"As long as Adam Burn was near, mother would never have been allowed to really suffer for anything. I mean that he would have managed to keep an eye upon her and have helped us out, till we could help ourselves. Do you know where that letter is he gave you? Have you read it? I should think this might be that 'right time' of which he spoke."

"The letter? In my other dress pocket. I'll get it."

But when she had searched not only in her pockets but in every other possible place, the letter could not be found; and though Mrs. Kaye assured them that there was probably very little of importance in it, her children could not help imagining something quite to the contrary; and to learn the unread message became the great desire of their hearts.

"Well, in any case, we have what he said to you, Hal, about soul growth and that."

"Humph! Such talk is all well enough, but how is it going to help when we reach our last dollar? Did you ever think, Amy, seriously think how we are going to live? Just where our actual bread and butter is to come from?"

"No. Why, no, not really."

"Then it's high time you did."

CHAPTER XIII.
AMY PAYS A BUSINESS CALL

At about the same moment, on a "Saturday-half" in November, Amy Kaye and Gwendolyn Jones left each her own home to visit that of the other. They met on the slope of "Bareacre" and paused for mutual greetings.

"How do? I was just going up to your house," said Gwendolyn, turning her back to the wind that just then blew strongly.

"Good afternoon. Were you? And I was going to yours."

"My! How cold it is. Winter'll be here before we know it. Makes a body think about her clothes. That's why I was coming. I thought, maybe, you'd like to go shopping with me."

"You're forgetting, I fancy, that I told you I never did that. I shouldn't know how to shop, nor scarcely what it means," laughed Amy.

"That's what me and ma was saying. You seem such a little girl, yet 'Bony' says you're 'most as old as I am."

"But I don't feel old, do you? I wish I might never grow a day older, except that if I do I may be more useful to my people."

"Won't you go, then?"

"Maybe, if you will do something for me, too. I'm not on the road to buy anything, but to sell. I thought that you might know of somebody who would like a burro. Do you?"

"I'd like one myself, first-rate, only I'm saving for a wheel. I'm buying it on the instalment plan. I pay a dollar a week, and after I get my winter things I'll pay more. Do you ride?"

"Nothing so fine as a bicycle; just either Pepita or Balaam."

"It's awful hard to have to walk everywhere, and the good thing about a wheel is that it don't have to eat."

"And the bad thing about a burro is that it does."

"Are you in earnest? Do you want to sell it?"

"No; I don't want to at all, but I'm going to if I can. Do you know anybody who really might buy Pepit?"

"Guess I do. Guess the 'Supe' would."

"The 'Supe' – Mr. Metcalf?"

"Yes; I heard him say he'd like to get such a pair of mules or donkeys, or whatever they are, for his children. He's got a slew of them, and he gets 'em every conceivable thing. I wouldn't wonder if he did, if you was to ask him."

"Will he be at the mill to-day?"

"No; he's at his house, I guess. The mill's shut up, only the watchman there. The 'Supe' don't hang around there himself so much since the new 'boss' came."

"Maybe his house would be out of your way. If you'll tell me how to find it, I can go by myself. I wouldn't like to give you trouble."

"Oh, 'twouldn't be a mite. I'd like it. There'd be time enough afterward for Mis' Hackett's. She keeps open till near midnight, Saturdays. She gets lots of the mill trade, and she'd like to have it all. But Wallburg's far nicer. Don't you love Wallburg?"

"I was never there except once, when father had a guest from town. Then mother sent for a carriage, and they took their friend to see the city. Hallam and I rode our burros, but we were very tired when it was over. Even then we passed through the residence streets only."

"Pshaw! It's where the stores are that I like. I always wish I was made of money when I'm in a store. They do have such lovely things."

"Doesn't your mother buy your clothes?"

"My mother? My mother? Well, I guess not. The idea! If a girl earns her own money and pays for all she has, I guess she's a right to pick 'em out. Don't you?"

"Why – yes. I suppose she has a right, if her mother allows. But I should think it would be very trying to select one's own things. I should be so afraid I wouldn't choose correctly, and not please her taste."

"My land! What if you didn't? It's you that has to wear them, isn't it? Have a piece of this gum. It's a new sort. Mis' Hackett keeps it and charges two cents a stick. Other kinds are only one cent, but this is prime."

Gwendolyn was kind-hearted. She was also very vain. She felt that it was a fine thing to be acquainted with "aristocratics" like the Kayes; yet in her heart she was rather ashamed of Amy's plain attire, the simplicity of which seemed to Gwendolyn a proof of Mrs. Kaye's incapacity to "shop"; and its being white – though of soft warm wool – of her want of taste. She supposed, also, that any girl who could, would buy gum, and decided that her new acquaintance must be very poor indeed.

"Take it. I can get plenty more. I earn real good wages now."

"Do you?" asked Amy, so wistfully that the other was confirmed in her opinion of the poverty.

"I should think you would like to work in the mill, wouldn't you? If your folks have lost their money, it would seem real handy to have a little coming in."

"Yes, it would, indeed. But I couldn't do it."

"Why not? You're strong enough, I guess, if you aren't so big."

"Yes, I'm strong and well. But father has forbidden me to think of it."

"Pshaw! He'd come round. If you want to do it, I would; and once you were settled he wouldn't care, or he couldn't help himself, anyway. He's kind of queer, isn't he? I've heard that."

"Queer? Yes; just as queer as a splendid gentleman like him must always seem to common people," flashed the daughter, all the more disturbed because she realized that there had been once, if not now, just a little truth in the suggestion.

"Pshaw! I didn't mean to make you mad. O' course, I hadn't ought to have spoke so about your own father. I s'pose I'd be mad, too, if anybody said things about pa. They do, sometimes, or about ma, their naming us children by fancy names, as they did. You see, they're English, pa and ma are, and so they named us after English aristocratics. Ma's a master hand for reading novels, too, and she gets notions out of them. We take the Four Hundred Story Paper, and the Happy Evening Gazette. Do you take them?"

"No; I never heard of them."

"My land! you didn't? Ain't that queer? Why, they're splendid. They have five serial stories running all the time. As fast as one is finished another is commenced. Umm, they're awful exciting. You can't hardly wait from week to week to get the new instalments. Trouble is, ma says, we'd ought to each of us have a copy, we're so crazy to get hold of it when it comes. Some of the girls take fashion papers, and we lend them 'round. Some lend, I mean. Some are stingy, and won't. They have patterns in them. You can get some of the patterns free, and some cost ten or fifteen cents. Say, how do you like my dress?"

Amy looked critically at her companion's attire. She admired it far less than Gwendolyn had her own simple frock, and she found the question difficult to answer without giving offence. She compromised by saying: —

"Your mother must be very industrious to have made it, with all the housework and the children."

"If you ain't the greenest girl I know! My mother couldn't make a dress like this to save her life."

"O – oh!" stammered Amy.

"Indeed, she couldn't. This was made by a dressmaker. The best one in Ardsley, too. She charged me five dollars, and ma said it was too much. I think it was, myself, but what can you do? You must look right, you know; if you don't the girls will make fun of you, and the boys won't take you any place. Is there any boy you like, much?"

"Why, of course; though I know only three. Is this the way, around the corner?"

"Three? Who're they?"

"Hallam, and Fayette, and William Gladstone. Doesn't the mill village look cosy? The cunning little houses with their porches and gardens and neat palings. Such a lot of folks living together should have good times, I think."

"Oh, they do; prime. That's the 'Supe's' house, that big one, upon that little hill. That whole row belongs to the different 'bosses,' – of the setting room, the weavers, and the rest. The 'Supe' is real nice, I think, though some say he's stuck up. He was a poor boy, once, – as poor as a church mouse. Say, don't you feel sort of afraid to call on him, after all?"

"Why? No, indeed. Afraid? Why should I?"

"Oh, because."

Amy laughed and hastened forward. Nothing more was said until they reached the door, shadowed by vines from which not even yet all the leaves had fallen. The whole place had a sheltered, homelike appearance, which spoke well for the taste and kindliness of its owners.

"Yes; Mr. Metcalf is in. Would you like to see him? Ah, Gwendolyn, is it you? Walk in." Yet even Amy noticed that the maid's manner in welcoming her companion was less cordial than in welcoming herself. She concluded that there might be some truth in the assertion of this family considering themselves rather better than their neighbors.

They were ushered into a cheery sitting room, which seemed also a sort of library, for there were bookcases around the walls, and a table was spread with the current literature of the day. The room was small by comparison with those to which Amy had been accustomed, but what it lacked in size it made up for in comfort. A coal fire glowed on the hearth, a bird sang in its cage before the window, and about the floor were scattered the playthings that told that it was the resort of children.

The girls were not kept waiting. Mr. Metcalf entered almost at once, nodded kindly to Gwendolyn, and cordially extended his hand to Amy.

"I am very pleased to see you, Miss Amy. Sit nearer the fire, for it's right cold to-day."

"Thank you, but I'm not cold, and I don't wish to detain you. Gwendolyn tells me that it is your holiday, too, and that you go to Wallburg."

Mr. Metcalf glanced across at the other girl, who bridled and simpered as she adjusted her hat and settled her skirts.

"She goes there herself, I fear, rather too much. Eh, Gwendolyn?"

"I go when I please," answered the mill girl, pertly. She resented something in the tone of her superintendent, feeling that out of work hours he had no authority over her.

"Oh, of course. By the way, there's the stage just ready for the other end of the village. Do you see it, Miss Amy? The shop mistress, Mrs. Hackett, sends one over every Saturday afternoon to carry our folks free to her place of business. She's an enterprising person, but, unfortunately, as soon as she had adopted this plan, two other merchants of the town set up rival stages also. It's very funny, sometimes, to see the respective drivers' efforts to secure passengers, and therefore custom."

At the mention of stages, Gwendolyn rose and looked through the window. Then she turned toward Amy like a person in great haste.

"Tell the 'Supe' what you came for, Amy, so we can get a ride over, – that is, if you want to go shopping with me after all."

But poor Amy could not reply just then. It had come over her with a rush what her errand really meant to her, and she was wholly indifferent to the charms of a stage or even "shopping."

"Don't wait for me, please, – that is, of course, I will keep my word, but – "

"All right, then, some other day. I'll be up to see how you made out, and if Mr. Metcalf don't want it maybe I'll hear of somebody else who does. By, by. Good day, sir," and off she tore, banging the door and shouting loudly to the driver of Mrs. Hackett's stage.

Mr. Metcalf watched her in silence till she had climbed the steps at the rear of the omnibus, and then he remarked: —

"That girl has so much sense that she ought to have more."

"That's a doubtful compliment, isn't it?" asked Amy, smiling.

"I suppose so, though it's quite true. She is warmhearted, generous to a fault, and as silly as they make them. However, she has given me the pleasure of seeing you to-day, and I hope that you will tell me how I can be of use to you. From Gwendolyn's words I judge that you came upon some special errand."

"Yes; I came to ask if you would like to buy my white burro."

"Ah, you are tired of her? I mean you wish to sell her? Has she been misbehaving or interfering with 'Bony' again?"

"No, she has been very, very good, and I don't at all wish to part with her; but I want some money very badly, and that is the only thing – the only way I could get it."

"I am very glad you came to me. Ever since I made Miss Pepita's acquaintance, that day at the mill, I've wished I could find another like her for my little Nanette. How much do you ask for the burro?"

"I don't ask anything. That is, I don't know how much she is worth."

"I think you told me that she was a gift to you?"

"Yes, from my uncle in California."

"Hmm, I've heard of him," commented the gentleman, briefly. "Now, I am almost as much in the dark in regard to the value of such animals as you are, but, at a rough estimate, I will offer you fifty dollars. Then I will make inquiries, and if I find I have named too small a price, I will add the balance. Is that satisfactory?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. Thank you. I – I shall be glad to have Pepita in such a nice place."

At home Amy had spoken to none save Cleena about this intention of hers, and that good creature had sighed and wiped her eyes, but had not uttered one word of protest. The girl sighed, too, now, and the superintendent felt it would be kind to cut the matter short.

"When can I send for her?"

"Oh, at – at any time, I suppose. Or, if you don't mind, I'd like to ride her here myself. Just once more."

Mr. Metcalf looked at his watch.

"In a few moments John will be passing by Bareacre on his way to the other village. You might drive up with him and ride her down here afterward. There will be ample time before dark, and you must tell your people not to be anxious, should there be any delay."

"Very well; and maybe Hallam, my brother, will come, also. Though he hasn't been told yet, and might not – "

"Very well. Excuse me for a moment. I will speak to John."

He did not add, nor Amy reflect, that it was a very long and roundabout way to reach "the other village," by passing over rough and steep Bareacre hill; but John was willing enough to take it, when he was told who was to be his companion on the route. He had liked Amy from the first, and had grown to know her fairly well during his time of helping the Kaye household to settle.

"All right, boss. Sorry the little thing is to give up her donkey. She set a powerful store by it, I 'low. Well, all ready? How do, Miss Amy? So me an' you're going to take a trip together, eh? Then I can find out for myself how the well is doing. Don't see much of 'Bony' since your folks took him in hand. Giddap, there, Jinny! Here we go!"

To pass the time agreeably John talked of everything which he imagined might be of interest to the silent girl beside him, but he elicited few replies, and had the stream of his words flow, for once, without interruption. Yet it seemed a very, very slow ride to Amy, and when it came to an end, she scarcely waited to thank John for his "lift" before she sped to the shed where Pepita was tied, and shutting the door behind her, threw her arms around the neck of the gentle beast, to cry as freely as she pleased.

"Bray! Br-a-ay! Ah-umph! Ah-u-umph!" inquired the burro, turning her head around as far as she could by reason of Amy's embrace.

"Oh, you darling, you dear old darling. Don't talk to me. Don't look at me as if you thought I had no heart. Do you think I don't love you, that I will sell you, Pepit'? But – it must be. It must be. Better you than Balaam, and even he – "

"Ah-umph! A-ah-umph! Br-r-r-ay! Bray-bray-bray! B-r-a-y-a-u-m-p-h!!" protested Balaam, with great haste and emphasis; and this sound was an added pang in the heart of the unhappy Amy, who felt that she was not only breaking her own heart by this separation, but the hearts of this four-footed pair as well.

Then she heard a sound along the frozen ground, and instantly she lifted her head, pulled her Tam over her eyes to hide the traces of tears, and called out, gayly: —

"Is that you, Hal dear? What do you think? You and I are to ride down to Mr. Metcalf's, right away now. Is Fayette in the house? I want him to help me groom Pepita to 'the Queen's taste,' as he says. Halloo to him, for me, please."

But instead of that the brother hobbled into the shed and asked: —

"Why should we go there? I don't want to. I've no fondness for paying visits."

"But you must go this time, Hal. You really, really must. I'll tell you why, by and by."

CHAPTER XIV.
PEPITA FINDS A NEW HOME

When the cripple firmly declined the visit, Cleena found some errand for Fayette to do at the "general store" in the mill village. Hallam thought it a little queer that he was not greatly urged in the matter, and that Cleena should ask him to let Fayette ride Balaam.

"For you know, Goodsoul, how I hate to have anybody ride him, except myself. Not even Amy is really welcome, though she does sometimes. I don't see why she goes, anyway. What have we to do with any of these people? When mother is ill, too. If I were a daughter, I'd stay at home."

Cleena wheeled about from scrubbing the kitchen table and retorted, impatiently: —

"Don't you go throwing blame on Miss Amy, lad. Arrah musha! but she's the more sense of the lot of us, so she has, bless her bonny heart. An' that sunbright an' cheerful, no matter – "

"She's not very cheerful this afternoon, Cleena. I believe she'd been crying, just now, when I found her in the shed. I fancy she'll find a ride anything but funny, on such a day as this. I like the warm fire better than the road in such weather."

"Get back to it then, child. There's your book yon, on the settle. Wait. Carry in a bowl of porridge to the mistress, an you can? Heigh! Move them crutches easy now, an' not spill the stuff all over me nice floor."

In her heart Cleena was very proud of her deft-handed "child," who could do so many helpful things, even though a cripple, and she watched him cross the wide room, swinging easily along on his "other feet," yet holding the bowl of steaming liquid upright and safely. Then she sighed, and going to the door called: —

"Me Gineral Bonaparty, come by!"

Fayette was digging, even though the ground was frozen, and it would be months before anything could grow again. But the simple fellow was a "natural farmer," and it was his intention to "let her lie fallow this winter. Next summer I'll show you a garden'll make your eyes bung out. I'm the best gard'ner anywhere's round, I am."

He now replied: —

"What fer? I want to get this side gone over, this afternoon. Then come Monday I'm goin' to get some trees down brook way, an' get John to haul 'em up an' set 'em out, an' get Miss Amy – "

"Faith, what else'll you 'get' with your 'get' an' 'get,' I'd know. Come by, I tell ye, to wonst."

When Cleena spoke in that tone, it was noticeable that Fayette always obeyed. He now threw down his spade, though reluctantly, and sauntered to the kitchen door.

"A woman hain't got no sense nohow, stopping a man from his work."

"An' all the sense a man body has, me fathers, is to keep a woman standin' in her doorway. I'm wantin' ye to go to the store down below. Master Hallam's for lettin' ye ride Balaam. Off with ye, now, an' clean the beast's coat, sayin' nothin' of Miss Amy's own little white. Will she ride with ye? What for no? Proud you be, says I, to be escortin' of the like o' her."

Fayette's eyes shone. The desire of his heart was to possess Balaam for himself; failing this, to have the privilege of using the pretty creature occasionally.

"How happened it? How does she want to go there in such a wind? Blows the hair right off your head, I 'low. I'd ruther go alone, I would."

"'Ruthers' is all froze up. Haste along with ye now, an' be off. Mind ye talk pretty to my colleen, 'cause – No matter."

Fayette made swift work of the grooming, and only a few moments later Amy and he rode out of the enclosure. As she descended the slope, the girl turned and waved her hand cheerfully to Cleena, then set her face toward the valley and relapsed into silence.

Fayette endured this as long as he could, for though he rarely needed anybody else to speak, this afternoon he was annoyed by his companion's preoccupation.

"What's the matter, Amy? You ain't said a word since we started."

"Haven't I? and we're almost there, already. Well, I was thinking. That's all. I'll try to do better on the way home."

"Feelin' bad about your ma? Land, she'll get well. All she wants is a bit o' boneset tea, or sage an' sassafras. I'll go yarb hunting to-morrow, if I get my garden ploughed. Cleena'll stew it. Say, have you heard my new one? Hark to this."

He pulled from his pocket a small jewsharp and began to "play" upon it in the most nerve-rasping manner.

"Oh, Fayette, another? Why, you must have a half-dozen already. I come upon them everywhere about the house, in the rooms where you are."

"Ain't got none now but this. I bought it to Mis' Hackett's. Cleena's took my others. Got 'em all in her kitchen draw'. 'Low she'll get this if you tell on me."

"I'll not need. You'll have it out to show her how talented you are, and then – away goes your pride, your jewsharp, and all."

"Hmm, she better try. I'll teach her a lesson some day she ain't goin' to ferget. That woman bosses me too much. I ain't a-goin' to stand it. You'll see. I'll clear out an' leave the whole kerboodle first you know. Sho! Here we be."

"Indeed. Well, I'm sorry to have reached the place so soon, though it is pretty cold."

"You go in and see the 'Supe's' folks. I'll ride along an' do my arrants. Cleena'd ruther trust me than you, wouldn't she? I'm a master hand for a trade, an' she knows it. Say, I do wish he'd sell me Balaam."

"You must drop that subject, really, Fayette. Even if Hallam were to part with his burro, it would not be to you."

The simple lad's fierce temper rose in full force at Amy's blunt words.

"Like to know why not? Ain't my money as good as anybody's? Ain't I 'stuck up' enough to suit? He never rode in a parade, he didn't. Told me so himself."

"Nor do I think he ever will, and, of course, one person's money is as good as another's, excepting that we could never trust how long you would be kind to dear old Balaam. Hal would take much less to have the creature well treated than – I mean – Oh, don't get so angry; it's not worth while."

The more she tried to smooth matters over, the more indignant the other became. His harp was still between such discolored teeth as Pepita's former assault had left him, and added to the grotesqueness of his appearance as he glared upon Amy. To finish what she had begun, she remarked: —

"Just tie him there, at that second post, please, and you'd best put his blanket on him."

"Tie him? I'm goin' to ride him to the village to let the boys see him an' try him. I promised I would. Tie him! I shan't neither!"

"You certainly will not ride him to wherever those dreadful boys are. Nobody shall touch him, except you or me, and you ought not."

Fayette gave her one more angry glance, leaped from his saddle with a jerk, and bestowed upon the unoffending burro a vicious kick. Then he disappeared down the street, and Amy tied Pepita in haste, that she might look after the other animal also.

Just then she heard a step upon the path behind her, and the superintendent's pleasant voice, saying: —

"Well, young lady, you are certainly prompt, and promptness is a cardinal virtue – from a business man's point of view. See, here is the little girl for whom you are giving up your pet."

"Ah, indeed."

Amy smiled upon the child, who might have been ten years of age, and the fragile little creature appeared to smile in return. Then it came over the visitor that there was something out of common in that uplifted, happy face, and that the smile was not in response to her own greeting. The wide blue eyes looked upward, truly, but with the blank stare of one who sees nothing.

"Ah, is it so?" cried Amy, a second time, watching with what hesitation the little girl moved along the path, and how persistently she clung to her father's hand.

"Yes, blind; quite blind – from her birth," said Mr. Metcalf, sadly.

Amy was on her knees in a moment, clasping the child's slight body in her arms and saying: —

"Then I'm glad, glad that you are to have Pepita. She is the dearest, nicest burro – except when she's bad – and will carry you wherever you want to go, – that is, if she is willing. You dear little girl, she shall be yours, without that money either. I never knew about you before, or you should have had her before, too."

Mr. Metcalf smiled, well pleased. His blind daughter was the idol of his flock, and anybody who was attracted by her became interesting to him. Amy had been so, even before this incident, but he liked her heartily now.

"So, Miss Amy, though you hated to part with your burro for money, you would do so willingly for love and sympathy?"

"Why, of course. If I'd only known – "

"You will not make a good business woman, at this rate. But this wind is sharp. I mustn't keep Nanette out here long, else her mother will worry, and that wouldn't do. Suppose, since you know more about donkeys than I do, that you give my girl her first riding lesson. Reach Miss Amy your hand, dear heart."

Amy caught the little white-mittened fingers in her own and kissed them impulsively. Then she rose and placed the child on Pepita's saddle.

"Take hold of the bridle, so, in both hands, now, till you learn how. I'll keep my arm about you. No, dear, you cannot fall. I wouldn't let you, even if Pepita would, and she's in a gentle mood to-day. Aren't you, Pepit'?"

"Br-a-ay! Ah-ump!" responded the burro. She did not always have her replies so ready, and, for an instant, it seemed as if she would frighten her new mistress. But there was always something absurdly amusing in Pepita's tones, and after the first shock of hearing them had passed, Nanette burst into a merry laugh that made the others laugh too.

"Oh, doesn't she talk nicely! Does she always answer so quick?"

"No, indeed. Sometimes the naughty little beast will not say a single bray. She has many moods, has Pepit'. You'll find them all out, though, after a while. Now, how do you like it? Isn't the motion soft and gentle?"

"Oh, if mamma could see!" cried the happy little girl, turning her sunny face toward Amy. Then she suddenly pulled off her mittens and drew her new friend's head down so that she could feel the unfamiliar features. Swiftly, lightly, the tiny finger-tips passed over every one, then travelled upward and lost themselves in the close rings of hair under the scarlet Tarn. "Now, I'll know you forever. What color is your hair? What is your hood, or bonnet?"

"My hair is very dark brown, or almost black, I think. My Tarn is red. But do you know colors?"

"I know what they are like to me. Papa says that maybe that is not the same as they are in the truly world, but I don't care. They are pretty and suit me, my blind colors do. I like you. I like you very much. I think you are lovely, lovely to give me your don-key – "

"But I didn't. That is, I will, since I know about you; but I asked your father to buy her first. I wouldn't – "

"Oh, never mind. It's all the same, isn't it? It would be in my blind world. She was yours and now she is mine, and you're lovely. Oh, I wish mamma could see!"

"Why, can't she, dear? Is she – "

"No," interrupted the superintendent, smiling. "No, she isn't blind. The only body in our household who is able to see beautiful things with her eyes shut is Nanette, here; and the only trouble with the mother is that there is a new baby in her room just now, so she hasn't time or strength to get up and look out of window at new burros. She thinks the new babies are the nicer of the two sorts. Eh, Nan, child?"

"I suppose she does, but I don't. Pooh! there have been three new baby sisters that I can remember, and once I was a new baby sister myself, to my brothers. They're so common, you know; but I don't think of any girl anywhere, except you, and now me, that has had a new snow-white donkey. Do you?"

"No, I do not," laughed Amy.

Mr. Metcalf invited Amy into the house, while he led the burro around to the little stable in the rear, which was to be Pepita's new home. Amy would have liked to throw her arms about the hairy white neck, but pride forbade, and so the parting was made without any sign of distress on either side. Pepita was eager for shelter, and her late mistress to hear what the blind child was saying.

"It's right this way into the sitting room. I love the sitting room best. That's where papa has his books and papers, and it smells like him. He smokes, you know, but only in this room or out of doors. Oh, do help me think! Mamma, dear heart, says I am to name this last little new baby. Just fancy it! I, myself! And it bothers me terrifically. I would want a nice long name, the longest that's in the books; but papa says that there are so many little folks who like us and come to live with us, that we mustn't spend time on long names. Oh, I've just thought! I'll name her 'Amy.' That's short, isn't it? Could a body nickname it? We don't like nicknames here. I'm the only one. I'm sometimes 'Nan' to papa. When the baby last before this one came, mamma named her Abby after Grandmother Abigail. Then she thought we couldn't ever stop to say Ab-i-ga-il, so she shortened it to Abby. Next thing, listen. Abby was crying one day and Rex heard her, and grandmother asked, 'What's that?' 'cause she's deaf and doesn't hear straight, and Rex said, 'Oh, that's nothing but little Ab!' She was just three days old then, and mamma thought if her name got cut in two so quick as that, she wouldn't have any at all in a week or two longer. So she's just Ruth now; and when the boys say 'Ruth-y,' papa makes them put a nickel in the box. Do you have a nickel box on your bookcase?"