y sorry for
her little boy. And as for the dresses, it was no great matter
about them. She would make other dresses for her David.

And that is why Mitchell Horrigan's recipe for pants is not a
good recipe. Even at the end of a week David could not report
much progress. Finally he had to acknowledge himself defeated. He
then bore the dishonor of kilts with what manfulness he could and
with a creed which was recited something like this:

"We don't care to play with Mitch any more, do we, Mother?"

Or again:

"We don't care nothing about trouvers, do we, Mother?"

Sometimes David would ask with husky heroism:

"Curls is all right for little boys, is they not?"

David was angry with Mitch; David was never going to speak to
Mitchell Horrigan any more. His resolution was so strong that he
hurried away to tell Mitch about it, but when the boy actually
appeared, it was hard to remember why one should be angry with
him. His brown feet came flapping along the stone walk, and in
his hand was a freshly whittled stick that made an animated
clatter when he drew it along the fence. There was that in the
reckless abandonment of Mitch which did not help David to tell
him that he was too mean and disgraceful to be spoken to. And
besides, his feelings might be hurt if one were to tell him that.
So, as Mitch came nearer and nearer, David felt guiltier and
guiltier, and presently he was surprised to hear himself asking
rather abjectly:

"You isn't mad at me, is you, Mitch?"

Trouvers ignored the humble salutation. He took out his knife and
began to whittle ceremoniously upon the stick.

"What you making?" David asked tentatively.

"Nothin' much," said Mitch, with the air of a man who has
invented steamships and flying machines. "Only a tiger trap."

David knew better. David knew that Mitch, in his insufferable
conceit, was merely whittling to show off his new knife. So,
pressing his red mouth between two white palings of the fence,
David declared in a strong voice:

"I have a bigger knife than that."

The assertion was boldly made, but when Mitch asked to see the
knife, David decided not to show it.

"Bigness don't count," said Mitch. "It's the steel."

He breathed upon the blade to test its quality. Every boy knows
that if the film of moisture is quick to vanish, there can be no
question about the superlative merit of the knife.

"Where did you get it?"

David was eager to know that, but Mitch decided that he must