melted into it in tone, jumped over my fence and landed at my side. He
kissed the lace ruffle on my sleeve while I reproved him severely and
settled down to enjoy him. But I didn't have such a good time as I
generally do with him. He was too full of another woman, and even a
first cousin can be an exasperation in that condition.

"Now, Mrs. Molly, truly did you ever see such a flower as she is?" he
demanded after I had expressed more than a dozen delighted opinions
of Miss Clinton. His use of the word "flower" riled me, and before I
stopped to think, I said, "She reminds me more of a scarlet runner."

"Now, Molly, don't be jealous just because old Wade has taken her out
driving behind the greys after kissing your hand under the lilacs
yesterday, which, fortunately, nobody saw but little me! I'm not sore,
why should you be? Aren't you happy with me?"

I withered him with a look, or rather _tried_ to wither him, for Tom
is no mimosa bud.

"The way that girl has managed to wake up this little old town is a
marvel," he continued enthusiastically. "Let's don't let the folks know
that they are off until I get everybody in a full swing of buzz over my
queen." I had never seen Tom so enthusiastic over a girl before, and I
didn't like it. But I decided not to let him know that, but to get to
work putting out the Clinton blaze in him and starting one on my own
account.

"That's just what I'm thinking about, Tom," I said with a smile that was
as sweet as I could make it, "and as she came with messages to me from
one of my best old friends I think I ought to do something to make her