isten to their stories of boyish pranks!

Aunt Zelie was their most frequent visitor. The days when she kept her
dolls and "dressing-up things" in the old wardrobe, which was now put
to the same use by her little nieces, were not so very far back in the
past, and many of her story books were still to be found on the
shelves among later favorites.

Going up to the star chamber on the morning after the excitement over
the Brown house, she walked in upon an indignation meeting.

"Just when we wanted to play Crokonole!"

"It is _too_ mean!"

"She might let him come, it spoils all our fun!"

This is what she heard, and she asked in surprise, "What in the world
is the matter?"

There was silence for a minute, during which the rain made a great
pattering outside; then little Helen, who was serenely busy with her
paper dolls, replied, "Ikey's grandma won't let him come over, 'cause
he took her fur rug and Sallie's clothes-pins."

"What did he want with the clothes-pins and rug?"

"We wanted them to play with, Aunt Zelie. You can do a great many
things with clothes-pins," Bess explained.

"Aleck was to have been King Richard--the rug was for him at the
banquet; and now he hasn't come and we can't do anything," said Louise
mournfully.

Aunt Zelie sat down on the sofa and folded her hands in her lap.

"I should like to know how many of _our_ things have been carried over
to the Brown house garden," she said.

"We took some of the straw cushions and two or three cups that Mandy
said we might play with," replied Bess, watching her aunt's face
anxiously. There was another silence, during which Carl became
absorbed in a book and Louise gave her attention to Helen's dolls.
Then Aunt Zelie spoke:

"The more I think of this the more uncomfortable I feel about it."

"I can't see why," came from Carl.

"Because it seems to me such a lawless proceeding. Do you know that
there are people who say that no children were ever so lawless as
American children to-day?"

"That is poetry, auntie; you made a beautiful rhyme," laughed Louise.
But her aunt refused to smile.

"It is not poetry, but sad fact, I'm afraid. You may not have done
much actual harm, but you have shown no respect for other people's
property. You went into the Brown house garden without leave, and you
encouraged Ikey to carry off his grandmother's things without
permission. I have trusted you all summer--I thought I could; but this
makes me afraid that you