But she did not start even when Ben had shaken out the new duster and
laid it neatly over her knees.
"Isn't it all right now?" asked the boy, anxiously.
"Not quite; I need one thing more. Can't you guess what it is?"--and
Miss Celia watched his anxious face as his eyes wandered from the tips
of Lita's ears to the hind-wheel of the phaeton, trying to discover
what had been omitted.
"No, miss, I don't see--" he began, much mortified to think he had
forgotten anything.
"Wouldn't a little groom up behind improve the appearance of my
turnout?" she said, with a look which left no doubt in his mind that
_he_ was to be the happy boy to occupy that proud perch.
He grew red with pleasure, but stammered, as he hesitated, looking down
at his bare feet and blue shirt:
"I aint fit, miss, and I haven't got any other clothes."
Miss Celia only smiled again more kindly than before, and answered, in
a tone which he understood better than her words:
"A great man said his coat-of-arms was a pair of shirt sleeves, and a
sweet poet sung about a barefooted boy, so I need not be too proud to
ride with one. Up with you, Ben, my man, and let us be off, or we shall
be late for our party.
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