was in the carriage the Skeptic tucked her in and put cushions behind
her back and a footstool under her feet. Then the Philosopher laid a
great nosegay of garden flowers in her lap. She was so pleased she
coloured like a girl, and put out her delicate little old hand in its
black silk mitt, and he took it in both his and held it close for a
minute, looking at her with his blue eyes full of such a boyish
expression of affection as his own mother might have seen now and then,
years before. I think she would have liked to kiss him, and I am sure he
wanted to kiss her, but we were all looking on, and they had known each
other but a few hours. Nevertheless, there was something about the
little scene which touched us all--except Rhodora, who exclaimed:

"Gracious, Grandmother--I suppose that brings back the days when you had
lots of beaux! What a gorgeous jumble of old-fashioned flowers that is,
anyhow. I didn't know there were so many kinds in the world!"

The Skeptic hustled her into the carriage, rather as if she were a bag
of meal, handed her belongings in after her, shook hands with
Grandmother in his most courtly fashion, and stood aside. We waved our
hands and handkerchiefs, and Grandmother's fat old horses walked away
with her down the driveway.

"It's a pity," said the Skeptic to me impatiently, when they were out of
sight around the corner, and we had turned to go back to the house,
"that a girl like that can't see herself."

"Rhodora is very young yet," said I. "Perhaps by the time she is even as
old as the Gay Lady----"

"You don't think it," declared the Skeptic, looking ahead at the Gay