ad to be scolded and
put to bed. The lights were out, the revelry done.

"Going walking now?" asked my namesake. He did not know how to behave at
tea-parties, and, sitting at a little distance from us, he had been
aiming an imaginary gun at every fat robin that mined the lawn for
sustenance.

"Ask your father if you may go," I said. I had heard Solon pacing his
room--forever cogitating the imminent Potts. I did not enter the house
oftener than I could help, for always in those rooms I felt a troubled
presence, a homesick thing that pushed two frail white hands against an
intangible but sufficing curtain that held it from those it sickened
for. I could not long be easy there.

It was a day poised and serene, with white brush-dabs of cloud on a
wonderful canvas of blue,--a day when I longed for the honeyed fragrance
of the woods warming from the last night's rain.

But this was not to be my walk. Not for me the shaded arches of the wood
where glad birds piped, nor the velvet hillsides tufted with green and
yellow and brown, nor eke the quiet lane running between walls of
foliage, where simple rabbits scampered, amazed, but not yet taught
their fullest fear.

The butterflies we must chase hovered rather along urban ways. That of
the woman child was social. Ahead of us she flounced. Strangely, she was
herself Mrs. Judge Robinson now. I understood that she was decked in a
gown of royal purple, whose sweeping velvet train gave her no little
trouble. But she paid her calls. At each gate she stopped, and it seemed
that persons met her there, for she began:--

"Why, how do you _do?_ Yes, it's lovely weather we're having. Are your
children got the scarlet fever? That's too bad. So has mine. I'm afraid
they'll die. Well, I must be going now. _Good_ day!"

Sometimes she ran back to say, "Now do come over some day and bring your
work!"

The butterflies pursued by my namesake were various, and some of them
were more secret.

For one he made me stand with him while he gazed long into the
drug-store window. I divined at last that those giant chalices, one of
green and one of ruby liquor, were the objects of his worship. He could
not have told me this, but I knew that in his mind these were compounds
of unparalleled richness, potent with Heaven knows what wondrous charms.
It was not that he dreamed ever of securing any of the stuff; the spell
endured only while they must stand there, remote, splendid,
inaccessible.

Then w