their dainty feet in prim slippers and silken hose that matched their frocks.  As the afternoon sun glanced through the leaves upon their pink cheeks, tied up in quaint hats by ribbons under their chins, they made a charming picture.  At least Paul thought so as he advanced towards them, hat in hand.  They looked up at his approach, but again cast down their eyes with demure shyness; yet he fancied that they first exchanged glances with each other, full of mischievous intelligence.

“I am your cousin Paul,” he said smilingly, “though I am afraid I am introducing myself almost as briefly as your father just now excused himself to me.  He told me I would find you here, but he himself was hastening on a Samaritan mission.”

“With a box in his hand?” said the girls simultaneously, exchanging glances with each other again.

“With a box containing some restorative, I think,” responded Paul, a little wonderingly.

“Restorative!  So that’s what he calls it now, is it?” said one of the girls saucily.  “Well, no one knows what’s in the box, though he always carries it with him.  Thee never sees him without it”—­

“And a roll of paper,” suggested the other girl.

“Yes, a roll of paper—­but one never knows what it is!” said the first speaker.  “It’s very strange.  But no matter now, Paul.  Welcome to Hawthorn Hall.  I am Jane Bunker, and this is Dorcas.”  She stopped, and then, looking down demurely, added, “Thee may kiss us both, cousin Paul.”

The young man did not wait for a second invitation, but gently touched his lips to their soft young cheeks.

“Thee does not speak like an American, Paul.  Is thee really and truly one?” continued Jane.

Paul remembered that he had forgotten his dialect, but it was too late now.

“I am really and truly one, and your own cousin, and I hope you will find me a very dear”—­

“Oh!” said Dorcas, starting up primly.  “You must really allow me to withdraw.”  To the young man’s astonishment, she seized her parasol, and, with a youthful affectation of dignity, glided from the summer-house and was lost among the trees.

“Thy declaration to me was rather sudden,” said Jane quietly, in answer to his look of surprise, “and Dorcas is peculiarly sensitive and less like the ‘world’s people’ than I am.  And it was just a little cruel, considering that she has loved thee secretly all these years, followed thy fortunes in America with breathless eagerness, thrilled at thy narrow escapes, and wept at thy privations.”

“But she has never seen me before!” said the astounded Paul.

“And thee had never seen me before, and yet thee has dared to propose to me five minutes after thee arrived, and in her presence.”

“But, my dear girl!” expostulated Paul.

“Stand off!” she said, rapidly opening her parasol and interposing it between them.  “Another step nearer—­ay, even another word of endearment—­and I shall be compelled—­nay, forced,” she added in a lower voice, “to remove this parasol, lest it should be crushed and ruined!”