Nellie Slater.

Tom read it again with burning cheeks.  A party at Slater’s and him invited!

He walked down the street feeling just the same as when his colt got the prize at the “Fair.”  He felt he was a marked man—­eagerly sought after—­invited to parties—­girls writing to him!  That’s what it was to have the cash!—­you bet pa and ma were right!—­money talks every time!

When he came in sight of home his elation vanished.  His father and mother would not let him go, he knew that very well.  They were afraid that Nellie Slater wanted to marry him.  And Nellie Slater was not eligible for the position of daughter-in-law.  Nellie Slater had never patched a quilt nor even made a tie-down.  She always used baking powder instead of cream of tartar and soda, and was known to have a leaning toward canned goods.  Mrs. Motherwell considered her just the girl to spend a man’s honest earnings and bring him to seedy ruin.  Moreover, she idled away her time, teaching cats to jump, and her eighteen years old, if she was a day!

Tom knew that if he went to the party it must be by stealth.  When he drove up to the kitchen door his mother looked up from her ironing and asked: 

“What kept you, Tom?”

Tom had not been detained at all, but Mrs. Motherwell always used this form of salutation to be sure.

Tom grumbled a reply, and handing out the mail began to unhitch.

Mrs. Motherwell read the addresses on the Englishman’s letters: 

Mr. Arthur Wemyss, c/o Mr. S. Motherwell, Millford P.O., Manitoba, Canada, Township 8, range 16, sec’t. 20.  North America.

“Now I wonder who’s writing to him?” she said, laying the two letters down reluctantly.

There was one other letter addressed to Mr. Motherwell, which she took to be a twine bill.  It was post-marked Brandon.  She put it up in the pudding dish on the sideboard.

As Tom led the horse to the stable he met Pearl coming in with the eggs.

“See here, kid,” he said carelessly, handing her the letter.

Tom knew Pearl was to be trusted.  She had a good head, Pearl had, for a girl.

“Oh, good shot!” Pearl cried delightedly, as she read the note.  “Won’t that be great?  Are your clothes ready, though?” It was the eldest of the family who spoke.

“Clothes,” Tom said contemptuously.  “They are a blamed sight readier than I am.”

“I’ll blacken your boots,” Pearl said, “and press out a tie.  Say, how about a collar?”

“Oh, the clothes are all right, but pa and ma won’t let me go near Nellie Slater.”

“Is she tooberkler?” Pearl asked quickly.

“Not so very,” Tom answered guardedly.  “Ma is afraid I might marry her.”

“Is she awful pretty?” Pearl asked, glowing with pleasure.  Here was a rapturous romance.

“You bet,” Tom declared with pride.  “She’s the swellest girl in these parts”—­this with the air of a man who had weighed many feminine charms and found them wanting.