Cousin Maude

For a week or more Nellie and a few of the young people of the

village had been planning a picnic to the lake, and the day was

finally decided upon. Nellie did not ask J.C. if he were going; she

expected it as a matter of course, just as she expected that Maude

would stay at home to look after Louis and the house. But J.C. had

his own opinion of the matter, and when the morning came he found it

very convenient to be suffering from a severe headache which would

not permit him to leave his bed, much less to join the pleasure

party.

"Give my compliments to Miss Kennedy," he said to the young man who

came to his door, "and tell her I cannot possibly go this morning,

but will perhaps come down this afternoon."

"Mr. De Vere not going! I can't believe it!" and the angry tears

glittered in Nellie's blue eyes when she heard the message he had

sent her.

"Not going!" exclaimed Mrs. Kelsey, while even Maude sympathized in

the general sorrow, for her hands had prepared the repast, and she

had taken especial pains with the pies which Mr. De Vere liked the

best, and which, notwithstanding his dislike to kitchen odors, he

had seen her make, standing at her elbow and complimenting her

skill.

Nellie was in favor of deferring the ride, but others of the party,

who did not care so much for Mr. De Vere's society objected, and

poutingly tying on her hat, the young lady took her seat beside her

aunt, who was scarcely less chagrined than herself at their

disappointment.

Meanwhile, from behind his paper curtains J.C. looked after the

party as they rode away, feeling somewhat relieved when the blue

ribbons of Nellie's hat disappeared from view. For appearance's sake

he felt obliged to keep his room for an hour or more, but at the end

of that time he ventured to feel better, and dressing himself with

unusual care he started for Dr. Kennedy's, walking very slowly, as

became one suffering from a nervous headache, as he was supposed to

be. Maude had finished her domestic duties, and in tasteful gingham

morning-gown, with the whitest of linen collars upon her neck, she

sat reading alone at the foot of the garden beneath a tall cherry

tree where John had built her a rough seat of boards.

This was her favorite resort, and here J.C. found her, so intent upon her book as

not to observe his approach until he stood before her. She seemed

surprised to see him, and made anxious inquiries concerning his

headache, which he told her was much better. "And even if it were

not," said he, seating himself at her feet; "even if it were not,

the sight of you, looking so bright, so fresh, and so neat, would

dissipate it entirely," and his eyes, from which the saucy, wicked

look was for the moment gone, rested admiringly upon her face.