and the knot came back to her brow.
"You see when you're bound-out and going away for a while they can't
feel the same to you. They're never real cross and they don't whip you
as they did at the Home, and you have nicer things to eat. Sometimes
when you were awful hungry you didn't seem to get enough. You wanted
one more piece of bread, but you couldn't have it. Oh, I like it so
much better at Mrs. Borden's Only Jack--Are boys always bad?"

"I guess they are for the most part," laughing.

"But he will go to school again. And his father says he will outgrow
it. His father truly does want him to be good, and he said I must tell
when he pinched me or kicked me, and he would punish him. But I don't
like to, always, for he denies it, and his mother isn't pleased when I
do. You can feel when people do not like you to tell things. At the
Home when you told tales they whipped the child that was bad, and then
they whipped you for telling tales. It didn't seem as if that was
quite fair, so I tried never to tell on anyone."

"Generally speaking, it is a bad habit," he commented, gravely.

Then they had reached their destination. A poor old paralyzed man sat
in a wheeling chair on the porch. Medical skill could not do much for
him, but friendship and interest made pleasant times to remember when
the hours were long and weary. Dr. Richards had brought some
illustrated magazines, and they talked over the happenings of the
week.

A sweet-faced, rather elderly lady brought Marilla a rocking chair,
and asked her if she was the doctor's patient. Then she offered her a
piece of cake and a lovely pear, and afterward took her down to see
the flower garden that was fairly rioting in beauty, and a flock of
snowy white chickens, as well as some fine pigeons that circled
around like swallows. She was the wife, and there was a daughter who
had gone to church. She talked of Dr. Richards, how good and
comforting he was to "father." Marilla thought he must be good to
everybody.

"I've had a lovely time with you," the child said. Then she shook
hands with "father," who said--

"I s'pose you're the doctor's little girl?" His mind was not always
clear on some points. "Come again, won't you?"

She smiled and nodded. "The doctor's little girl," how sweet it
sounded! But of course that could not be.

They had a delightful ride home though it was growing warmer. How
beautiful her eyes were today--a sort of gray-violet, and the bronze
lashes a