O, weary fa' the women fo'k,
For they winna let a body be!
--_James Hogg._


My neighbour Dahlia has returned. There is a considerable stretch
of lawn, also a garden and a small orchard, intervening between her
father's property and mine, not to mention a thick hedge; but in spite
of these obstructions it did not take Dahlia long to discover that
there were guests upon my porch. I think she recognized the Skeptic's
long legs from her window, which looks down my way through a vista
of tree-tops. At all events, on the morning after her arrival she
appeared, coming through the hedge, down the garden path and across
the lawn, a fresh and attractive figure in a pink muslin with ruffles,
and one of those coquettish, white-frilled sunbonnets summer-girls wear
in the country.

Dahlia is very pretty, very good company, and likable from many points
of view. If only----

"Who's this coming to invade our completeness?" queried the Philosopher,
looking up from his book of trout flies. Fishing, in its scientific
aspect, presents many attractions to our Philosopher, although he spends
so much time in getting ready to do it scientifically that he seldom
finds much left in which to fish.

The Skeptic glanced at the figure coming over the lawn. Then he made a
gesture as if he were about to turn up his coat collar. He hitched
himself slightly behind one of the white pillars of the porch.