Half a Dozen Girls

was a li

had a li

ight down ove

n she w

very, ve

was bad, she

climbing down from her perch on the front gate, she added to herself, "Mean old thing! I s'pose she thinks I care becau

ccasional breath of air found its way in between their tightly turned slats. The whir of the locust outside, and the regular creak, creak of Aunt Jane's tall rocking-chair w

she pushed back the short red-gold hair that

le she measured a hem with a bit of paper notched to show the proper width. "Now if you and Molly would bri

cornful little laugh. "Girls don't

n embroidering nonsensical red wheels and flowers and birds on your aprons, as you have been doing. Your grandmother used to make us se

just for the sake of sewing it together again. Wouldn't you rather have me make you a pretty apron, Jerusalem

n some surprise. "I thought sh

lushed

itted at length; "but

moment, and seemed about to speak, but catching the eye o

attern to Mrs. Hapgood, when she went

on." And Polly jumped up and caught her sailo

you will, Polly. It is in my

k and went out into

ll

again?" she asked, when the door ha

easing me all the time, and at last I was mad, so I said

er should be so rude

dams s

ore I know it I flare up. I wish she hadn't gone, too; for we promised to go o

and you answered Aunt Jane very rudely just now. You need to watch that tongue of yours, my dear, and not let it run away with you. A

held up her face for the kiss, with

he did at least twice every day, that she would never, never quarrel with Molly again. But not in vain had Mrs. Adams devoted the

I think. We're going to have raspberry

, with a brightenin

rig

ther stood by the window, watching until the bright curls under the blue sailor hat

Molly does tease her unmercifully. After all, she comes n

ister came back and took up her work once more.

I think," said M

aightened out into an omi

lly's fault, for Molly is a sweet, quiet girl. You are spoiling Polly, Isab

a clear, bright color came into her cheek

me to be the jud

ng on around me, and let a naturally good child be spoiled for want of a firm hand, without saying a word to stop it. Your m

d left the room, saying something about a letter

sharper. Mrs. Adams could and did bear patiently with unasked advice in all matters but one; but in regard to the discipline of her little daughter she stood firm, for she and her husband had agreed that here Aunt Jane was not to b

er with a quick understanding of this warm-hearted, impetuous little daughter, in whom she saw herself so closely reflected that she knew, from the memory of her own childhood, just how to deal with all of Polly's freaks and whims. And her endless patience and devotion were well rewarded, for Polly adored her pretty, bright little mother with all the fervor of her being. There were times, it is true, when Polly rebelled against all restraint; but such moments were of short duration, and, for the most part, she yielded easily to the pleasant, firm discipline which made duty enjoyable, and punishment the necessary result of wrong-doing, a result as hard for the mother to inflict as for the child to bear. In her gentler moods, Polly realized that nowhere else could she find so good a fri

ging to the invalid; and he had come to be at once the friend, physician, and adviser of every family in town, whether rich or poor. If his patients could afford to pay him for his visits, very well; if not, it was just as well, for neither Dr. Adams nor his wife desired to be rich. To live comfortably themselves, to lay up a little for the future, and to be able to help their poorer neighbors, now and then,-this was all they wished, and t

er a favorite with both young and old. Aunt Jane Roberts was tall and thin, with a cast-iron sort of countenance, surmounted by a row of little, tight, gray frizzles of such remarkable durability that, though evidently the result of art rather than nature, neither wind nor storm, appeared to have any effect upon them. On festal occasions

excuse: "Jane is so conscientious; she means to do just right." And she certainly did. So far as she could distinguish its direction, Aunt Jane trod the path of duty, but she trod it as a martyr, not like one who finds it a pleasant, sunshiny road, with bright, interesting spots scattered all along its way. She had advanced ideas about women and pronounced theories as to the rearing of children; she was a member of countless clubs, and served on all the committees to talk about reform; she visited the jail periodically, and marched through the wards of the hospital with a stony air of sympathy highly gratifying to the inmates, who tried to be polite to her because of her relationship to the doctor, whom they all adored. The demands of her pub

ucceeded him between the thills of the doctor's buggy. Job, too, appeared to share her opinion, and never failed to give a vicious snap at his rival, whenever they came in contact. There was a family legend that Job had been a fast animal in his day, and Mrs. Adams often told the story of the doctor's first ride after him: how, at the end of a mile, he had turned his pale face to the horse-dealer who was driving, and piteously besought him: "In mercy's name, man, let me get out; I've had enough of this!"

FAITHFUL FRIEND, WHO DIED

ainly betokened his aristocracy. But unfortunately, reckless driving in his youth had bent his fore legs to a decided angle, and turned in his toes in an absurdly

d-down species, and made his progress even slower than usual. But now and then the old fellow would seem to be inspired with a little of his former spirit, and, after a skittish little kick, he would straig

ry, but

anxiety as to which pair would give out next. Now his hind legs would suddenly fail him, and he would apparently attempt to seat himself in the

e been. During the last of the time that the doctor had driven him, he had lent him to do occasional service at funerals, where Job was never known to disgrace himself by breaking into an indecorous trot. Something in the ceremony of these melancholy journeys had struck Job's fancy and impressed the circumstances on his memory to such an extent that, ever after, he was reluctant to pass the cemetery gate, but tugged hard at the lines to show his desire to enter. It was not so bad whe

hed. To avoid being dependent on the man, who was often away driving the doctor upon his rounds, Mrs. Adams had learned to harness Job herself, and nearly every pleasant day she could be seen buckling the straps and fastening him into the carriage, while the old cre

with Aunt Jane. And Polly herself? Like countless other girls, she was good and bad, naughty and lovable by turns, now yielding to violent fits of temper, now going into the depths of p