ou not to mind. And strangers and friends
poke fun at you. After a while, of course, you learn to laugh at
yourself on the outside and folks get to think that it's all a joke for
you too and that you don't mind. But you never laugh on the inside or
when you're by yourself. And you get awful tired of looking up to
other people all the time and you begin to wish somebody'd look up to
you once in a while.

"I used to think Aggie thought a heap of me even if I wasn't as tall as
other men. Grandfather and mother and Bill Simons cared a whole lot
and they didn't mind showing it often. I banked an awful lot on that
baby. And he did sure like me. He followed me all around and minded
me better than Aggie. It was me that always put him to bed and took
him up in the morning. And he'd look up at me and raise his little
hands to me and--"

Cynthia's son looked steadily at Nan.

"Do you want to hear any more?" he asked gently.

"No--no--I don't. Oh, you shouldn't have told me. I'm not good enough
to be trusted with things like that," Nanny said brokenly and winked
and winked her long lashes to shake off the tears.

"You wanted to be told. You were going away because I didn't want to
tell you," he reminded her quietly.

"I know, but I'm just naturally spoiled and mean and wicked. But oh,
won't I be nice to poor Hen Tomlins after this!"

"I'm going to have him take charge of a class in wood-carving as soon
as we can get one together. He's a master hand at that sort of work
and there are any number of boys in this town who will love it and look
up to Hen," said the man who did not understand women. The sun was
slipping low in the west, pouring a flood of mellow gold over the
landscape. It caught the attic windows of the old brick farmhouse that
was so nearly ready for its new and young owner.

"Look," exclaimed Nan, pointing down toward it, "there is fairy
treasure in your attic."

"Yes," he smiled, "there is. There are trunks up there full of all
manner of things that five generations of Churchills could not bear to
burn or give away. Some day when the rain is drumming on the roof and
the gutters are spouting and all the birds are tucked away in dripping
trees and the world is misty with tears, I'm going up there and just
revel in second-hand adventure, dead dreams and cobwebs."

"Oh, my gracious, how I'd like to be there too," enviously cried Nanny
Ainslee and the next moment crimsoned angrily at herself