oot, it does seem a pity to tell
him he sha'n't. I never saw a child so possessed after the root and
sassafras-tea, as he is, in my life. I s'pose it's good for him. I hate
to deny him when he takes so much comfort goin'. There he is now!"

Little Willy Rose crossed the road, and toiled up the stone steps. The
front yard was terraced, and two flights of stone steps led up to the
front door. He was quite breathless when he stood on the top step; his
round, sweet face was pink, his fair hair plastered in flat locks to his
wet forehead. His little trousers and his shoes were muddy, and he
carried a great scraggy mass of sassafras-roots. "I see you a-settin'
out here," he panted, softly.

"You ought not to have stayed so long. We began to be worried about
you," said his mother, in a fond voice. "Now go and take your muddy
shoes right off, and put on your slippers; then you can sit down at the
back door and clean your sassafras, if you want to."

"I got lots," said Willy, smiling sweetly, and wiping his forehead.
"Look-a-there, Miss Elviry."

"So you did," returned Miss Elvira. "I suppose, now, you think you'll
have some sassafras-tea."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I guess I'll steep him a little for supper, he's so crazy for it," said
Mrs. Rose, when Willy had disappeared smilingly around the corner.

"Yes, I would. It's real wholesome for him. Who's that comin'?"

Mrs. Rose stared down at the road. A white horse with an open buggy was
just turning into the drive-way, around the south side of the terraces.
"Why, it's brother Hiram," said she, "and he's got a boy with him. I
wonder who 'tis."

The buggy drew up with a grating noise in the drive-way. Presently a man
appeared around the corner. After him tagged a small white-headed boy,
and after the boy, Willy Rose, with a sassafras-root and an old
shoe-knife in his hands.

The man, who was Mr. Hiram Fairbanks, Mrs. Rose's brother, had a
somewhat doubtful expression. When he stopped, the white-headed boy
stopped, keeping a little behind him in his shadow.

"What boy is that, Hiram?" asked Mrs. Rose. Miss Elvira peered around
the door. Mr. Fairbanks was tall and stiff-looking. He had a sunburned,
sober face. "His name is Dickey," he replied.

"One of those Dickeys?" Mrs. Rose said "Dickeys," as if it were a
synonym for "outcasts" or "rascals."

Mr. Fairbanks nodded. He glanced at the boy in his wake, then at Willy.
"Willy, s'pose you take this little boy 'round and show hi