“It’s no kind o’ use givin’ me goodies,” she said to a helpless suitor of Louisiana Piper’s who had offered to bring her some sweets, “for I ain’t got no influence with Lu, and if I don’t give ’em up to her when she hears of it, she’ll nag me and hate you like pizen. Unless,” she added thoughtfully, “it was wintergreen lozenges; Lu can’t stand them, or anybody who eats them within a mile.” It is needless to add that the miserable man, thus put upon his gallantry, was obliged in honor to provide Del with the wintergreen lozenges that kept him in disfavor and at a distance. Unfortunately, too, any predilection or pity for any particular suitor of her sister’s was attended by even more disastrous consequences. It was reported that while acting as “gooseberry”—a role usually assigned to her—between Virginia Piper and an exceptionally timid young surveyor, during a ramble she conceived a rare sentiment of humanity towards the unhappy man. After once or twice lingering behind in the ostentatious picking of a wayside flower, or “running on ahead” to look at a mountain view, without any apparent effect on the shy and speechless youth, she decoyed him aside while her elder sister rambled indifferently and somewhat scornfully on. The youngest Miss Piper leaped upon the rail of a fence, and with the stalk of a thimbleberry in her mouth swung her small feet to and fro and surveyed him dispassionately.
“Ye don’t seem to be ketchin’ on?” she said tentatively.
The young man smiled feebly and interrogatively.
“Don’t seem to be either follering suit nor trumpin’,” continued Del bluntly.
“I suppose so—that is, I fear that Miss Virginia”—he stammered.
“Speak up! I’m a little deaf. Say it again!” said Del, screwing up her eyes and eyebrows.
The young man was obliged to admit in stentorian tones that his progress had been scarcely satisfactory.