rders of human creatures in point of intuitions, Jimmy could
not know that his mother understood the rankle in her son's heart. Nor
could he divine that she kept the supper dainties as peace offerings.

"Won't you have some of my supper?"

"Don't you want it?" returned the boy, to justify his greed.

"No, Jimmy; I'm not hungry. I kept it all for you."

While her son was sitting on the floor, eating off the tray on the
chair by the bed, his mother's hand was in his hair, stroking it
lovingly. His sister and the other children looked in and saw him.
Jimmy knew they were whispering "Hoggy!" but he did not heed them. His
mother avoided mentioning the new baby to him; she made him tell her
about his sore toe, and in return she told him how lonely she had been
without him.

As his stomach filled, his heart overflowed,--a common coincidence
even with older and better boys than Jimmy, and the tears came to his
eyes. At last, when the plate was cleared, he rose, and went to the
place where the new-comer lay. He bent over the little puff in the
bedclothes, and grinned sheepishly as he lifted the cover from
the sleeping baby's face. He looked at the red features a moment
curiously, and said in his loud, husky, boyish voice,--

"Hullo there, Miss Sears; how are you this evenin'?"

Then he pinched his mother's arm and walked out of the room, his soul
at peace.

[Illustration]

MUCH POMP AND SEVERAL CIRCUMSTANCES

Back of Pennington's barn, which was the royal castle of the Court of
Boyville, ran a hollow. In the hollow grew a gnarly box-elder tree.
This tree was the courtiers' hunting-lodge. In the crotches of the
rugged branches Piggy Pennington, Abe Carpenter, Jimmy Sears, Bud
Perkins, and Mealy Jones were wont to rest of a summer afternoon,
recounting the morning's adventures in the royal tourney of the
marble-ring, planning for the morrow's chase, meditating upon the
evil approach of the fall school term, and following such sedentary
pursuits as to any member of the court seemed right and proper.
One afternoon late in August the tree was alive with its arboreal
aristocracy. Abe Carpenter sat on the lowest branch, plaiting a
four-strand, square-braided "quirt"; Jimmy Sears was holding the ends.
Piggy was casually skinning cats, hanging by his legs, or chinning on
an almost horizontal limb, as he took his part in the lagging talk.
Hidden by the foliage in the thick of the tree, in a three-pronged
seat, Bud Per