Willy had his own little bag packed--indeed it had been packed for
three whole days--and now he stood gripping it tightly in one hand,
and a small yellow cane which was the pride of his heart in the other.
Willy had a little harmless, childish dandyism about him which his
mother rather encouraged. "I'd rather he'd be this way than the
other," she said when people were inclined to smile at his little
fussy habits. "It won't hurt him any to be nice and particular, if he
doesn't get conceited."

Willy looked very dainty and sweet and gentle as he stood in the door
this morning. His straight fair hair was brushed very smooth, his
white straw hat with its blue ribbon was set on exactly, there was not
a speck on his best blue suit.

"Willy looks as if he had just come out of the band-box," Grandma had
said. But she did not have time to admire him long; she was not nearly
ready herself. Grandma was always in a hurry at the last moment. Now
she had to pack her big valise, brush Grandpa's hair, put on his
"dicky" and cravat, and adjust her own bonnet and shawl.

Willy was privately afraid she would not be ready when the village
coach came, and so they would miss the train, but he said nothing.
He stood patiently in the door and looked down the street whence the
coach would come, and listened to the bustle in Grandma's room. There
was not an impatient line in his face although he had really a good
deal at stake. He was going to Exeter with his Grandpa and Grandma, to
visit his aunt Annie, and his new uncle Frank. Grandpa and Grandma had
come from Maine to visit their daughter Ellen who was Willy's mother,
and now they were going to see Annie. When Willy found out that he was