ds. I'll try
to get a chance to see you soon again, but perhaps I can't; I'm a good
deal tied at home."

"Your father doesn't like you to go anywheres, I guess," interposed
Rodman. "I've heard Ivory tell Aunt Boynton things, but I wouldn't
repeat them. Ivory's trained me years and years not to tell anything, so
I don't."

"That's a good boy!" approved Patty. Then as she regarded him more
closely, she continued, "I'm sorry you're lonesome, Rodman, I'd like to
see you look brighter."

"You think I've been crying," the boy said shrewdly. "So I have, but
not because I've been punished. The reason my eyes are so swollen up is
because I killed our old toad by mistake this morning. I was trying to
see if I could swing the scythe so's to help Ivory in haying-time. I've
only 'raked after' and I want to begin on mowing soon's I can. Then
somehow or other the old toad came out from under the steps; I didn't
see him, and the scythe hit him square. I cried for an hour, that's what
I did, and I don't care who knows it except I wouldn't like the boys
at school to hector me. I've buried the toad out behind the barn, and I
hope Ivory'll let me keep the news from Aunt Boynton. She cries enough
now without my telling her there's been a death in the family. She set
great store by the old toad, and so did all of us."

"It's too bad; I'm sorry, but after all you couldn't help it."

"No, but we should always look round every-wheres when we're cutting;
that's what Ivory says. He says folks shouldn't use edged tools till
they're old enough not to fool with 'em."

And Rodman looked so wise and old-fashioned for his years that Patty
did not know whether to kiss him or cry over him, as she said: "Ivory's
always right, and now good-bye; I must go this very minute. Don't forget
the picnic."

"I won't!" cried the boy, gazing after her, wholly entranced with
her bright beauty and her kindness. "Say, I'll bring something,
too,--white-oak acorns, if you like 'em; I've got a big bagful up
attic!"

Patty sped down the long lane, crept under the bars, and flew like a
lapwing over the high-road.

"If father was only like any one else, things might be so different!"
she sighed, her thoughts running along with her feet. "Nobody to make
a home for that poor lonesome little boy and that poor lonesome big
Ivory.... I am sure that he is in love with Waitstill. He doesn't know
it; she doesn't know it; nobody does but me, but I'm clever at guessing.
I