arms around them. "That was the question of Abraham, and it
often comes to me. Of course we shall go. But hark! Let us hear what the
green chair has to say."

There was a moment of silence and then he went on with a merry laugh.
"Right ye are, Michael Henry! You are always right, my boy--God bless
your soul! We shall take Bart with us an' doughnuts an' cheese an'
cookies an' dried meat for all."

From that moment I date the beginning of my love for the occupant of the
green chair in the home of Michael Hacket. Those good people were
Catholics and I a Protestant and yet this Michael Henry always insisted
upon the most delicate consideration for my faith and feelings.

"I promised to spend the morning in the field with Mr. Wright, if I may
have your consent, sir," I said.

"Then we shall console ourselves, knowing that you are in better
company," said Mr. Hacket.

Mr. Dunkelberg called at the house in Ashery Lane to see me after
breakfast.

"Bart, if you will come with me I should like to order some store
clothes and boots for you," he said in his squeaky voice.

For a moment I knew not how to answer him. Nettled as I had been by
Sally's treatment of me, the offer was like rubbing ashes on the
soreness of my spirit.

I blushed and surveyed my garments and said:

"I guess I look pretty badly, don't I?"

"You look all right, but I thought, maybe, you would feel better in
softer raiment, especially if you care to go around much with the young
people. I am an old friend of the family and I guess it would be proper
for me to buy the clothes for you. When you are older you can buy a suit
for me, sometime, if you care to."

It should be understood that well-to-do people in the towns were more
particular about their dress those days than now.

"I'll ask my aunt and uncle about it," I proposed.

"That's all right," he answered. "I'm going to drive up to your house
this afternoon and your uncle wishes you to go with me. We are all to
have a talk with Mr. Grimshaw."

He left me and I went over to Mr. Wright's.

They told me that he was cutting corn in the back lot, where I found
him.

"How do I look in these clothes?" I bravely asked.

"Like the son of a farmer up in the hills and that's just as you ought
to look," he answered.

In a moment he added as he reaped a hill of corn with his sickle.

"I suppose they are making fun of you, partner."

"Some," I answered, blushing.

"Don't mind that," he advised,