any further, he suddenly said:

"Celia, the next time I go on our hill I'll get you lots of sassafras."

"Oh, I love sassafras, and sweet-flag!"

"We can get that on the way home. I know a place." And then there was a
pause. "Celia, you didn't tell me what you are going to do when you grow
up."

"Go to college."

"You? Why, girls do, don't they? I never thought of that."

"Of course they do. I don't know whether I'll write or be a doctor. I
know one thing--I won't teach school. It's the hatefulest thing there
is! It's nice to be a doctor and have your own horse, and go round like
a man. If it wasn't for seeing so many sick people! I guess I'll write
stories and things."

"So would I," Philip confessed, "if I knew any."

"Why, you make 'em up. Mamma says they are all made up. I can make 'em
in my head any time when I'm alone."

"I don't know," Philip said, reflectively, "but I could make up a story
about Murad Ault, and how he got to be a pirate and got in jail and was
hanged."

"Oh, that wouldn't be a real story. You have got to have different