n.

Ann Mary was all in brown, a brown calico dress and a brown calico,
long-sleeved apron; and her brown hair was braided in two tight little
tails that were tied with some old brown bonnet-strings of Mrs.
Little's, and flared out stiffly behind the ears. Once, when Ann Mary
was at her house, Loretta Adams had taken it upon herself to comb out
the tight braids and set the hair flowing in a fluffy mass over the
shoulders; but when Ann Mary came home her grandmother was properly
indignant. She seized her and re-braided the tails with stout and
painful jerks. "I ain't goin' to have Loretty Adams meddlin' with your
hair," said she, "an' she can jest understand it. If she wants to have
her own hair all in a frowzle, an' look like a wild Injun, she can; you
sha'n't!"

And Ann Mary, standing before her grandmother with head meekly bent and
watery eyes, decided that she would have to tell Loretta that she
mustn't touch the braids, if she proposed it again.

That morning, while Mrs. Little was making the pies, and the cake, and
the pudding, Ann Mary was sitting idle, for her part of the Thanksgiving
cooking was done. She had worked so fast the day before and early that
morning that she had the raisins all picked over and seeded, and the
apples pared and sliced; and that was about all that her grandmother
thought she could do. Ann Mary herself was of a different opinion; she
was twelve years old, if she _was_ small for her age, and she considered
herself quite capable of making pies and cup-cake.

However, it was something to sit there at the table and have that covert
sense of superintending her grandmother, and to be reasonably sure that
some of the food would have a strange flavor were it not for her
vigilance.

Mrs. Little's mince-pies had all been baked the day before; to-day, as
she said, she was "making apple and squash." While the apple-pies were
in progress, Ann Mary watched her narrowly. Her small folded hands
twitched and her little neck seemed to elongate above her apron; but she
waited until her grandmother took up an upper crust, and was just about
to lay it over a pie. Then she spoke up suddenly. Her voice had a timid
yet assertive chirp like a bird's.

"Grandma!"

"Well, what is it, child?"

"You goin' to put that crust on that pie now, grandma?"

Mrs. Little stood uneasily reflective. She eyed the pie sharply. "Yes, I
be. Why?" she returned, in a doubtful yet defiant manner.

"You haven't put one bi