the opinion that there wasn't going to be much of a shower. At twenty
tomorrow is ever a clear day, and notes are easy things to meet, and
friends and women are faithful, and Welsh rarebit is digestible, and
sleep is rest, and air is ever good to breathe. Grant Harlson was not
particularly troubled by the condition of his finances. That the money
available had lasted till his schooling ended, was, at least, a good
thing, and, as for the future, was it not his business to attend to
that presently? Meanwhile he would dawdle for a week or two.

So the young man stretched his big limbs and lounged in hammocks and
advised or domineered over his sisters, as the case might be, and read
in a desultory way, and fished and shot, and ate with an appetite which
threatened to bring famine to the family. Your lakeside small town is
a fair place in July. He would loaf, he said, for a week or two. The
loafing was destined to have character, perhaps to change a character.

There had come to Harlson in college, as to most young men, occasional
packages from home, and in one of these he had found a pretty thing, a
man's silk tie, worked wonderfully in green and gold, and evidently the
product of great needlecraft. It was to his fancy, and he had thought
to thank whichever of his sisters had wasted such time upon him, but
had forgotten it when next he wrote, and so the incident had passed.

One day, wearing this same tie, he bethought him of his negligence
lying supine on the grass, while his sister Bess was meanwhile reading
in the immediate vicinity. He would be grateful, as a brother should.

"I say, Bess," he called, "I forgot to write about this tie and thank
you. Which of you did it?"