"Hush, dear," said Nan in a low voice "Listen to Mr. Carford's story."

"That isn't a story," insisted Flossie. "He didn't begin it right. He
must say: 'Once upon a time, a good many years ago--!'"

Mr. Carford laughed.

"So I should, my dear!" he exclaimed. "It's been so long since I've
told a story to little folks that I've forgotten how, I guess.

"So I'll begin over again. Once upon a time, a good many years ago, I
was a little boy, and I lived on a farm. I guess it must have been the
same sort of a farm you and Flossie went to, Freddie, for we had cows
and horses and pigs and chickens and sheep. There was lots of work,
and, as my father was not rich, I had to help as soon as I got old
enough.

"But, for all that, I had good times. I thought so then and, though
I'm an old man now, I still think so. But the good times did not last
long enough. I wish I could go back to them.

"But I stayed on the farm a good many years, with my brothers and
sisters, and finally when I grew up, and thought I was big enough to
start to work for myself, I ran away."

"Did you--did you get lost?" asked Flossie, with her eyes wide open,
staring at Mr. Carford.

"No, my dear, I didn't exactly get lost. But I thought there was
easier work than living on a farm, so, instead of staying and helping