sullenly. "You'll get
hurt"--to the boy. "She don't like children round her." He took hold
of the boy's small shoulders and pushed him away from the restive
horse, and grasped the bridle. Carroll strode out of the stable.

"Say," said Eddy, to the man.

"Well, what? I've got to have my pay. I've worked here long enough
for nothin'."

"When I'm a man I'll pay you," said Eddy, with dignity and severity.
"You must not speak to papa that way again, Martin."

Martin looked from the tall horse to the small boy, and began to
laugh.

"I'll pay you with interest," repeated the boy, and the man laughed
again.

"Much obleeged," said he.

"I don't see, now, why you need to worry just because papa hasn't
paid you," said Eddy, and walked out of the stable with a gait
exactly like his father.

The man threw the harness over the horse and whistled.

"He's harnessing," Eddy proclaimed when he went in.

His mother was pinning on her veil before the mirror over the hall
settle. Anna was just coming down-stairs in a long, red coat, with a
black feather curling against her black hair under her hat.

"Where is Charlotte?" asked Mrs. Carroll.

"She has gone off to walk," said Eddy.

"Well," said Mrs. Carroll, "you must go after her and walk with her,
Eddy."

"I don't want to, Amy," said Eddy. "I want to go to drive."

Then Carroll came down-stairs and repeated his wife's orders. "Yes,
Eddy, you must go to walk with your sister. I don't wish her to go
alone," said he peremptorily. He still looked pale; he had grown thin
during the last month.

"I don't see why Charlotte don't get married, too, and have her
husband to go with her," said Eddy, as he went out of the door.
"Tagging round after a girl all the time! It ain't fair."

"Eddy!" called Carroll, in a stern voice; but the boy had suddenly
accelerated his pace with his last words, and was a flying streak at
the end of the drive.

"Where 'm I goin' to find her?" he complained to himself. He hung
about a little until he saw the carriage emerge from the grounds and
turn in the other direction, then he went straight down to the main
street. Just as he turned the corner he met a small woman, carefully
dressed and frizzed, who stopped him.

"Is your mother at home, little boy?" she asked, in a nervous voice.
There were red spots on her thin cheeks; she was manifestly trembling.

The boy eyed her with a supercilious scorn and pity. He characterized
her in his own mind o