m young
thing look like a picture from the same review from which I had cut my
smocks. However, I am sure that if she had been at the between six and
eighteen age year before last, when about two and a half yards of gingham
would have been modish for her costume, she would still have been attired
in the voluminous ruffles.

"Holy smokes," I thought I heard Matthew gurgle, and I felt him start at
the apparition, though the young thing never so much as glanced in his
direction as she tendered me a quaint little basket in which lay half a
dozen eggs, real homely brown eggs and not pearl treasures.

"Oh, thank you, Polly dear," I answered with enthusiasm, and in obedience
to some urge resulting from the generations ahead of Polly and my
incarnation in the atmosphere of Riverfield, my lips met the rosy ones that
were held up to me. I felt sorry for Matthew, and I couldn't restrain a
glance of mischief at him that crossed his that were fixed on the yellow
braids.

"I didn't believe it of this day and generation," I heard him mutter as I
presented him to Polly, who answered that she was "pleased to make his
acquaintance," in a voice in which terror belied the sentiment expressed.

In her eyes traces of that same terror remained until suddenly the Golden
Bird stepped proudly out of the bushes with the Ladies Bird, clucking and
scratching along behind him. He had led the family out into the pasture
and was now wisely returning them to the barn before the setting of the
sun. I thought I had never seen him look so handsome, and no wonder his
conquest was immediate.

"Oh, how beautiful," exclaimed Polly, while all restraint left her young
face and body as she fell on her knees before the Sultan. "Chick, chick,
chick," she wooed, in the words that Pan had used to command, and with a
delight equal to hers in the introduction, the Bird came toward her. "Oh,
please, sir, Mr.--Mr. Berry, get me some corn quick--quick! I want to
squeeze him once," she demanded of Matthew, confident where she had before
been fearful. His response was long-limbed and enthusiastic, so that in a
few seconds Mr. G. Bird stood pecking grains from her hand. The spectacle
was so lovely that I was not at all troubled by twinges of jealousy, but
enjoyed it, for even at that early moment I think I felt a mercenary
interest in seeing the friendship between the Golden Bird and the
Apple-Blossom sealed. In her I psychologically scented an ally, and I
enjoyed the