Minnie appeared in the doorway with a big pitcher of crab-apple cider,
rich and amber-hued, sparkling, cold, and redolent of the sweet-smelling
orchard where it was born. Behind Miss Briscoe came Mildy Upton with
glasses and a fat, shaking, four-storied jelly-cake on a second tray. The
judge passed his cigars around, and the gentlemen took them blithely, then
hesitatingly held them in their fingers and glanced at the ladies,
uncertain of permission.

"Let me get you some matches," Helen said, quickly, and found a box on the
table and handed it to Keating. Every one sat beaming, and fragrant veils
of smoke soon draped the room.

"Why do you call her 'Miss Sherwood'?" Boswell whispered in Keating's ear.

"That's her name."

"Ain't she the daughter of that old fellow over there by the window? Ain't
her name Fisbee?"

"No; she's his daughter, but her legal name's Sherwood; she's an adop----"

"Great Scott! I know all about that. I'd like to know if there's a man,
woman, or child in this part of the country that doesn't. I guess it won't
be Fisbee or Sherwood either very long. She can easy get a new name,
_that_ lady! And if she took a fancy to Boswell, why, I'm a bach----"

"I expect she won't take a fancy to Boswell very early," said Keating.
"They say it will be Harkless."

"Go 'way," returned Mr. Boswell. "What do you want to say that for? Can't