They were a pretty pair, the child and
the girl, sitting there on the porch with
the sunshine sifting down through the
lacy leaves of the two big locusts on
either side of the door. Philippa wore
a pink and green palm-leaf chintz; it
had six ruffles around the skirt and
was gathered very full about her slender
waist; her lips were red, and her
cheeks and even her neck were delicately
flushed; her red-brown hair was
blowing all about her temples; Mary
had put an arm around her and
was cuddling against her. Yes, even
Mary's brother would have thought
the two young things a pretty sight
had there been nothing more serious
to think of. But John Fenn's
thoughts were so very serious that even
Mary's question caused him no
embarrassment; he merely said, stiffly,
that he would like to see Miss Philippa
alone. "You may wait here, Mary,"
he told his little sister, who frowned
and sighed and went out to the gate
to pull a handful of grass for the roan.

Philippa led her caller to her rarely
used parlor, and sat down to listen in