consoling him by offering to
permit him to carry Petunia, which fragrant appellation, it
appeared, was the name of the doll.

"I named her Petunia after a flower," she explained. "I think she
looks like a flower, don't you?"

If she did it was a wilted one. However, Miss Armstrong did not
wait for comment on the part of her escort, but chatted straight
on. Jed learned that her mother's name was Mrs. Ruth Phillips
Armstrong. "It used to be Mrs. Seymour Armstrong, but it isn't
now, because Papa's name was Doctor Seymour Armstrong and he died,
you know." And they lived in a central Connecticut city, but
perhaps they weren't going to live there any more because Mamma had
sold the house and didn't know exactly WHAT to do. And they had
been in Orham ever since before the Fourth of July, and they liked
it EVER so much, it was so quaint and--and "franteek"--

Jed interrupted here. "So quaint and what?" he demanded.

"Franteek." Miss Barbara herself seemed a little doubtful of the
word. At any rate Mamma said it was something like that, and it
meant they liked it anyway. So Mr. Winslow was left to ponder
whether "antique" or "unique" was intended and to follow his train
of thought wherever it chanced to lead him, while the child
prattled on. They came in sight of the Smalley front gate and Jed
came out of his walking trance to hear her say:

"Anyway, we like it all but the sal'ratus biscuits and the coffee
and THEY are dreadful. Mamma thinks it's made of chickenry--the
coffee, I mean."

At the gate Jed's "queerness," or shyness, came upon him. The idea
of meeting Mrs. Armstrong or even the members of the Smalley family
he shrank from. Barbara invited him to come in, but he refused
even to accompany her to the door.

"I'll just run along now," he said, hurriedly. "Good night."

The child put out her hand. "Good night," she said. "Thank you
very much for helping me carry the fish home. I'm coming to see
you again some day."

She scampered up the walk. Jed, waiting in the shadow of the lilac
bushes by the fence, saw her rattle the latch of the door, saw the
door open and the child caught up in the arms of a woman, who
cried: "Oh, Babbie, dear, where HAVE you been? Mamma was SO
frightened!"

He smiled over the memory of the little girl's visit more than once
that evening. He was very fond of children and their society did
not embarrass or annoy him as did the company of most grown-ups--
strangers,