out of Judge Wade's face and he looked at Billy intently.

"How like John Moore the youngster is!" he said, and his voice was so
cold to Billy that it hurt me, and I was afraid Billy would notice it.
Coldness in people's voices always makes me feel just like ice-cream
tastes. But Billy's answer was still more rude.

"You'd better go, man, before I bring my father to set our dog on you,"
he exploded, and, before I could stop him, his thin little legs went
trundling down the garden path toward home.

Then the judge and I both laughed. We couldn't help it. The judge leaned
farther over the fence, and I went a little nearer before I knew it.

"You don't need to keep a personal dog, do you, Mrs. Carter?" he asked,
with a twinkle that might have been a spark in his eyes, and just at
that moment another awful thing happened. Aunt Adeline came out of the
front door, and said in the most frozen tone of voice--

"Mary, I wish to speak to you in the house," and then walked back
through the front door without even looking in Judge Wade's direction,
though he had waved his hat with one of his mother's own smiles when he
had seen her before I did. One of my most impossible habits is, when
there is nothing else to do I laugh. I did it then, and it saved the
day, for we both laughed into each other's eyes, and, before we realised
it, we were within whispering distance.

"No, I don't--don't--need any dog," I said softly, hardly glancing out
from under my lashes, because I was afraid to risk looking straight at
him again so soon. I could fairly feel Aunt Adeline's eyes boring into