t fact. She had quite
discarded the little "company" fiction, except now and then, by way of
a joke. "Who'd want to be company?" she protested. "I'd rather be one
of the family these days."

"That's all very well," Patience retorted, "when you're getting all the
good of being both. You've got the company room." Patience had not
found her summer quite as cloudless as some of her elders; being an
honorary member had not meant _all_ of the fun in her case. She wished
very much that it were possible to grow up in a single night, thus
wiping out forever that drawback of being "a little girl."

Still, on the whole, she managed to get a fair share of the fun going
on and quite agreed with the editor of the _Weekly News_, going so far
as to tell him so when she met him down street. She had a very kindly
feeling in her heart for the pleasant spoken little editor; had he not
given her her full honors every time she had had the joy of being
"among those present"?

There had been three of those checks from Uncle Paul; it was wonderful
how far each had been made to go. It was possible nowadays to send for
a new book, when the reviews were more than especially tempting. There
had also been a tea-table added to the other attractions of the side
porch, not an expensive affair, but the little Japanese cups and
saucers were both pretty and delicate, as was the rest of the service;
while Miranda's cream cookies and sponge cakes were, as Shirley
declared, good enough to be framed. Even the minister appeared now and
then of an afternoon, during tea hour, and the young people, gathered
on the porch, began to find him a very pleasant addition to their
little company, he and they getting acquainted, as they had never
gotten acquainted before.

Sextoness Jane came every week now to help with the ironing, which
meant greater freedom in the matter of wash dresses; and also, to
Sextoness Jane herself, the certainty of a day's outing every week. To
Sextoness Jane, those Tuesdays at the parsonage were little short of a
dissipation. Miranda, unbending in the face of such sincere and humble
admiration, was truly gracious. The glimpses the little bent, old
sextoness got of the young folks, the sense of life going on about her,
were as good as a play, to quote her own simile, confided of an evening
to Tobias, her great black cat, the only other inmate of the old
cottage.

"I reckon Uncle Paul would be rather surprised," Pauline said o