CHAPTER XIII. 



FIVE DAYS AT CLEVELAND. 



OUND a good night's rest at the quiet 

 farmhouse of the Lloyds, on the night 

 of the fifth, and after an early breakfast 

 on the following morning called for my 

 horse and started for Cleveland. On my 

 way out, near Wickliffe, I overtook a 

 troop of girls on their way to school. 

 One of them, a bright-faced little 

 maid, giving her name as Ettie Warren, 

 and saying she was a granddaughter of Mr. Lloyd, 

 asked me to accept a bouquet, which had no doubt 

 been intended for her teacher. It was a mass of 

 gay colors, which had been gathered from the home 

 garden, and its huge proportions quite appalled me. 

 However, I accepted it with mock gravity, and as she 

 and her small companions kept beside me, I could 

 overhear a whispered conversation of very secret im- 

 port, which resolved itself into the question, "Do you 

 like apples, mister?" I confessed my fondness for 

 the fruit, and was soon the chagrined possessor of a 

 pocketful of green ones, which this sunburned little 

 daughter of Eve generously offered. Before riding 



into town I was obliged to consign these gifts to the 

 ^228) 



