ed with men? That's the way they say Zine Winters got
married."

"Yes, and look what she drawed!" she scoffed. "Bill! I don't know how
they'd live if Zine hadn't a-gone in heavy on hens and turkeys. She
hez to spend her hull time a-traipsin' after them turkeys, and thar
ain't nuthin' that's given to gaddin' like turkeys that I know on,
less 't is Chubbses' hired gal. No, David, it's chance enough when
you git a man you've knowed allers, but a stranger! Well! I want to
know what I'm gittin'. Thar, the last stitch in M'ri's waist is took,
and, David, you won't tell no one what I said about Mart Thorne and
her, nor about my gittin' merried?"

David gave her a reproachful look, and she laughed shamefacedly.

"I know, David, you kin keep a secret. It's like buryin' a thing to
tell it to you. My, this waist'll look fine on M'ri. I jest love the
feel of silk. I'd ruther hev a black silk dress than--"

"A husband," prompted David slyly.

"David Dunne, I'll box yer ears if you ever think again of what I
said. I am allers a-thinkin' of you as if you wuz a stiddy grown man,
and then fust thing I know you're nuthin' but a teasin' boy. Here's
the bundle, and don't you want a nutcake, David?"

"No, thank you, Miss Rhody. I ate a big breakfast."

A fellow feeling had prompted David even in his hungriest days to
refrain from accepting Miss Rhody's proffers of hospitality. He knew
the emptiness of her larder, for though she had been thrifty and
hard-working, she had paid off a mortgage and had made good the
liabilities of an erring nephew.

When David returned he found Miss M'ri in the dairy. It was churning
day, and she was arranging honey-scented, rose-stamped pats of butter
on moist leaves of crisp lettuce.

"David," she asked, looking up with a winning smile, "will you tell me
why you didn't want to go to school?"

The boy's face reddened, but his eyes looked frankly into hers.

"Yes, Miss M'ri."

"Before you tell me, David," she interposed, "I want you to remember
that, from now on, Barnabas and I are your uncle and aunt."

"Well, then, Aunt M'ri," began David, a ring of tremulous eagerness in
his voice, "I can read and write and spell, but I don't know much
about arithmetic and geography. I was ashamed to start in at the baby
class. I thought I'd try and study out of Jud's books this summer."

"That's a good idea, David. We'll begin now. You'll find an elementary
geography in the sitting room on the shelf, and you