Miss Lavinia was still in the hall, sitting on the lower step of the stairs, for the boys had been using the broad landing that made a turn at the top of the three steps as a place to play their games.  Martin stood leaning on the newel post, and from the few words I heard I knew that he was telling her about the proposed dedication, so I went out and joined Evan, for it seems as though we had had little leisure outdoors together of late, and as if it was time to make it up as best we might.

Then, once again, as we crossed the streak of light that streamed like a narrow moon path from the doorway, Evan paused and nodded his head toward the hall.  I turned—­there sat Miss Lavinia and Martin Cortright on the stairs, playing with the boys’—­jack-straws!

“After this, what?” I asked, in my mirth leaning backward on Evan’s supporting arm.

“To be pat, it ought to be the deluge,” chuckled Evan; “but as these are prosy times, it simply means the end has been reached, and that to-morrow they will put away mild summer madness, and return to the Whirlpool to paddle about decorously as of yore.”

I find that I am not the only person who is disappointed at the absence of matrimonial intentions between Martin and Miss Lavinia.  The postmistress told me yesterday that she’s been expecting to hear of a second wedding any day, as when one took place it always meant three, though she couldn’t “fetch the third couple together, even in her mind’s eye,” which I have found to be usually a capacious and well filled optic.

Mrs. Barton also stopped Martha Corkle on the road, and said with an insinuating sneer, “She’d always supposed that the gentleman from New York who lodged with her was making up to the proud old maid at the Doctor’s, but as he evidently wasn’t going to, she’d advise Mrs. Evan to watch out, as Miss Lavinia, doubtless being disappointed, might set her cap for the Doctor himself, and then the Lord knows what would happen, men being so easily flattered and trapped.”

Martha was indignant, and I must say very rude, for she snapped back:  “I wonder at that same bein’ your holdin’, Mrs. Barton, bein’ as you’ve five maid daughters that’s not so by their desirin’, folks do say as knows.”

Mud throwers should be careful to wear gloves,—­their ammunition is sticky.

* * * * *

September 10.  This morning father and I were obliged to go to town upon some hospital business, and as we had to remain there for luncheon, or perhaps longer, we took the train instead of driving over, leaving Lavinia to pack, so that she might have a free Saturday to drive with me to bid Mrs. Bradford good-by, and learn the latest news of Sylvia and Horace.  Meanwhile the boys were to go fishing with Martin, who is as careful of them as possible, taking their lunch with them.

They did not have good luck, however, and growing restless and tired of fishing without catching, Martin brought them home by three o’clock, and as both he and Miss Lavinia had finished their preparations for leaving, they went out to the seat by the rose arbour to enjoy what was left of the glorious afternoon, for it has been one of those days that come in dreams, so perfect that one knows it cannot last.