the bed. "Mustn't git it mussed up, sir! er you'll
have Dave in yer wool!" she continued warningly,
as our childish interest drew us to a nearer view of
the gaudy article in question.

Half awed, we shrank back to our first wonderment,
one of us, however, with the bravery to ask:
"Who's Dave?"

"Who's Dave?" reiterated the little voice half
scornfully.--"W'y, Dave's a great big boy! Dave
works on Barnes's place. And he kin purt' nigh
make a full hand, too. Dave's purt' nigh tall as
your pap! He's purt' nigh growed up--Dave is!
And--David--Mason--Jeffries," she continued,
jauntily teetering her head from left to right, and
for the first time introducing that peculiar deliberation
of accent and undulating utterance that we
afterward found to be her quaintest and most
charming characteristic--"and--David--Mason--
Jeffries--he--likes--Mary--Alice--Smith!" And
then she broke abruptly into the merriest laughter,
and clapped her little palms together till they fairly
glowed.

"And who's Mary Alice Smith?" clamored a
chorus of merry voices.

The elfish figure straightened haughtily in the
chair. Folding the slender arms tightly across her