--"

"No; I mean that she is a stranger. She lives in New York and has come
to visit here."

"What's she live in New York for?"

"Because her parents live there. You must be very nice to her, Penrod;
she has been very carefully brought up. Besides, she doesn't know the
children here, and you must help to keep her from feeling lonely at your
party."

"Yes'm."

When they reached Mrs. Gelbraith's, Penrod sat patiently humped upon a
gilt chair during the lengthy exchange of greetings between his mother.
and Mrs. Gelbraith. That is one of the things a boy must learn to bear:
when his mother meets a compeer there is always a long and dreary wait
for him, while the two appear to be using strange symbols of speech,
talking for the greater part, it seems to him, simultaneously, and
employing a wholly incomprehensible system of emphasis at other times
not in vogue. Penrod twisted his legs, his cap and his nose.

"Here she is!" Mrs. Gelbraith cried, unexpectedly, and a dark-haired,
demure person entered the room wearing a look of gracious social
expectancy. In years she was eleven, in manner about sixty-five,
and evidently had lived much at court. She performed a curtsey in
acknowledgment of Mrs. Schofield's greeting, and bestowed her hand
upon Penrod, who had entertained no hope of such an honour, showed his
surprise that it should come to him, and was plainly unable to decide
what to do about it.

"Fanchon, dear," said Mrs. Gelbraith, "take Penrod out in the yard for a
while, and play."

"Let go the little girl's hand, Penrod," Mrs. Schofield laughed, as the
children turned toward the door.

Penrod hastily dropped the small hand, and exclaiming, with simple
honesty, "Why, _I_ don't want it!" followed Fanchon out into the
sunshiny yard, where they came to a halt and surveyed each other.

Penrod stared awkwardly at Fanchon, no other occupation suggesting
itself to him, while Fanchon, with the utmost coolness, made a very
thorough visual examination of Penrod, favouring him with an estimating
scrutiny which lasted until he literally wiggled. Finally, she spoke.

"Where do you buy your ties?" she asked.

"What?"

"Where do you buy your neckties? Papa gets his at Skoone's. You ought to
get yours there. I'm sure the one you're wearing isn't from Skoone's."

"Skoone's?" Penrod repeated. "Skoone's?"

"On Fifth Avenue," said Fanchon. "It's a very smart shop, the men say."

"Men?" echoed Penrod, in a hazy whisper. "Me