“Well, I suppose she does not see those mild, quiet girls fly into a passion very often, and this tiresome concert is to blame for this disturbance.  I fear if she has made up her mind not to go, you may as well leave her alone; so let the matter rest, it disturbs me,” and Mrs. Sherwood closed her eyes as if the subject had passed completely from her mind.

But Mr. Sherwood could not let the matter rest so easily, and his wife’s indifference annoyed him exceedingly.

“Confound their stupidity!” he exclaimed at last, beginning to see it with Dexie’s eyes.  “They might have known that she would object to such an announcement, but it will be an awkward thing if she does not appear after all.  I hope Aunt Jennie will bring her to reason.”

“I hope so too, I’m sure,” answered the wife with a sigh; “but Lancy Gurney is as much interested in the matter as herself, and I believe he would make her change her mind if anyone could.”

“Well, I think I will run in and see if he is at home, but I’m afraid it will make a bad matter worse.”

A few minutes later Mr. Sherwood was standing in the parlor next door, shaking hands with Mrs. Gurney.

“We don’t seem to meet very often, do we, though we are such near neighbors,” she said, with a smile, when the usual greetings had been exchanged, “but you look worried.  Are all well at home this morning?”

“We are all well disturbed, certainly,” he answered, with a short laugh.  “I have just come in to see if I could get someone to help me about Dexie.”

“Why? what has happened her?  She is not hurt, I hope!”

“Well, her feelings are, tremendously, I can tell you;” and pulling out the objectionable handbill from his pocket, added, “she came upon this down in some store, and has come home as mad as a hatter, declaring she has been insulted, and she vows she won’t whistle or go near the concert at all to-night.”

“Well, that would be rather serious, wouldn’t it?” was the mild reply.  “Poor girlie, so she don’t like to be called the ‘American warbler.’  It is the publicity of it, I expect, that has hurt her.  Where is she now?”

“Up in her room, crying her eyes out.  The more we try to reason with her, the worse she is; even Aunt Jennie has failed to quiet her.”

“Now if you will let me advise—­you know I have more experience with rebellious children than most women,” and she smiled up into the anxious face above her, “let her have her cry out, and say no more to her about it just now, and, if you care to turn her over to us, I think I can promise you she will be all right by and by.”

“Do you mean that you are willing to take her off our hands for the day?” and he looked eagerly into her face.

“Yes, if we may.  I will send one of the children in to ask her to dinner, and we will not let her suspect that we know anything about it until she speaks of the matter herself.  We will find something pleasant to take up her attention until Lancy comes home, and by that time she will have had time to think of the matter in a different light.”