The next morning Dr. Ingle called to keep an appointment with Miss Meeke. He came in his gig to take her to the village to inspect a certain house that he thought of leasing. But she ordered him to send his gig to the stable, and let his horse rest, while he availed himself of the family carriage in which to take her and her invited company, her little pupils, to see the house on trial.

And these being the days of her power and his slavery, he obeyed without a murmur, and gave up his anticipated tÊte-À-tÊte drive with his betrothed, with as good a grace as he could assume.

Miss Meeke then gave her impromptu invitation to her little friends to accompany her in a drive; and, as they eagerly accepted the invitation, she sent Wynnette to order the carriage; all this was done according to a prearrangement with Mrs. Force.

“And we will not interrupt you and Leonidas all day long, for we are going to take lunch with us in the carriage, and we won’t be home till night—maybe not till morning!

sang Wynnette, as she kissed her elder sister good-by, before running out to jump into the carriage.

Odalite and Leonidas, standing at the front window of the drawing room, watched their departure until the carriage passed through the west gate and rolled out of sight into the woods beyond.

Then they turned toward the fireplace, around, or near, which their father, mother and guest were seated.

And then it was that Mrs. Force announced to the little group the approaching marriage of Dr. Ingle and Miss Meeke.

“Natalie going to leave us!” exclaimed Mr. Force, in mock despair.

“Girls never know what’s their own good,” said Mrs. Anglesea, in all solemnity; “nor no more won’t they learn nothing from experience! One girl marries and comes to grief; another sees that, and marries and comes to grief, also; a third does likewise; a fourth follows suit; and so on to the end of the chapter! Girls are just what I read som’er’s or other about them and the pigs and the hot swill. You set a pail of it in the yard, and one pig will run and dip his nose into it, and run off scalded and squealing like mad; another sees that, but, all the same, dips his nose and runs off scalded and squealing like a house afire; and a third does likewise, and a fourth follows suit! And so on till the whole herd are scalded! And the girls are just like that!” concluded the lady from the land of gold.

“Oh, I hope not,” said Mrs. Force.

“To leave a good home, where she has full run and plenty of everything, and not a care or a trouble on the face of the earth, and to go and marry a young, country doctor, with his way to make! And I know the way of country doctors, you bet! Oh, yes, they have a large practice and a wide one; but, as to the pay—oh, Lord! they ride scores and scores and scores of miles, day in and day out, and night after night, and never can be sure of a single night’s rest or a single meal’s vittals from year’s end to year’s end! But when it comes to pay—Lord bless you! they gets more kicks than halfpence, so to speak!”

“We hope it will fare better with our young couple,” said Mr. Force, with a smile.

“Well, go on hoping, man! There’s no law agin’ it!” said the lady, leaning back in her softly cushioned chair and crossing her fat hands on her lap.

The driving party did not stay out until night, as Wynnette had threatened. The young doctor’s professional duties, unprofitable as they might be to himself, would not admit of such a long holiday. They returned to Mondreer in good time for dinner, for which Dr. Ingle, at Mrs. Force’s invitation, remained.

But immediately after they arose from the table he made his apologies, entered his gig, which had been brought around to the door, and drove away to make his professional calls.

As soon as he had left, Miss Meeke, overwhelmed with the consciousness of her position, stole away to her own room.

And then Wynnette and Elva, full of the importance of their communication, broke out with their wonderful “pipers’ news” that Miss Meeke was going to be married to Dr. Ingle, and they were going to housekeeping in a beautiful, new cottage in the village, and that they—Wynnette and Elva—were to go whenever they pleased to spend weeks and weeks with the newly wedded pair, who would always keep a lovely bedroom for their use.

Every one present had the good nature to receive this story as the very newest news, and to be delightfully surprised and enchanted to hear it.

After dinner the evening passed, as usual during the holiday week, in merry parlor games.

On Sunday the whole family went to church, where, it is pleasant to record, the congregation stared less at the Forces and occupied themselves more with their devotions than they had been able to do on Christmas Day.

“You see,” said Wynnette, confidentially, to Elva, on their way home, “that it was better for Odalite to take the bull by the horns at once—to face the music promptly—to break the ice bravely—to take the plunge and have it all over! Oh, you know what I mean well enough, Elf, although you pretend to look so puzzled! I mean, it was wise in Odalite to go to church on Christmas Day, just as usual—just as if nothing had happened there on the Tuesday before—and have it all over! And now it is all over. The great gun is fired, and no one is killed or wounded! That is to say that Odalite has made her first appearance in public after her catastrophe, and she has stood all the staring and has lived through it! And now she has made her second appearance, and escaped all the staring! And the battle has been fought and victory won! Do you understand?”

“I understand a little, but, if you go on explaining, I shall not understand at all,” replied Elva, with the cruel candor of childhood.

And the subject was immediately dropped.

On Monday morning, while the family party were gathered in the drawing room, opening their letters and papers, which the mail messenger had just brought from the post office, there came an early visitor.

Tom Grandiere, looking more red-headed, freckle-faced, blushing and blundering than usual, arrived, as the bearer of a verbal invitation to attend an informal party, to be composed mostly of young people, at Oldfield Lodge, on Thursday evening, the thirty-first, to dance the Old Year out and the New Year in.

“But, although,” as he bashfully explained, “it was understood and intended to be a young folks’ entertainment, yet the elders of the family were invited, and expected to be present with them.”

This was quite in accordance with “the custom of the country,” or, at least, of the county, as had been shown at the Christmas Eve gathering at Mondreer.

“We thank you very much, and we shall like to go, if we can,” said Mrs. Force, as she left her seat and went to the front window, where Odalite stood looking out on the fast-gathering clouds.

“You heard Tom Grandiere’s message, dear?” she asked, in a low tone.

“Yes, mamma,” answered Odalite, who slipped a letter into her pocket.

“Then it depends on you, dear, whether we accept the invitation or not. If you prefer to stay quietly at home, be sure that we shall not go and leave you alone.”

“Then I prefer to go, mamma. I could not bear that the children should be disappointed. And, indeed,” she added, seeing that her mother hesitated, “I shall enjoy going.”

“Very well, dear,” said Mrs. Force. And she went back and spoke to Tom Grandiere, accepting, in the name of her whole family, the invitation of which he was the bearer.

Tom then arose, and, saying that he had yet to go to a good many other houses, took leave and departed.