ny
more, that's flat."

"Let go o' the child," said Aunt Amanda, sharply. "Can't you see you're
hurting his hand? Come here, boy."

Mr. Littleback dropped Freddie's hand and walked over to the table
beside his aunt. Freddie came forward timidly and stood at Aunt Amanda's
knee. She examined him carefully.

"It's the best one yet," she said. "Boy, do you know you're as pretty as
a--Well, anyway, what is your name?"

If there was one thing Freddie loathed, it was to be called pretty; he
had heard it before, in the parlor at home, when he had been trotted out
to be inspected by female visitors, and he had tried many a time to
scrub off the rosy redness from his cheeks, but he had found it only
made it worse. He hung his head a little, and could not find his voice.
Aunt Amanda took his chin in her hand and gently held up his head.

"It's all right, my dear," said she. "What is your name, now?"

"Fweddie," said the Little Boy.

"It ain't neither!" cried Mr. Littleback. "There ain't no such name.
It's Freddie! Come on, now, say Freddie!"

"Fweddie," said the Little Boy.

"No, no!" cried Toby. "Try it again, now. Say Freddie!"

"Toby," said Aunt Amanda, "shut up. Freddie, I haven't any little boy,
and I don't get out very much, and I'd like you to come and see me
sometimes. Would you like to do that?"

Freddie stared at her, and said, "Yes'm."

"I hope you will, often. Be sure you do. I suppose you don't like
gingerbread? Toby."

The little hunchback went out briskly through a back door and returned
with a slice of gingerbread. "Baked today," said his aunt. "But what
time is it? Quarter to six. Too near suppertime. You mustn't eat it now,
Freddie. Toby, wrap it up."

Toby went into the shop and returned with a paper sack, and putting the
gingerbread into it gave it to Freddie.

"Now," said Aunt Amanda, "take it home with you and eat it after supper.
Will you come to see me?"

"Yes'm," said Freddie as if he meant it. You couldn't get gingerbread at
home between meals every day in the week.

"That's a good boy. Now run away home."

"Please, sir," said Freddie, holding out the money in his hand, "my
farver wants half a pound of Cage-Roach Mitchner."

"What? Oh!" said Toby. "I see. Half a pound of Stage-Coach Mixture. All
right, young feller, come along into the shop."

"Good-bye, Freddie, and don't break the gingerbread before you get
home," said Aunt Amanda, taking into her mouth a palmful of pins with a