he. "Sometimes you would; but
more often you wouldn't. I lived at the wrong end of town, you know."

"In the Hollow, wasn't it?" says she. "And there was something queer
about--about your family, wasn't there?"

He looks her straight in the eye at that, Woodie does. "Yes," says he.
"Mother went out sewing. She was a widow."

"Oh!" says Aunty. "I recall your skates--those funny old wooden-topped
ones, weren't they?"

"I was lucky to have those," says he.

"Hm-m-m!" muses Aunty. "But you could skate very well. You taught me the
Dutch roll. I remember now. Then there was the night we had the big
bonfire on the ice."

Woodie lets on not to hear this last, but grabs a sales slip and gets
busy jottin' down items.

I nudges Vee, and she smothers a snicker. We was enjoyin' this little
peek into their past. Could you have guessed it? Aunty! She orders six
loaves of sandwich bread and asks to see the canned caviar.

"You've never found anything better to do," she goes on, "than--than
this?"

"No," says Woodie, on his way down from the top shelf.

Once more Aunty levels her lorgnette and gives him the cold, curious
look over. "Hm-m-mff!" says she through her aristocratic nose. "I must
say that as a boy you were presuming enough."

"I got over that," says he.

"So I should hope," says she. "You manage to make a living at this sort
of thing, I suppose?"

"In a way," says he.

"You've no family, I trust?" says Aunty.

"There are six of us all told," admits Woodie humble.

"Good heavens!" she gasps. "But I presume some of them are able to help
you?"

"A little," says Woodie.

"Think of it!" says Aunty. "Six! And on such wages! Are any of them
girls?"

"Two," says he.

"I must send you some of my niece's discarded gowns," says Aunty
impulsive. "You are not a drinking man, are you?"

"Not to excess, Madam," says Woodie.

"How you can afford to drink at all is beyond me," says she. "Or even
eat! Yet you are rather stout. I've no doubt, though, that plain food is
best. But you show your age."

"I know," says he, smoothin' one hand over his bald spot. "Anything else
to-day?"

There's just a hint of an amused flicker behind the glasses that makes
Aunty glare at him suspicious for a second. "No," says she. "Put all
those things in two stout bags and tie them carefully."

"Yes, Madam," says Woodie.

He was doin' it too, when the other clerk steps up, salutes him polite,
and says: "You're wanted at the tele