ything will
happen to prevent this time--no quarrelling, anyhow. Those two young
creatures have learned their lesson. You'd better take it to heart
too, Nora May. It's less trouble to learn it at second hand. Don't you
ever quarrel with your real beau--it don't matter about the sham ones,
of course. Don't take offence at trifles or listen to what other
people tell you about him--outsiders, that is, that want to make
mischief. What you think about him is of more importance than what
they do. To be sure, you're too young yet to be thinking of such
things at all. But just mind what old Aunt Susanna told you when your
time comes.

Bertie's New Year

He stood on the sagging doorstep and looked out on the snowy world.
His hands were clasped behind him, and his thin face wore a
thoughtful, puzzled look. The door behind him opened jerkingly, and a
scowling woman came out with a pan of dishwater in her hand.

"Ain't you gone yet, Bert?" she said sharply. "What in the world are
you hanging round for?"

"It's early yet," said Bertie cheerfully. "I thought maybe George
Fraser'd be along and I'd get a lift as far as the store."

"Well, I never saw such laziness! No wonder old Sampson won't keep you
longer than the holidays if you're no smarter than that. Goodness, if
I don't settle that boy!"--as the sound of fretful crying came from
the kitchen behind her.

"What is wrong with William John?" asked Bertie.

"Why, he wants to go out coasting with those Robinson boys, but he
can't. He hasn't got any mittens and he would catch his death of cold
again."

Her voice seemed to imply that William John had died of cold several
times already.

Bertie looked soberly down at his old, well-darned mittens. It was
very cold, and he would have a great many errands to run. He shivered,
and looked up at his aunt's hard face as she stood wiping her dish-pan
with a grim frown which boded no good to the discontented William
John. Then he suddenly pulled off his mittens and held them out.

"Here--he can have mine. I'll get on without them well enough."

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Ross, but less unkindly. "The fingers would
freeze off you. Don't be a goose."

"It's all right," persisted Bertie. "I don't need them--much. And
William John doesn't hardly ever get out."

He thrust them into her hand and ran quickly down the street, as
though he feared that the keen air might make him change his mind in
spite of himself. He had to stop a g