Only an Irish Girl

"I knew I should find you here eating all those strawberries!" the newcomer goes on placidly. "Girls do not expose their complexions to a sun like this for nothing."

"Where are the others?" Honor asks lazily.

"'Deed and I hardly know. They strolled away by twos and threes till there wasn't a soul left to chum with; and then I bethought me"--with a mocking glance at Belle--"of you; and here I am."

"Polite!" her sister murmurs. "But, to tell the truth, dear, we should prefer your room--no, your strawberries"--for he has begun his onslaught already--"to your company."

"Sha'n't budge now till I've finished this pile," he retorts coolly; and the girls laugh.

The sun slants fiery red between the boles of the old fruit-trees, burns little crimson patches on Belle's fair skin, and turns Honor's cheeks to the hue of wild poppies. The air is heavy with a dozen different odors--of ripening fruit, mignonette, wild roses, and--sweete