rew his hand across the sand and
smoothed the baby image away, leaving in its place a round, sturdy
little creature, poised dangerously on one foot. "You have walked alone,
and you have called your father's name, and you're a wonderful child by
this time."

"This is the three-year-old, white aprons and curls, please observe.
Now, you recite 'Dickery, dickery dock' and 'I want to be an angel,' and
you have cut all your wisdom teeth."

"O, Mr. Mann, I haven't cut them yet. Babies don't have them."

"Don't they? Well, you have other teeth in their place, white and
sharp--but by this time you are four years old."

"Ah, here I begin to remember. You draw the pictures, and I'll describe
myself. Four years old!--let me see--I had a sled for Christmas, and I
used to eat green apples. That's all I can remember; and five and six
years old were just the same."

"O, no, I'm sure you went to church for the first time somewhere along
there; and isn't that a noteworthy event? I suppose all your thoughts
were of your button boots and your new parasol?"

"I behaved beautifully, I know; mamma says so; sat up like a lady, while
you were sleeping, on that very same Sunday, off in some little country
church, I suppose."

"I shouldn't wonder--sleeping in my brother's outgrown coat into the
bargain, with the sleeves dangling over my little brown hands."

"It doesn't seem as if they could ever have been very little, does it,
Mr. Mann?"

Mr. Mann unfolded five fingers and a thumb and surveyed them gravely for
a moment. "It is strange that this once measured three inches by two and
couldn't hit out any better than your's could."

Mae had laid her hand on her knee and was looking at it also in the
most serious manner. Now she doubled it into a small but very pugnacious
looking fist, which she shook most entrancingly before the very eyes of
the young man by her side. The eyes turned such a peculiar look upon
her that she hastened to add: "Go on with your dissolving views. It
is number eight's turn next. You are the showman, and I am interested
spectator."

"You insist upon describing my pictures, so I think you are properly
first assistant to the grand panorama. Here's eight-year-old. Try your
powers on her."

"Let me see. O, then I read all the while, the 'Fairchild Family'
and 'Anna Ross,' and I used to wear my hair in very smooth braids, I
remember. I was ever so good."

"Impossible; you must have forgotten," suggested Norman.