As they were about to rise from the breakfast-table, "Gentlemen," said
he, "Miss Kate Fisher gives, this afternoon, a little sugar party, out
at her father's camp. Henry, she sent over an invitation specially for
you two, with one to me, for courtesy. I cannot go; but you must.
You will meet, Mr. Ranney, several young ladies, any one of whom will
convert you to my creed of love and poetry, and two or three young,
men stupid enough to master the law,"--with a bright smile. "I
promised you would both go. The walk is not more than a mile, the day
a marvel right out of Paradise, and you both need the exercise, and to
feel that it is spring."
"And why don't you go, Barton?" asked Henry.
"Well, you are not a stranger to any whom you will meet, and don't
need me. In the first place, I must remain and gather the sap, and
can't go; in the second, I don't want to go, and won't; and in the
third, I have several good reasons for not going,"--all very bright,
and in good humor.
"What do you say, Ranney?"
"Well, I would like to go, and I would like to have Barton go with
us."
"Would you, though?"--brightening. "No, I can't go; though I would be
glad to go with you anywhere."
CHAPTER XX.
WHAT THE GIRLS SAID.
Kate's little party, out on the dry, bright yellow leaves, gay with
early flowers, under the grand old maples, elms and beeches, in the
warm sun, came and went, with laughter and light hearts. If it could
be reproduced with its lights, and colors, and voices, what a bright
little picture and resting-place it would be, in this sombre-colored
annal! I am sad for poor Bart, and I cannot sketch it.
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