“There, Pinkwink,” Dr. Pierce said; “that old house on the
corner—stop here, Henri, please—that’s where I was brought up. The
old swing used to hang from that tree and it was from that big bough
stretching over the fence that I fell and broke my arm.”

Maida’s eyes brightened. “And there’s the garret window where the
squirrels used to come in,” she exclaimed.

“The same!” Dr. Pierce laughed. “You don’t forget anything, do you?
My goodness me! How small the house looks and how narrow the street
has grown! Even the trees aren’t as tall as they should be.”

Maida stared. The trees looked very high indeed to her. And she
thought the street quite wide enough for anybody, the houses very
stately.

“Now show me the school,” she begged.

“Just a block or two, Henri,” Dr. Pierce directed.

The car stopped in front of a low, rambling wooden building with a
yard in front.

“That’s where you covered the ceiling with spit-balls,” Maida asked.

“The same!” Dr. Pierce laughed heartily at the remembrance. It
seemed to Maida that she had never seen his curls bob quite so
furiously before.

“It’s one of the few wooden, primary buildings left in the city,” he