s the puppy. Mustn't squeeze him too tight," he
admonished. "Watts says it's bad for 'em to squeeze 'em. Watts knows just
everything 'bout puppies. He knows when they have got to eat and when
they have got to sleep, and when they ought to have a bath. Do you
suppose, Aunt Kate, we'll ever know as much as Watts?"

"Probably not. Don't hitch your wagon to too far a star, Worthie. No use
smashing the wagon."

Suddenly Ann had squeezed her puppy very tight. "O--h," cried Worth,
"_you mustn't_! I like to do it, too, but Watts says it squeezes the
grows out of 'em. It's hard not to squeeze 'em though, ain't it?" he
concluded with tolerance.

Again Katie looked up. The girl, holding the puppy close, was looking at
the little boy. Something long beaten back seemed rushing on; and in her
eyes was the consciousness of its having been long beaten back.

Something of which did not escape the astute Wayne the Worthy. "Aunt
Kate," he called excitedly, "Aunt Kate--Miss Ann's eyes go such a long
way down!"

"Worth, I'm not at all sure that it is the best of form for a grown-up
young gentleman of six summers to be audibly estimating the fathomless
depths of a young woman's eyes. Note well the word audibly, Worthie."

"They go farther down than yours, Aunt Kate."

"'Um--yes; another remark better left with the inaudible."

"It looks--it looks as if there was such a lot of cries in them!
o--h--one's coming now!"

"Worth," she called sharply, "come here. You mustn't talk to Miss Ann
about cries, dear. When you talk about cries it brings the cries, and
when you talk about laughs the laughs come, and Miss Ann is so pretty
when she laughs."

"Miss Ann is pretty all the time," announced gallant Worth. "She has a
mouth like--a mouth like--She has a mouth like--"

"Yes dear, I understand. When they say 'She has a mouth like--a mouth
like--' I know just what kind of mouth they mean."

"But how do you know, Aunt Kate? I didn't say what kind, did I?"

"No; but as years and wisdom and guile descend upon you, you will learn
that sometimes the surest way of making one's self clear is not to say
what one means."

"But I don't see--"

"No, one doesn't--at six. Wait till you've added twenty thereto."

"Aunt Kate?"

"Yes?"

"How old is Miss Ann?"

"Worth, when this twenty I'm talking about has been added on, you will
know that never, never, _never_ must one speak or think or dream of a
lady's age."

"Why not?"

"Oh, because it