ng."

Miss Hepsy entered at that moment, fortunately without having heard
Lucy's patient speech. "Don't lean your wet, dirty arms on the table,
boy," said she with a sharp glance at Tom. "If you must be in, sit on
your chair like a Christian."

Tom immediately sat up like a poker.

"What's yer uncle doin'?" was her next question.

"He's oiling waggon wheels," answered Tom, "and sent me in."

Miss Hepsy took out a very ugly piece of knitting from the
dresser-drawer, and sat down opposite Lucy. "It's a pity boys ain't
learned to sew and knit," she said grimly. "It would save a deal of
women's time doin' it for 'em. I think I'll teach you, Tom."

"No, thank you, Aunt Hepsy."

"You're much too smart with your tongue, young 'un," said Miss Hepsy
severely, and then relapsed into stolid silence. The click of her
knitting needles, the ticking of the clock, and the rain beating on
the panes, were the only sounds to be heard in the house. Tom drew a
half-sheet of paper and a pencil from his pocket, laid it on the
table, and kept his attention there for a few minutes. Lucy ventured
to cast her eyes in his direction, and he held up the paper to her. A
smile ran all over her face and finally ended in a laugh. Aunt Hepsy
looked round suspiciously to see Tom stuffing something into his
pocket.

"What were you laughing at, Lucy?" Lucy looked distressed and
answered nothing.

"What's that you're stuffing into your pocket, Tom?" she said,
turning her eagle eyes again on Tom.

"A bit paper, aunt, that's all."

"People don't laugh at common bits o' paper, nor go stuffin' em into
pockets like that. Hand it over."

"I'd rather not, Aunt Hepsy," said the boy.

"I rather you would," was her dry retort. "Out with it."

"It's mine, Aunt Hepsy, and you wouldn't care to see it."

"How many more times am I to say out with it?" she said angrily.
"I'll let you feel the weight of my hand if you don't look sharp."

"It's mine, Aunt Hepsy. I won't let you see it," he said doggedly.

Miss Hepsy's face grew very red, and she flung her knitting on the
rug and strode up to him. "Give me that paper."

"Well, there 'tis; I hope you like it. I wish I'd made it uglier,"
cried he angrily, and flung the paper on the table.

Aunt Hepsy smoothed it out very deliberately, and held it up to the
light. It was a picture of herself, cleverly done, but highly
exaggerated, and the word _Scold_ printed beneath it. Slowly the red
faded from her face