“Because you have been insulted?”

“No. I’m just so miserable because last night I was so happy, and all day I have been happy and now I am not.” She looked like a little girl who had just found out her doll was stuffed with sawdust.

“Look at my dishes! As long as they had to be broken I wish I might have had the pleasure of hitting that man with them instead of making a dent in my perfectly good milk cooler.” She laughed and began picking up the pieces of china.

Was this the staid young lawyer who had determined to see no more of this red-haired girl—to nip in the bud any feeling he might have developed for her? Was this the same man, running down dale and up hill with a basket of broken china on his arm, while the red-haired girl chased on ahead with an empty milk can, running to make up for lost time and not be late with the motormen’s supper? He must wait and help Judith carry the basket. She had no time to wrangle with him about whether he should or should not wait. Supper was cooked but it must be packed properly and the finishing touches put to it. Mrs. Buck was wandering around the kitchen making futile 201 attempts to help. Jeff, who was sitting outside on a bench under the syringa bushes, could hear her querulous drawl and Judith’s quick, good-natured replies.

“Never mind the china, Mumsy. Some of the pieces can be used as soap dishes and some maybe we can mend. I’ll tell you all about how it happened some day but now I must hurry. There’s a young man waiting in the back yard to help me carry my basket. If you look out the side window you can see who it is, but don’t let him see you peeping.”

Then there was the mad race back to the station. There was no time or breath for talk. They reached the platform several minutes before the seven o’clock trolley.

“Heavens! I came mighty near forgetting what I came all the way from Buck Hill to find out,” declared Jeff.

“And what was that?”

“I got to wondering what you would have in your baskets this evening.”

“Ham croquettes, buttered beets, potato salad and hot muffins. Blackberry dumpling for dessert!” Judith smiled, as she chanted the menu.