cheeks and her pretty pug nose went the lacerating
elastic, leaving a welt behind it!

"What do you mean, you bad girl?" cried the mother, taking me by the
shoulders with a sort of grip I had never felt before. "I never saw such
a child--never!"

An old woman with a face like a hen leaned over the back of the seat.

"What's she done? What's she done?" she demanded. The mother told her,
as the grandmother comforted the hurt baby.

"Go back to your seat and stay there!" commanded the mother. "See you
don't come near here again!"

My lips trembled with the anguish I could hardly restrain. Never had a
noble soul been more misunderstood. Stupid beings! How dare they! Yet,
not to be liked by them--not to be understood! That was unendurable.
Would they listen to the gentle word that turneth away wrath? I was
inclined to think not. I was fairly panting under my load of dismay and
despondency, when a large man with an extraordinarily clean appearance
sat down opposite me. He was a study in grey--grey suit, tie, socks,
gloves, hat, top-coat--yes, and eyes! He leaned forward ingratiatingly.

"What do you think Aunt Ellen sent me last week?" he inquired.

We seemed to be old acquaintances, and in my second of perplexity I
decided that it was mere forgetfulness that made me unable to recall
just whom he was talking about. So I only said politely: "I don't know,
I'm sure, sir."

"Why, yes, you do!" he laughed. "Couldn't you guess? What should Aunt
Ellen send but some of that white maple sugar of hers; better than ever,
too. I've a pound of it along with me, and I'd be glad to pry off a few
pieces if you'd like to eat it. You always were so fond of Aunt Ellen's
maple sugar, you know."

The tone carried conviction. Of course I must have been fond of it;
indeed, upon reflection, I felt that I had been. By the time the man
was back with a parallelogram of the maple sugar in his hand, I was
convinced that he had spoken the truth.

"Aunt Ellen certainly is a dear," he went on. "I run down to see her
every time I get a chance. Same old rain-barrel! Same old beehives! Same
old well-sweep! Wouldn't trade them for any others in the world. I like
everything about the place--like the 'Old Man' that grows by the gate;
and the tomato trellis--nobody else treats tomatoes like flowers; and
the herb garden, and the cupboard with the little wood-carvings in it
that Uncle Ben made. You remember Uncle Ben? Been a sailor--broke both
legs--had