LITMIR.BIZ

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wears good clothes to go fishing," Caroline grumbled. "I wish he had mine!"

      "Fishing! He never wears them anywhere. He hasn't got them to wear. And he'd be glad enough to get yours, I can tell you."

      "He wouldn't do any such thing! He told me Saturday he'd rather be a dog than a girl; he'd get more use of his legs!"

      There was a scandalized silence. Caroline waited grimly.

      "What are you doing?" said the voice at last. "Studying my jography," she replied.

      "Well, mind you do, then."

      "I can't, if everybody talks to me all the time," she muttered sullenly.

      Nevertheless she resumed her rocking and crooning.

      "Bounded 'n th' east by Rho Disland; bounded 'n th' east by Rho Disland; bounded 'n th' east by Rho Disland."

      The housemaid appeared just under the window, dragging a small step-ladder and a pail of glistening, soapy water. Her head was coifed in a fresh starched towel, giving her the appearance of a holy sister of some clean blue-and-white order; her eyes were large and mournful. She appealed instantly to Caroline's imagination.

      "Oh, Katy, what a lovely Mother Superior you would make!" she cried enthusiastically.

      "I'm a Presbyterian, Miss Car'line," said Katy reprovingly. "You'd better go on with your lessons," and she threw up the window from the outside.

      A great puff of spring air burst into the room and turned it into a garden. Moist turf and sprouting leaves, wet flagstones and blowing fruit-blossoms, the heady brew of early morning in the early year assailed Caroline's quivering nostrils and intoxicated her soul.

      "Oh, Katy, don't it smell grand!" she cried.

      Katy wrung the soapy cloth and attacked the upper sash.

       "You've got the nose of a bloodhound," she observed. "I b'lieve you'd smell molasses cookies half a mile."

      Caroline sighed.

      "I didn't mean them," she said. "I meant——"

      "You'd better be at your lesson; your aunty'll be here in a minute if she hears you talking, now!"

      Katy was severe, but fundamentally friendly. Caroline groaned and applied herself.

      "Bounded 'n th' south by Long Island Sound; bounded 'n th' south by Long Island Sound; bounded 'n th' south—oh, look!"

      Up the neat flagged path of the side yard a spotted fox-terrier approached, delicately erect upon his hind legs, his mouth spread in cheerful smiles, his ears cocked becomingly. He paused, he waved a salute, and as a shrill whistle from behind struck up a popular tune, he waltzed accurately up to the side porch and back, retaining to the last note his pleased if painstaking smile.

      Caroline gasped delightedly; Katy's severity relaxed.

      "That's a mighty cute little dog," she admitted.

       Another shrill whistle, and the dog returned, limping on three legs, his ears drooping, his stumpy tail dejected. He paused in the middle of the walk, and at a sharp clap, as of two hands, he dropped limply on his side, rolled to his back, and stiffened there pathetically, his eyes closed.

      Caroline's chin quivered; Katy's position on the ladder was frankly that of one who has paid for an orchestra-chair; Maggie had left the cookies and stood grinning in the kitchen door; an aunt appeared in an upper window.

      One more clap, and the actor returned to life and left them, but only for a moment. He was back again, erect and smiling, a small wicker basket balanced on his paws. Marching sedately up to Maggie, he paused, and glanced politely down at the basket, then up at her.

      Flesh and blood could not resist him. Hastily tugging out from her petticoat a bulging pocket-book, she deposited a dime in the basket; the aunt, with extraordinary accuracy, dropped a five-cent piece from the window; Katy mourned her distance from her own financial center, and Caroline ran for her bank. It was a practical mechanism, the top falling off at her onslaught with the ease of frequent exercise, and she returned in time to slip six pennies under the two hot cookies that Maggie had added to her first contribution. At each tribute the terrier barked twice politely, and only when there was no more to be hoped for did he trot off around the corner of the house, the cookies swaying at a perilous angle under his quivering nostrils.

      A moment later a tall young man stepped across the grass and lifted a worn polo-cap from a reddish-yellow head.

      "Much obliged, all," he said, with an awkward little bow. "Good day!"

      He turned, whistled to the terrier, and was going on, when he caught the heartfelt admiration of Caroline's glance.

      "Want to pat him?" he inquired.

      She nodded and approached them.

      "Shake hands with the lady, William Thayer, and tell her how d'you do," he commanded, as she knelt beside the wonderful creature.

      The terrier offered a cool, tremulous paw, and barked with cheerful interrogation as she shook it rapturously.

      "Those were fine cookies," said the young man. "I had 'em for breakfast. I'm going to buy a bone for William Thayer, and then he'll have some, too."

      "Was that all you had?" she inquired, horror-stricken. He nodded. "But I'll make it up on dinner," he added lightly.

      Caroline sprang to her feet.

      "You go over there behind that barn and wait a minute," she commanded.

      The young man—he was only a boy—blushed under his tan and bit his lip.

      "I didn't mean—I'll get along all right; you needn't bother," he muttered, conscious of Katy's suspicious eye.

      "Oh, do! Please do!" she entreated. "I'll be out there in just a minute; hurry up, before Maggie gets through those cookies!"

      He turned toward the barn, and Caroline ran back to the house.

      "Is that man gone? What are you doing, Caroline?" called the invisible voice.

      "Yes, he's gone. I was patting the dog," she answered boldly, stepping through the dining-room into the pantry and glancing hastily about. Only a plate of rolls was in sight; the place was ostentatiously clean and orderly. She sighed and pushed through the swinging door; the refrigerator was a more delicate affair. But Maggie's broad back was bent over her ovenful, and Caroline clicked the door-knob unchallenged.

      Two chops sat sociably on a large plate; a little mound of spinach rested on one side of them, a huge baked potato on the other. She slid the plate softly from the metal shelf, peeping apprehensively at Maggie, tumbled the rolls on to the top, and sped into the dining-room. From a drawer in the sideboard she abstracted a silver fork which she slipped into her pocket, adding, after a moment of consideration, a salt-shaker. Stepping to the door, she paused on the little porch for a hasty survey. The coast seemed clear, and she sped across the yard, the silver jingling in her pocket. She was safe from the back, but a flank movement on Maggie's part would have been most disastrous, and it was with full appreciation of the audacity of her performance that she scudded around the barn and gained the cherry-tree behind it.

      The young man was sitting on the grass, his head against the tree; his eyes brightened as she approached.

      "Have any luck?" he inquired.

      She held out the plate, and, as he took it, fumbled in her pocket for the fork.

      "It's all cold," she murmured apologetically, "but I knew Maggie'd never warm it. Do you mind?"

      "Not a bit," he answered, with a whimsical glance at her eagerness to serve him. "I always did like greens," he added, as he accepted the fork and attacked the spinach.

      "Here, William Thayer!"

      He handed one of the chops to the dog, and

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