e would not be a fool," retorted the girl. "I'm just wild for
father to move to Indianapolis. I don't want to grow up in the country
like a ragweed or mullein stalk, and I--" ("Like a sweetbrier or a
golden-rod," interrupted Billy) "and I don't want you to advise him not
to go," she continued, unmindful of Billy's flowers of poesy.

"Well, here's the letter. Do you want anything else?"

"N-o-o-no."

"Then, for once, I've found a disinterested female in a coaxing mood,"
replied this modern Diogenes. He came from behind the counter,
pretending to believe her, and started toward the door.

"How's Dic?" he asked. "I haven't seen him for a fortnight. I've been
wondering what has become of him." The girl's face turned red--painfully
so to Billy--as she replied:--

"I--I haven't seen him either for--for a very long time--three days."
She stopped talking and Billy remained silent. After a long pause she
spoke up briskly, as if she had just remembered something.

"Oh, I almost forgot--there _is_ something I want, and--and after all,
you're right. I want--I want--won't you--will you--I say, Billy Little,
won't you let me have a sheet of writing paper and a pot of ink, and
won't you cut this pen for me?"

Billy took the quill and turned to go behind the counter. The girl was
dancing nervously on her toes. "But say, Billy Little, I can't pay you
for them now. Will--will--you trust me?"

Billy did not reply, but went to the letter-paper box.

"You had better take more than one sheet, Rita," he said softly. "If
you're going to write a love-letter to Dic, you will be sure to spoil
the first sheet, perhaps the second and third."

Billy's head blushed vividly after he had spoken, for his remark was a
prying one. The girl had no thought of writing a love-letter, and she
resented the insinuation. She was annoyed because she had betrayed her
purpose in buying the paper. But she loved Billy Little too dearly to
show her resentment, and remained silent. The girl, Billy, and Dic
differing as much as it is possible for three persons to differ, save in
their common love for books and truth, had been friends ever since her
babyhood, and Billy was the only person to whom she could easily lay
bare her heart. Upon second thought she concluded to tell him her
trouble.

"It was this way, Billy Little," she began, and after stumbling over
many words, she made a good start, and the little story of her troubles
fell from her lips like cryst