Diana - Warner Susan

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would give a great deal to know what you thought of me."

      "Why would you?" Diana said, quite quietly.

      "That I might correct your mistakes, of course."

      "Suppose I made any mistakes," said Diana, "you could only tell me that you thought differently. I don't see that I should be much wiser."

      "I find I made a mistake about you!" he said, laughing again, but shaking his head. "But every person is like a new language to those that see him for the first time; don't you think so? One has to learn the signs of the language by degrees, before one can read it off like a book."

      "I never thought about that," said Diana. "No; I think that is true of some people; not everybody. All the Pleasant Valley people seem to me to belong to one language. All except one, perhaps."

      "Who is the exception?" Mr. Knowlton asked quickly.

      "I don't know whether you know him."

      "O, I know everybody here—or I used to."

      "I was thinking of somebody who didn't use to be here. He has only just come. I mean Mr. Masters."

      "The parson?"

      "Yes."

      "I don't know him much. I suppose he belongs to the parson language, to carry on our figure. They all do."

      "He don't," said Diana. "That is what struck me in him. What are the signs of the 'parson' language?"

      "A black coat and a white neckcloth, to begin with."

      "He dresses in grey," said Diana laughing, "or in white; and wears any sort of a cravat."

      "To go on—Generally a grave face and a manner of great propriety; with a square way of arranging words."

      "Mr. Masters has no manner at all; and he is one of the most entertaining people I ever knew."

      "Jolly sort, eh?"

      "No, I think not," said Diana; "I don't know exactly what you mean by jolly; he is never silly, and he does not laugh much particularly; but he can make other people laugh."

      "Well, another sign is, they put a religious varnish over common things. Do you recognise that?"

      "I recognise that, for I have seen it; but it isn't true of Mr.

       Masters."

      "I give him up," said young Knowlton. "I am sure I shouldn't like him."

      "Why, do you like these common signs of the 'parson language,' as you call it, that you have been reckoning?"

      The answer was a decided negative accompanied with a laugh again; and then Diana's visitor turned the conversation to the country, and the place, and the elm trees; looked out of the window and observed that the haymakers were at work near the house, and finally said he must go out to look at them nearer—he had not made hay since he was a boy.

      He went out, and Diana went back to her mother in the lean-to.

      "Mother, young Mr. Knowlton is here."

      "Well, keep him out o' my way; that's all I ask."

      "Haven't you got through yet?"

      "Through! There was but one single pan of ginger-bread left this noon; and there ain't more'n three loaves o' bread in the pantry. What's that among a tribe o' such grampuses? I've got to make biscuits for tea, Di; and I may as well get the pie-crust off my hands at the same time; it'll be so much done for to-morrow. I wish you'd pick over the berries. And then I'll find you something else to do. If I had six hands and two heads, I guess I could about get along."

      "But, mother, it won't do for nobody to be in the parlour."

      "I thought he was gone?"

      "Only gone out into the field to see the haymakers."

      "Queer company!" said Mrs. Starling, leaving her bowl of dough, with flowery hands, to peer out of a window. "You may make your mind easy, Di; he won't come in again. I declare! he's got his coat off and he's gone at it himself; ain't that him?"

      Diana looked and allowed that it was. Mr. Knowlton had got a rake in hand, his coat hung on the fence, and he was raking hay as busily as the best of them. Diana gave a little sigh, and turned to her pan of berries. This young officer was a new language to her, and she would have liked, she thought, to spell out a little more of its graceful peculiarities. The berries took a good while. Meantime Mrs. Starling's biscuit went into the oven, and a sweet smell began to come thereout. Mrs. Starling bustled about setting the table; with cold pork and pickles, and cheese and berry pie, and piles of bread brown and white. Clearly the haymakers were expected to supper.

      "Mother," said Diana doubtfully, when she had washed her hands from the berry stains, "will you bring Mr. Knowlton out here to tea, if he should possibly stay?"

      "He's gone, child, this age."

      "No, he isn't."

      "He ain't out yonder any more."

      "But his horse stands by the fence under the elm."

      "I wish he was farther, then! Yes, of course he'll come here, if he takes supper with me to-night. I don't think he will. I don't know him, and I don't know as I want to."

      But this vaguely expressed hope was disappointed. The young officer came in, a little while before supper; laughingly asked Diana for some water to wash his hands; and followed her out to the lean-to. There he was introduced to Mrs. Starling, and informed her he had been doing her work, begging to know if that did not entitle him to some supper. I think Mrs. Starling was a little sorry then that she had not made preparations to receive him more elegantly; but it was too late now; she only rushed a little nervously to fetch him a finer white towel than those which usually did kitchen duty for herself and Diana; and then the biscuits were baked, and the farm hands came streaming in.

      There were several of them, now in haying time, headed by Josiah Davis, Mrs. Starling's ordinary stand-by. Heavy and clumsy, warm from the hay-field, a little awkward at sight of the company, they filed in and dropped into their several seats round one end of the table; and Mrs. Starling could only play all her hospitable arts around her guest, to make him forget if possible his unwonted companions. She served him assiduously with the best she had on the table; she would not bring on any dainties extra; and the young officer took kindly even to the pork and pickles, and declared the brown bread was worth working for; and when Mrs. Starling let fall a word of regretful apology, assured her that in the times when he was a cadet he would have risked getting a good many marks for the sake of such a meal.

      "What are the marks for?" inquired Mrs. Starling curiously.

      "Bad boys," he told her; and then went off to a discussion of her hay crop, and a dissertation on the delights of making hay and the pleasure he had had from it that afternoon; "something he did not very often enjoy."

      "Can't you make hay anywheres?" Mrs. Starling asked a little dryly.

      He gravely assured her it would not be considered military.

      "I don't know what military means," said Mrs. Starling. "You are military, ain't you?"

      "Mean to be," he answered seriously.

      "Well, you are. Then, I should think, whatever you do would be military."

      But at this giving of judgment, after a minute of, perhaps, endeavour for self-control, Mr. Knowlton broke down and laughed furiously. Mrs. Starling looked stern. Diana was in a state of indecision, whether to laugh with her friend or frown with her mother; but the infection of fun was too much for her—the pretty lips gave way. Maybe that was encouragement for the offender; for he did not show any embarrassment or express any contrition.

      "You do me too much honour," he said as soon as he could make his voice steady; "you do me too much honour, Mrs. Starling. I assure you, I have been most unmilitary this afternoon; but really I am no better than a boy when

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