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“Like that?” screamed my Father.

My Mother turned around. Her hair was all curly. There were laughs in her eyes.

“I have to!” she said. “I’m bewitched!”

“I’ll go with you!” said my Father.

My Mother turned around again. She looked at my Father! At his golden crown! At his white spangled wings! At the pink silk skirt over his arm!

“Like–that?” said my Mother.

My Father decided not to go.

The Rich Man said he considered the decision very wise.

They glared.

Way over on the other side of the green lilac hedge we heard my Mother trotting down the driveway. Clack-clack–clack–clack sounded the hoof-beats!

“My Lord–she’s pacing!” groaned my Father.

“Clever work!” said the Rich Man. “Was she ever in a Band? In a Jazz Band, you know, with Bantam Rooster whistles? And drums that bark like dogs?”

“In a what?” cried my Father. He was awful mad.

Our Aunt Esta tried to soothe him with something worse. She turned to me.

“Now, Ruthy-the-Rabbit,” she said. “Let us see what you can do to redeem the ignominy of your impudent giggling!” She handed me the Bright Green and the Bright Red Celluloid fishes. She poked her wand at me. “Hopping all the way,” she said. “Every step of the way, you understand,–bear these two fish to the Head-Waters of the Magic Brook,–the little pool under the apple tree will do,–and start them ex–ex–peditiously down the Brook towards Rosalee!”

“Yes’m,” I said.

Our Aunt Esta turned to the Rich Man.

“Foul Menial,” she said. “Push my chariot a little further down the Lawn into the shade!”

The Foul Menial pushed it.

My Father pushed a little too.

I hopped along beside them flopping my long ears. Our Aunt Esta looked ex-actly like a Witch! The Rich Man’s black face was leaking a little but not much! It would have been easier if he hadn’t tripped so often on his plaid shawl skirt! My Father’s white wings flapped as he pushed! He looked like an angel who wasn’t quite hatched! It was handsome!

When we got to the thickest shade there was a man’s black felt hat bobbing along the top of the Japonica Hedge. It was rather a soft-boiled looking hat. It was bobbing just as fast as it could towards the house.

When our Aunt Esta saw the hat she screamed! She jumped from her chariot as though it had been flames! She tore the scraggly gray wig from her head! She tore the hump from her back! She kicked off her wooden shoes! Her feet were silk! She ran like the wind for the back door!

My Father ran for the Wood-Shed!

The Rich Man dove into the Lilac Bush!

When the Rich Man was all through diving into the Lilac Bush he seemed to think that he was the only one present who hadn’t done anything!

“What you so scared about, Ruthy?” he said. “What’s the matter with everybody? Who’s the Bloke?”

“It’s the New Minister,” I said.

“Has he got the Cholera or anything?” said the Rich Man.

“No, not exactly,” I explained. “He’s just our Aunt Esta’s Suitor!”

“Your Aunt Esta’s Suitor?” cried the Rich Man. “Suitor?” He clapped his hand over his mouth. He burst a safety-pin that helped lash the plaid shawl around him. “What do you mean,–‘Suitor?'” he said.

It seemed queer he was so stupid.

“Why a Suitor,” I explained, “is a Person Who Doesn’t Suit–so he keeps right on coming most every day to see if he does! As soon as he suits, of course, he’s your husband and doesn’t come any more at all–because he’s already there! The New Minister,” I explained very patiently, “is a Suitor for our Aunt Esta’s hand!”

We crawled through the Lilac Bush. We peeped out.

Our Aunt Esta hadn’t reached the back door at all. She sat all huddled up in a little heap on the embankment trying to keep the New Minister from seeing that she was in her stocking-feet. But the New Minister didn’t seem to see anything at all except her hands. Being a Suitor for her hands it was natural, I suppose, that he wasn’t interested in anything except her hands. Her hands were on her hair. The scraggly gray wig had rumpled all the seriousness out of her hair. It looked quite jolly. The New Minister stared! And stared! And stared! Except for having no lovingness in them, her hands looked very much like my Mother’s.