other, now?" Elliott's dimples twinkled mischievously.

Harriet laughed. "You and Johnny can mind the place. The men and Alma
are all off at the lower farm and here goes the last woman. Good-by."

Elliott went briskly about her program. She found soap and a pan and
rinsed her dishes under the hot-water faucet. Then she sat down to the
peas. Johnny, who had followed her about for a while, deserted her for
pressing affairs of his own out-of-doors. Elliott pinched the pods as
scientifically as she knew how and wondered whether, if she should
shell peas all her life, her slender fingers would ever acquire the
lightning nimbleness of the Gordons' fat ones. How long Harriet was
gone!

She was thinking about this when she heard something that made her
first stop her work to listen and then jump up hurriedly, spilling the
peas out of her lap. The wailing of a terrified child was coming
nearer and nearer. Elliott set down the peas that were left and ran
out on the veranda. There was Johnny stumbling up the path, crying at
the top of his lungs.

"Why, Johnny!" She ran toward him. "Why, Johnny, what is the matter?"

Johnny precipitated himself into her arms in a torrent of tears. Not a
word was distinguishable, but his wails pierced the girl's ear-drums.

"Johnny! Johnny, _stop it_! Tell me where you're hurt."

But Johnny only sobbed the harder. He couldn't be in danger of
death--could he?--when he screamed so. That showed his lungs were all
right, and his legs worked, too, and his arms. They were digging into
her now, with a force that almost upset her equilibrium. Could
something be wrong inside of him?

"What's the matter, Johnny? Stop crying and tell me."

Johnny's yells slackened for want of breath. He held up one brown
little hand. She inspected it. Dirty, of course, unspeakably, but
otherwise--Oh, there was a bunch on one knuckle, a bunch that was
swelling. "Is that where it hurts you, Johnny?"

Johnny nodded, gulping.

"Did something sting you?"

"Bee stung Johnny. _Naughty_ bee!"

The girl stared at the small grimy hand in consternation. A bee sting!
What did you do for a bee sting or any kind of a sting for that
matter? Mosquitoes--hamamelis. And where did the Gordons keep their
hamamelis bottle?

Johnny's screams, abated in expectation of relief, began to rise once
more. He was angry. Why didn't she _do_ something? This delay was
unendurable. His voice mounted in a long, piercing wail.

"Don't cry," t