edged tools till they're old enough not to fool with 'em."

And Rodman looked so wise and old-fashioned for his years that
Patty did not know whether to kiss him or cry over him, as she
said: "Ivory's always right, and now good-bye; I must go this
very minute. Don't forget the picnic."

"I won't!" cried the boy, gazing after her, wholly entranced with
her bright beauty and her kindness. "Say, I'll bring something,
too,--white-oak acorns, if you like 'em; I've got a big bagful up
attic!"

Patty sped down the long lane, crept under the bars, and flew
like a lapwing over the high-road.

"If father was only like any one else, things might be so
different!" she sighed, her thoughts running along with her feet.
"Nobody to make a home for that poor lonesome little boy and that
poor lonesome big Ivory. . . . I am sure that he is in love with
Waitstill. He doesn't know it; she doesn't know it; nobody does
but me, but I'm clever at guessing. I was the only one that
surmised Jed Morrill was going to marry again. . . . I should
almost like Ivory for myself, he is so tall and handsome, but of
course he can never marry anybody; he is too poor and has his
mother to look after. I wouldn't want to take him from Waity,
though, and then perhaps I couldn't get him, anyway. . . . If I
couldn't, he'd be the only one! I've never tried yet, but I feel
in my bones, somehow, that I could have any boy in Edgewood or
Riverboro, by just crooking my forefinger and beckoning to him. .
. . I wish--I wish--they were different! They don't make me want