rry made the discovery that the praise and admiration of
one's fellows is pleasanter than their disapproval, and his youthful
cynicism had weakened accordingly.

The effect of Peggy's words on this new-born complacency was the havoc
of a hailstorm on premature buds. Just as he was beginning to enjoy the
flavor of approbation, his attention had been directed to his lacks and
shortcomings. He stayed away from Dolittle Cottage because his last
visit had been responsible for this present uneasy discomfort. He fished
and hunted, rose early, and wandered late, without succeeding in the
effort which older and wiser people have undertaken with equally poor
success, the attempt to escape from one's self.

One of the Snooks children was waiting for him when he came home late
one afternoon. Mrs. Snooks had hesitated when Peggy had asked to use one
of the boys as a messenger, not being sure that the loaning of her
offspring for such a purpose was not contrary to her newly acquired
principles. The casual mention on Peggy's part of a dime to be awarded
the messenger, had settled the question satisfactorily, and little Andy
Snooks, digging his bare toes into the yielding earth, at last found the
chance to do his errand.

"They's going to Snake River, them city girls. And She says--" Jerry did
not find the pronoun ambiguous--"She says will you drive 'em?"

"I'm going to be busy."

Little Andy stared unbelievingly.

"They's baking turnovers and things. She gave me a cooky with a crinkled
edge. 'Twas good, too, you bet."

"You tell 'em I'll be busy." Jerry pushed past Andy and entered the
house. He was astonished at the turmoil of his spirit. "Wish she'd let
me alone," he said fiercely. "I'm not bothering her none. I don't see
why she can't leave me be."

Peggy received the concise report of her messenger with a little grimace
which hid a real disappointment.

"The silly boy!" she mused. "Next time I'll go myself. I simply won't
stand his sulking. It's too absurd." Then she gave her attention to the
more immediate problem.

"Well, girls, Jerry won't drive us and Lucy can't." Lucy Haines was
devoting herself to making her meagre wardrobe ready for the opening of
school, and for her a holiday was out of the question. "Now, what are we
going to do? Give it up?"

An indignant chorus negatived that suggestion. "I used to know something
about driving," said Elaine, who seemed to have developed a remarkable
faculty for filling vac