210 TROTTYS WEDDING TOUR.

All the boys looked as if they were going to have “a time.”
All the girls looked as if they wished they were. The boys
were whistling. The girls hummed a little tune. The boys
had forgotten all about the girls. But the girls had not for-
gotten about the boys. In short, all the girls belonged to the
Tatting Club. But all the boys belonged to the Woodchuck
Society.

And it was Wednesday afternoon. And the skies were as
clear as if they had taken the day to clean up their silver.
And this is the veracious and accurate account of what hap-
pened.

All the boys stopped talking. All the girls stopped whis-
pering. The boys got down from the fence. The girls came
out of the school-house entry. The boys splashed into the
mud— for a summer rain had fallen just before the silver-clean-
ing in the skies — with their great boots. The girls hopped
along on one foot, pulling on their last rubber as they hopped.

How they got there, I don’t know, hopping and palling
their rubbers on; but when the boys swung through the
school-yard posts they found the girls there, drawn up in a
line before them.

‘“‘ Your pleasure, ladies ?”’ said the Chairman of the Wood-
chuck Society. He took off his hat.

“We would like to join the Woodchuck Society, if you
please,”’ said the President of the Tatting Club.

“ Nonsense!” said the Chairman of the Woodchuck So-
ciety. ‘“ You would wet your feet.” He spoke impressively.