WANDERIN' JANE
By Nan Maury Lemmon
THE Very Young Man came out on the porch for the fifth time and gazed anxiously up toward the south-east bedroom window. In this room his yellow-haired cousin had indignantly locked herself on account of his impetuous behavior, and now refused to respond to ardent entreaties that she come down and receive apologies.
A little distance out on the lawn, pretending sleep in his wheelchair, Uncle William lay watching, with the keen enjoyment of the deaf and very old, the comedy before him, while Cindy, supposed to be keeping flies off with a bunch of peacock feathers, took a no less vivid interest.
"Law, Marster, she ain't even done peep thoo de blin's at him yit," she confided, in a voice loud enough to reach and embarrass both parties. "But las’ night I seed"
To prevent further confidences, the Very Young Man came hastily out and joined his great-uncle, seating himself in a willow chair facing the fatal window.
"Swimming was pretty cold early this morning," he opened the conversation casually, looking toward the mill-pond where the boys "went in."
"Yes, women are pretty cold early in the morning," agreed the old man pleasantly; "but they're mighty apt to change by night, Son." And Cindy, who had been sent upstairs with a penitent note—and returned with the same unopened—tittered.
"I said swimming, sir."
"Yes, I heard you," answered his uncle contentedly.
The Very Young Man picked up a newspaper and for a few minutes endeavored to read, but soon glanced up with a question:
"Uncle William, is Cousin George coming over to County Court in July?" This in the tone usually adopted at Niagara.
"I never tried it," answered the old gentleman, "so I can't say. But I reckon courting in July is no worse than any other month. Love is different from what it was in my day, though, and life—well nowadays it’s like catnip tea compared to muriatic acid! Don't agree with
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