come."

"Then I'll tear myself away from my family and come, though I truly can't
see that I wished Polly Corn-tassel upon all of you. You are just as crazy
about the apple-blossom darling as I am, you specially, Bess Rutherford,"
I answered, with pleased indignation.

"Ann, I do wish you could have seen her in that frilled white thing with
the two huge blue bows at the ends of the long plaits at my dinner-dance
the other night, standing and looking at everybody with all the fascination
and coquetry of--of--well, that little Golden Bird peeping at us from the
left-hand corner of Mrs. Red Ally's right wing. Where _did_ she get that
frock?"

"Do you suppose that a woman who runs a farm dairy of fifty cows, while her
husband banks and post-offices and groceries would be at all routed by a
few yards of lace and muslin and a current copy of 'The Woman's Review'?
Aunt Mary made that dress between sun-up and -down and worked out fifty
pounds of butter as well," I answered, with a glow of class pride in my
rustic breast.

"All of that is what is seething in my blood until I can't stand it," said
Bess as we walked towards the barn-door. "The reason I just feel like
devouring Polly Corn-tassel is that somehow she seems to taste like bread
and butter to me; I'm tired of life served with mayonnaise dressing with
tabasco and caviar in it.

"Yes, a Romney herb-pot is better," I said, as a strange chant began to
play itself on my heartstrings with me alone for a breathless audience.