A few days after the tennis party at the Manor, at which Bertram had talked a good deal to Beatrice, and in a very marked way snubbed Matty Bell, the Rector gave his customary annual treat. He gave this treat every year, and it was looked upon by high and low alike as the great event of the merry month of August. The treat lasted for two days, the first day being devoted to the schools and the humble parishioners, the second to the lads and lasses, the well-to-do matrons and their spouses, who formed the better portion of his parishioners.  
Every soul in the place, however, from the poorest fisherman's child to the wealthy widow, Mrs. Meadowsweet, wag expected to come to the Rectory to be feasted and petted, and made much of, at Mr. Ingram's treat.
 
With the small scholars and the fishermen and their wives, and all the humbler folk of the place, this story has nothing to do. But it would not be a true chronicle of Northbury if it did not concern itself with the Jenkinses and their love affairs, with Mrs. Gorman Stanley and her furniture, with Mrs. Morris and her bronchitis, with Mrs. Butler and her adorable sister, Miss Peters, and last, but not least, with that young, naïve, and childish heart which beat in the breast of Matty Bell.
 
There are the important people in all histories, and such a place in this small chronicle must the Bertrams hold, and the Meadowsweets. But Matty, too, had her niche, and it was permitted to her to pull some not unimportant wires in this puppet show.
 
It is not too strong a word to say that Matty, Alice and Sophy Bell, received their invitation to play tennis at the Manor with a due sense of jubilation. Matty wore the shot silk which had been partly purchased by the sale of good Mrs. Bell's engagement ring. This silk had been made, at home, but, with the aid of a dressmaker young Susan Pettigrew, who had served her time to the Perrys. Susan had made valuable suggestions, which had been carried into effect, with the result that the shot silk was provided with two bodies—a high one for morning wear, and one cut in a modest, demi-style for evening festivities. The evening body had elbow-sleeves, which were furnished with raffles of coffee-colored lace, and, when put on, it revealed the contour of a rather nice plump little throat, and altogether made Matty Bell look nicer than she had ever looked in anything else before.
 
The wonderful Miss Pettigrew had also supplied the dress with a train, which could be hooked on with safety hooks and eyes for evening wear, and removed easily when the robe was to act as a tennis or morning costume. Altogether, nothing could have been more complete than this sinning garment, and no heart could have beat more proudly under it than did fair Matty's.
 
When the captain went suddenly away this little girl and her good mother had both owned to a sense of depression; but his speedy return was soon bruited abroad, and at the same time that little whisper got into the air with regard to the gallant captain, that, like Duncan Gray, he was coming back to woo. It did not require many nods of Mrs. Bell's head to assure all her acquaintances whom she considered the favored young lady. Matty once more blushed consciously, and giggled in an audible manner when the captain's name was mentioned. The invitation to play tennis at the Manor completed the satisfaction of this mother and daughter.
 
"There's no doubt of it," said Mrs. Bell; "I thought my fine lady would have to come down from her high horse. I expect the captain makes his mother do pretty much what he wishes, and very right, too, very right. He wants to show his little girl to his proud parent, and, whether she likes it or not, she'll have to make much of you, my love. Sophy and Alice, it's more than likely Matty will be asked to dine and spend the evening, at the Manor, and I think we'll just make up the evening body of her silk dress and her train in a bit of brown paper, and you can carry the parcel up between you to the Manor. Then, if it's wanted, it will come in handy, and my girl won't be behind one of them."
 
"Lor, ma, what are we to do with such a bulky parcel?" objected Sophy, who was not looking her best in a washed-out muslin of two years' date. "What can we do with the parcel when we get to the Manor?"
 
"Take it up, of course, to the house, child, and give it to the servant, and tell her it's to be kept till called for. She'll understand fast enough; servants always guess when there's a sweetheart in the question. Most likely she'll place the things ready for Matty in one of the bedrooms. I'll put in your best evening shoes too, Matty, love, and my old black lace fan, in case you should flush up dreadful when the captain is paying you attention. And now, Sophy, you'll just be good-natured, and leave the parcel with the parlor maid, so your sister will be prepared for whatever happens."
 
Sophy, having been judiciously bribed by the loan of a large Cairngorm brooch of her mother's, which took up a conspicuous position at her throat, finally consented to carry the obnoxious parcel. Alice was further instructed, in case Mrs. Bertram so far failed in her duty as to neglect to invite Matty to stay to dine at the Manor to try and bring Captain Bertram back with them to supper.
 
"You tell him that I'll have a beautiful lobster, and a crab done to a turn ready for him," whispered the mother. "You'll manage it, Alice, and look sympathetic when you speak to him, poor fellow. Let him know that I'll give him his chances, whether that proud lady, his mother, does or not. Now then, off you go, all three of you. Kiss me, Matty, my pet. Well, to be sure, you do look stylish."
 
The three little figures in their somewhat tight shoes toddled down the street. In the evening they toddled back again. The brown paper parcel tossed, and somewhat torn, was tucked fiercely under Sophy's arm, and Alice was unaccompanied by any brave son of Mars.
 
Sophy was the first to enter her expectant mother's presence.
 
"There, ma," she said, flinging the paper parcel on the table. "I hope we have had enough of those Bertrams and their ways. The fuss I had over that horrid parcel. I thought I'd never get it back again. In the end I had to see Mrs. Bertram about it, and didn't she crush me just! She's an awful woman. I never want to speak to her again all my life, and as to the captain caring for Matty!"
 
"Where is Matty?" here interrupted Mrs. Bell. "She was not asked to stay behind after all, then?"
 
"She asked to stay behind? You speak for yourself, Matty. For my part, I think it was very unfair to give Matty that silk. We might all have had nice washing muslins for the price of it. Where are you, Matty? Oh, I declare she has gone upstairs in the sulks!"
 
"You're in a horrid bad temper, Sophy; that I can see," expostulated the mother. "Well, Alice, perhaps you can tell me what all this fuss is about? I hope to goodness you gave the captain my message, child."
 
"I didn't see him to give it, mother," answered Alice. "He never spoke once to us the whole time. He just shook hands when we arrived, but even then he didn't speak."
 
"Captain Bertram never spoke to Matty during the entire evening?" gasped Mrs. Bell. "Child, you can't be speaking the truth, you must be joking me."
 
"I'm not, truly, mother. Captain Bertram didn't even look at Matty. He was all the time following Beatrice Meadowsweet about like a shadow."
 
Mrs. Bell gave her head a toss.
 
"Oh, that's it, is it?" she said. "I didn't think the captain would be so artful. Mark my word, girls, he behaved like that just as a blind to put his old mother off the scent."
 
But as Mrs. Bell spoke her heart sank within her. She remembered again how Beatrice had looked that evening in the green boat, and she saw once more Matty's tossed locks and sunburnt hands.
 
After a time she went upstairs, and without any ceremony entered her daughter's room.
 
Matty had tossed off the gaudy silk, and was lying on her bed. Her poor little face was blistered with tears, and, as Mrs. Bell expressed it, it "gave me a heart-ache even to look at her." She was not a woman, however, to own to defeat. She pretended not to see Matty's tears, and she made her tone purposely very cheerful.
 
"Come, come, child," she said, "what are you stretched on the bed for, as if you were delicate? Now, I wouldn't let this get to Captain Bertram's ears for the world."
 
"What do you mean, mother?" asked the astonished daughter.
 
"What I say, my love. I wouldn't let the captain know that you were so tired as to have to lie down after a game of tennis, for a ten pound note. Nothing puts a man off a girl so soon as to hear that she's delicate."
 
"Oh, he—he doesn't care," half sobbed Matty.
 
"Oh, doesn't he, though? I never knew anything more like caring than for him to be too shy to come near you. Things have gone pretty far when a man has to blind his mother by pretending to be taken up with another girl. I knew the captain was in love, Matty, but I did not suppose he was deep enough to play his cards after that fashion. You get up now, lovey, and come down, and have a nice hot cup of tea. It will revive you wonderfully, my pet."
 
Matty allowed her mother to coax her off the bed, and to assist her on with her every-day brown holland frock. She was a good deal comforted and inclined to reconsider the position which had seemed so hopeless half-an-hour ago.
 
"Only he did neglect me shamefully," she said, with a little toss of her head. "And I don't see why I should take it from him."
 
"That's right, my girl. You show Captain Bertram you've got a spirit of your own. There's nothing brings a man to the point like a girl giving him a little bit of sauce. Next time he speaks to you, you can be as stand-off as you please, Matty."
 
"Yes, mother," said Matty, in a languid tone.
 
She knew, however, that it was not in her nature to be stand-off to any one, and beneath all the comfort of her mother's words she could not help doubting if Captain Bertram would care how she behaved to him.
 
The next morning the Rector's invitation came for the annual treat, and the hopes of the Bells once more rose high. On this occasion Mrs. Bell was to accompany her daughters. Bell would also be present, but, as he was never of much account, this small fact scarcely rested on any one's mind. All the town was now in state of ferment. The Rector's party was the only thing spoken about, and many were the prognostications with regard to the weather.
 
The day of festival came at last; the sun arose gloriously, not a cloud was in the sky, all the merry-makers might go in their best, and all hearts might be jubilant. It was delightful to see Northbury on this day, for so gay were the costumes worn by its inhabitants that as they passed through the narrow old streets they gave the place of their birth a picturesque and even a foreign appearance.
 
The Rectory was just outside the town, and, of course, all the footsteps were bending thither. The Rector had invited his guests to assemble at three o'clock, and punctually at a quarter to that hour Miss Peters seated herself in her bay window, armed with a spy-glass to watch the gathering crowd.
 
Miss Peters was already arrayed in her festive clothes, but she and Mrs. Butler thought it ungenteel not to be, at least, an hour late. "The Bertrams will be sure to be late," remarked the good lady to her sister, "and we, too, Martha, will show that we know what's what."
 
"Which we don't," snapped Mrs. Butler. "We are sure and certain to be put in the wrong before we are half-an-hour there. However, I agree with you, Maria; we won't be among the hurryers. I hate to be one of those who snap at a thing. Now, what's the matter? How you do startle me!"
 
"It's Mrs. Gorman Stanley," gasped Miss Peters; "she's in red velvet, with a beaded bodice—and—oh, do look at her bonnet, Martha! Positively, it's hideous. A straw-green, with blue forget-me-nots, and those little baby daisies dropping over her hair. Well, well, how that woman does ape youth!"
 
Mrs. Butler snatched the spy-glass from her sister, and surveyed Mrs. Gorman Stanley's holiday attire with marked disapproval. She threw down her glasses presently with a little sniff.
 
"Disgusting," she said with emphasis. "That woman will never see fifty again, and she apes seventeen. For my part, I think, when women reach a certain age they should not deck themselves with artificial flowers. Flowers are for the young, not for poor worn-out, faded types of humanity. Now you, Maria——"
 
"Oh, don't," said Miss Maria, stepping back a few paces in alarm, and putting up her hand to her bonnet, "don't say that wallflowers aren't allowable, Martha; I always did think that wallflowers were so passé. That's why I chose them."
 
"Who's that now?" exclaimed Mrs. Butler. "My word, Maria, get quick behind the curtain and peep! Give me the spy-glass; I'll look over your head. Why, if it isn't—no—yes—it is, though—it's that young Captain Bertram, a most stylish young man! He looks elegant in flannels—quite a noble face—I should imagine him to be the image of Julius Caesar—there he comes—and Bee—Bee Meadowsweet with him."
 
"Just like her name," murmured Miss Peters; "just—just like her name, bless her!"
 
The poor, withered heart of the little old maid quite swelled with love and admiration as the beautiful girl, dressed simply all in white, with roses on her cheeks, and sparkles in her eyes, walked to the scene of the coming gayeties in the company of the acknowledged hero of the town.
 
"Poor Matty Bell, I pity her!" said Mrs. Butler. "Oh, it has been a sickening sight the way the mother has gone on lately, perfectly sickening; but she'll have her come down, poor woman, and I, for one, will say, serve her right."
 
"We may as well be going, Martha," said Miss Peters.
 
"Well, I suppose so, since our betters have led the way. Now, Maria, don't drag behind, and don't ogle me with your eyes more than you can help. I have made up my mind to have a seat next to Mrs. Bertram at the feast, and to bring her down a peg if I can. Now, let's come on.&quo............