CHAPTER VIII.
THE FEAST.
_-_P_-_cropped.jpg){kind=small}
ONDERING discontentedly over the perplexities of life, a habit she had allowed herself to indulge in quite frequently of late, one day not long after the final exit of the once interesting but now obnoxious "C," Nattie suddenly became aware of a pair of merry brown eyes, belonging to a fine-looking young gentleman, observing her critically, and with apparently no intention of discontinuing their scrutiny. At which, in her present state of temper, Nattie turned very red and very angry. "I am not on exhibition," she thought, indignantly, and rising majestically, went towards him with the curt inquiry,
"Did you wish to send a message, sir?"
The young gentleman hesitated, and appeared slightly embarrassed, but did not take his eyes from her face, nevertheless.
"I merely wished to ask the tariff to Washington," he replied, at length.
"Forty cents," Nattie answered, shortly.
"Thank you," he said, but without moving, and
