Indian Spring to picnic. Fairfax--Mr. Munroe--I always forget that man's
real name in this dreadfully familiar country--well, he's coming to
escort us, and take me, I suppose--that is, if Kearney takes Jessie."
"A very nice arrangement," returned her father, with a slight nervous
contraction of the corners of his mouth and eyelids to indicate
mischievousness. "I've no doubt they'll both be here. You know they
usually are--ha! ha! And what about the two Mattinglys and Philip
Kearney, eh?" he continued; "won't they be jealous?"
"It isn't their turn," said Christie carelessly; "besides, they'll
probably be there."
"And I suppose they're beginning to be resigned," said Carr, smiling.
"What on earth are you talking of, father?"
She turned her clear brown eyes upon him, and was regarding him with
such manifest unconsciousness of the drift of his speech, and, withal,
a little vague impatience of his archness, that Mr. Carr was feebly
alarmed. It had the effect of banishing his assumed playfulness, which
made his serious explanation the more irritating.
"Well, I rather thought that--that young Kearney was paying considerable
attention to--to--to Jessie," replied her father, with hesitating
gravity.
"What! that boy?"
"Young Kearney is one of the original locators, and an equal partner in
the mine. A very enterprising young fellow. In fact, much more advanced
and bolder in his conceptions than the others. I find no difficulty with
him."
At another time Christie would have questioned the convincing quality
of this proof, but she was too much shocked at her father's first
suggestion, to think of anything else.
"You don't mean to say, father, that you are talking seriously of these
men--your friends--whom we see every day--and our only company?"
"No, no!" said Mr. Carr hastily; "you misunderstand. I don't suppose
that Jessie or you--"
"Or ME! Am I included?"
"You don't let me speak, Christie. I mean, I am not talking seriously,"
continued Mr. Carr, with his most serious aspect, "of you and Jessie
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