am going to feel about Him as Roxanne does and speak of Him when I
want to and write about Him to you, Louise, just as I do about all of
the other interesting inhabitants of Byrdsville.

"Oh," laughed Roxanne, as she snipped a thread and began to
cross-stitch the mammoth cavern, never dreaming of the momentous
resolve she was interrupting in my heart, "it is not so bad this year,
because Lovey has got so nice and steady on his feet and doesn't put
things in his mouth any more. Now he is so busy hunting and doctoring
his 'squirms' as he calls them, that I have lots of free time to mend
and darn and work. Of course, it is hard to have him keep them in his
apron pocket and always carrying them in his hand when he hasn't a
bottle that smells bad to carry. Just yesterday he brought a queer
kind of--Oh, what do you suppose he has found now?"

And with the fear and trembling that all girls have the right to feel
of "squirms" both Roxanne and I sat petrified while Lovelace Peyton
came around the house at full gallop and drew up in front of us on the
brick walk. His face was streaked with mud, and in one hand he held an
old tomato can and in another a dangerous-looking pointed stick.

Lovelace Peyton is freckled and snub-nosed and patched in various
unexpected places and his eyes were sweet like Roxanne's as they
flared with excitement when he paused for breath before he unfolded
his tale of the adventure from which he had just arrived.

"Guess what crawl I have founded now, Roxy?" he demanded with
confidence that sympathy would be extended him over his good-fortune.

"I can't guess, Lovey, but please don't let it out," answered Roxanne