most was ever
after called 'Detchen,' instead of Maude, as it had been christened when
first given to her.

Jerry had seen Maude Tracy many times and had admired her greatly, with
her pretty white dresses and costly embroideries; and once, at church,
when Maude passed near where she was standing, she stood back as far as
possible out of the way and held her plain gingham dress aside, as if
neither it nor herself had any right to come in close contact with so
superior a being. Of the house in the park she knew nothing, except what
Harold had told her, and that it was a place to be admired and gazed at
breathlessly at a respectful distance. She had never been there since
the day of the funeral But she was going at last with Harold, who had
permission to gather cherries for his grandmother from some of the many
trees which grew upon the place.

It was a hot morning in July, and the air seemed thunderous and heavy
when she set off on what to her was as important an expedition as is a
trip to Europe to an older person. She had wanted to wear her pink
gingham dress, the one kept sacred for Sunday, and had even hoped that
she might be allowed to display her best straw hat with the blue ribbons
and cluster of apple blossoms. She had no doubt that she should go into
the house and see the crazy man, and Mrs. Tracy, who she had heard wore
silk stockings every day, and she wished to be suitably attired for such
honor.

But Mrs. Crawford dispelled her air castles by telling her that she was
only to go into the side yard where the cherry trees were, and that she
must be very quiet, so as not to disturb Mr. Arthur, whose windows
looked that way. To wear her pink dress was impossible, as she would get
it stained with the juice of the cherries, while the best hat was not
for a moment to be thought of.

So Jerry submitted to the dark calico frock and high-necked,
long-sleeved apron which Mrs. Crawford thought safe and proper for her
to wear on a cherry expedition. A clean, white sun-bonnet with a wide
cape covered her head and concealed her face when she started from the
cottage, with her quart tin pail on her arm; but no sooner was she on
the path which led to the park that the obnoxious bonnet was removed and
was swinging on her arm, while she was admiring the shadow which, her
long, bright curls made in the sunshine as she shook her head from side
to side.

To tell the truth, our little Jerry was rather vain. Passionately fond