pped out.

"Oh, you are? What are you going to exhibit, may we ask?" with her nasty
laugh.

"The biggest beet in the world! It measures a yard around."

"Hoo! hoo! hoo!" squealed Paulina so loudly that my father, who was
coming in the gate with my mother, Miss Davidson, Uncle Carter, and Aunt
Eliza, said pleasantly:--

"What is the joke, young ladies? Mayn't we laugh, too?"

Madeline Pemberton answered. Miss Davidson had to reprove her every day
for forwardness.

"Why, Mr. Burwell,"--laughing with affected violence,--"Molly says she
is going to send some beets to the Fair that measure ever so many yards
around."

"I didn't!" cried I, in a passion. "You know that isn't true!"

My father moved toward me.

"What _did_ you say, daughter?"

I hung my head. If I told, where would be the surprise and the visioned
triumph?

"What did you say, Molly?" repeated my father, in quiet gravity.

"I said _one_ beet, and that it measured one yard," stammered I,
reluctantly.

"That was bad enough. When so many older people are trying to see who
can tell the biggest story, little girls ought to be especially
careful."

His eyes did not go to Madeline, but his emphasis did. The thought of
being classed with her lent me coherence and courage. I looked up.

"I have one beet, father, that is a yard 'round. I raised it myself. If
you don't believe me, you can ask Spotswoode."

"I don't ask my servants if my daughter is telling the truth. Where is
your beet?"

I pointed.

"Away over yonder--the other side of the corn-field."

Paulina and Rosa tittered, Madeline giggled,--then all three pretended
to smother the demonstration with their handkerchiefs and behind their
hands. Mary 'Liza looked scared and sorry. My father took hold of my
hand.

"Take me to see it!"

The others fell into Indian file behind us, as we marched outside of
the garden fence and past the Old Orchard where the rays of the sinking
sun shot horizontal shafts under the trees to our very feet, and so to
the corn-field. I did not glance behind to see who entered it after us,
but pushed right ahead between the stalks, the stiff blades switching my
cheeks. When we neared the "garden," I ran forward, flushed and
impatient, not to display my prize, but to clear myself by proving my
words. An envious, jagged blade slashed my forehead as I tore by. I did
not feel it at the moment, or for half an hour after it began to bleed.

For--_the beet was gone!_