d up the front
stairs, it proved to be nothing worse than Master Jack imploring his
friends to "_please, please_" and "_do, do_," let him stay out to run in
a final "go as you please" race with the young Browns (who dine a
quarter of an hour later), instead of going in promptly when the gong
sounded for luncheon.

[Illustration]

Now the other day I peeped into a bedroom of that little boy's home. The
sun was up, and so was Jack, but one of his numerous Aunts was not. She
was in bed with a headache, and to this her pale face, her eyes
shunning the light like my own, and her hair restlessly tossed over the
pillow bore witness. When a knock came on the bedroom door, she started
with pain, but lay down again and cried--"Come in!"

[Illustration]

The door opened, but no one came in; and outside the voices of the
little boy and his nurse were audible.

"I want to show her my new coat."

"You can't, Master Jack. Your Aunt's got a dreadful headache, and can't
be disturbed."

No peevish complaints from Jack: only a deep sigh.

"I'm very sorry about her headache; and I'm very very sorry about my
coat. For I am going out, and it will never be so new again."

His Aunt spoke feebly.

"Nurse, I must see his coat. Let him come in."

Enter Jack.

It was his first manly suit, and he was trying hard for a manly soul
beneath it, as a brave boy should. He came in very gently, but with
conscious pride glowing in his rosy cheeks and out of his shining eyes.
His cheeks were very red, for a step in life is a warming thing, and so
is a cloth suit when you've been used to frocks.

It was a bottle-green coat, with large mother-o'-pearl buttons and three
coachman's capes; and there were leggings to match. The beaver hat, too,
was new, and becomingly cocked, as he stood by his Aunt's bedside and
smiled.

"What a fine coat, Jack!"

"Made by a tailor, Auntie Julie. Real pockets!"

"You don't say so!"

He nodded.

"Leggings too!" and he stuck up one leg at a sudden right angle on to
the bed; a rash proceeding, but the boy has a straight little figure,
and with a hop or two he kept his balance.

"My dear Jack, they are grand. How warm they must keep your legs!"

He shook his beaver hat.

"No. They only tickles. That's what they do."

There was a pause. His Aunt remembered the old peevish ways. She did not
want to encourage him to discard his winter leggings, and was doubtful
what to say. But in a moment more his eyes sh