skirt and woolly sweater that she had worn then, poking around in the
yard testing the earth for possibilities of early gardening.

"The frost has come out a good deal to-day," she said, wiping grimy
little hands on an equally grimy handkerchief; "I expect the mud will be
awful these next few weeks, but I can get in sweet peas and ever-bearing
strawberries pretty soon now."

"We'll have to start right after supper," said Thomas, by way of a
delicate hint. He did not feel that it was proper for him to suggest to
Sylvia that her present costume was scarcely suitable to wear if she
were to accompany him to a "show."

"Start?" Sylvia looked puzzled. Then she remembered that in a moment of
pique with Austin she had arranged to go to Wallacetown with Thomas. As
she thought it over, it appealed to her less and less. "You mean to
Wallacetown? I'm afraid I'd forgotten all about it, I've been so busy
to-day. I wonder if we'd better try it? The warmth to-day won't have
improved the roads any, and they were pretty bad before."

Thomas felt as if he should choke. That she should treat so casually the
evening towards which he had been counting the moments for twenty-four
hours seemed almost unbearable. He strove, however, to maintain his
dignified composure.

"Just as you say, of course," he replied with hurt coolness.

Sylvia glanced at him covertly, and the corners of her mouth twitched.

"I suppose we may as well try it," she said. "Do you suppose some of the