But that evening there was a fair sky, one of the soft, deep skies
that make imaginative little girls' brains dizzy; and Mollie tramped
down the gravel path to the gate and leaned over; then she soon
nestled her head in her arms and looked up and lost herself. Boyhood
was far from her dreamy fancies, when they were scattered by a tweak
at one of her cropped locks.

"What does this mean?" asked the voice of the neighbor over the fence.
"How came it to be done without my leave?"

"Don't I look manly, Mr. John?" said Mollie.

"What does it mean?" said he, severely.

"That would be telling," said Mollie.

"I intend that you shall tell me," said he.

"Oh, it's a secret!" said Mollie.

"All the better; we'll keep it together. Tell it."

He was a grown-up man, nearer thirty than twenty years old, who
stooped to take an interest in his neighbor's little girl, and
flattered himself that he was bringing her up in the way she should
go. It amused him in his leisure moments to try the experiment of
rearing a girl to be as unlike as possible the girl of the period.

From mere force of habit, Mollie opened her mouth and poured out her
heart to him. He seemed quite impressed by the solemn confession.