"Mrs. Atwood," said Mildred one Saturday evening, "I'll go with you
to church to-morrow if you'll let me. Belle has been once, and it
will be my turn to-morrow."

"Oh, certainly, miss; you will go with Roger in the buggy, I s'pose,
like Miss Belle."

"If you please, I'd rather go with you."

"Really, miss, the roads have been muddy of late, and the wagon
isn't very nice."

"I would rather go with you," pleaded Mildred, with an appeal in
her blue eyes that few resisted.

"Father," said Mrs. Atwood, as soon as her husband came in, "Miss
Jocelyn wishes to go with us to meeting to-morrow. Can't you or
Roger tidy up the wagon a bit? 'Tain't fit for her to ride in."

"There'tis again--more time spent in fixing up and fussing than
in looking after the main chance. You are all gettin' too fine for
plain farmin' people."

"I don't see why plain farming people need enjoy mud more'n other
folks. You ought to be ashamed to ask your wife and daughter to
ride in such a wagon."

"I don't know why I should be more ashamed to-morrow than on any