Dear, blessed, noisy, rollicking, tormenting, comforting Boy! What should
we do without him? How much we like, without suspecting it, his breezy
presence in the house! Except for him, how would errands be done, chairs
brought, nails driven, cows stoned out of our way, letters carried, twine
and knives kept ready, lost things found, luncheon carried to picnics,
three-year-olds that cry led out of meeting, butterflies and birds' nests
and birch-bark got, the horse taken round to the stable, borrowed things
sent home,--and all with no charge for time?

Dear, patient, busy Boy! Shall we not sometimes answer his questions? Give
him a comfortable seat? Wait and not reprove him till after the company
has gone? Let him wear his best jacket, and buy him half as many neckties
as his sister has? Give him some honey, even if there is not enough to go
round? Listen tolerantly to his little bragging, and help him "do" his
sums?

With a sudden shrill scream the engine slipped off on a side-track, and
the cars glided into the great, grim city-station, looking all the grimmer
for its twinkling lights. The masses of people who were waiting and the
masses of people who had come surged toward each other like two great
waves, and mingled in a moment. I caught sight of my poor little friend,
Boy, following his father, struggling along in the crowd, carrying two
heavy carpet-bags, a strapped bundle, and two umbrellas, and being sharply
told to "Keep up close there."

"Ha!" said I, savagely, to myself, "doing porters' work is not one of the
things which 'boys' are 'not allowed.'"