WINNING EEB WAY 



281 



^•l)ut it was next thing to it, I guess." 



'TTon^re Miss Bett^-^s orphan, ain^t 

 yon ?*' asked the bo}', as he leaned over the 

 fence. 



"I'm her niece," answered Mary. 



"Well, it's all the same thing," said the 

 boy. "She's been telling she was going to 

 start an orphan asylum, you know. That's 

 s what made me ask the question. How 

 d'you like her?" 



^'T — I haven't seen much of her," an- 

 swered Mary. "I only came yesterday, 

 you know." 



"'But you've beeft here long enough to 

 have some kind of opinion about her," 

 said the boy. "It don't take long for that. 

 Crosser'n blue blazes, ain't she ?" 



"I don't think she likes children very 

 well," answered Mary, cautiously. "She 

 isn't used to them, you know." 



"'Say, do you s'pose she was ever a 

 child?" asked the boy. "I don't. Some- 

 how she skipped our good times, and thaf s 

 why she's got such a grudge against us. 

 I get 'long with her pretty well, for I 

 never plague her, or talk back, but most o' 

 the boys are fraider of her 'n they'd be 

 of a wild Indian. Say, can't she scold, 

 though?" 



"'Maybe she has something to scold 

 for," answered Mary, evasively. 



'TTou just wait," said the boy, nodding 

 his head knowingly. "If she hasn't 

 scolded you yet, she will, you can depend 

 on that. She'd get sick an' die in no time 

 if she couldn't scold somebody or some- 

 thing. What's your name?" 



■"Mary Peabody,"' answered the little 

 girl, looking her visitor over critically, 

 and concluding that she rather liked his 

 face. It was a round, good-natured one, 

 and his eyes had a knack of twinkling 

 whenever funny thoughts occurred to him, 

 which was pretty often. Here was a 

 chance to make a friend, and Mary felt 

 strongly inclined to take advantage of it. 

 "What's your name?" 



"Bob." answered the boy. "Ain't it 

 a nice one?" 



"I like it," responded Mary. "But it 



isn't all the name you've got, is it?" 



"Some folks call me Bob Hart, when 

 they go in for style," was the reply. "But 

 I'm just Bob, for common. You can call 

 me that, if you want to — or would you 

 rather call me Mr. Hart ?" 



At this both of them laughed. Aunt 

 Betty heard them, and came to the wood- 

 shed door to see who Mary's visitor 

 might be. 



"'Oh, it's you, is it ?" she said, as she 

 spied Bob, as he balanced himself across 

 the top rail of the orchard fence. "I didn't 

 know but it might be that Perkins boy. 

 If it had ha' be'n, he'd got a piece o' my 

 mind, an' mebbe suthin' else, if he'd set 

 up to be impident an' sassy. 'Twas him 

 that stole my early bellfiowers. John see 

 him streakin' off cross-lots with his pockets 

 jest bulgin' out with 'em. I wish't they'd 

 ha' made him sick. But, lan's sake, you 

 couldn't make a Perkins sick by feedin' 

 him all the green stuff in the neighborhood. 

 They've got cast-iron stummicks. Jest 

 let me git my ban's on him once, an' I 

 reckon he'll wish he'd let my apples alone." 



It was seldom that Miss Betty made 

 such a long speech as this. Mary con- 

 cluded that Bob must be one of her par- 

 ticular friends, if she had any, otherwise 

 he would not have been favored with so 

 much attention on the part of her aunt. 



"She likes you," said Mary, with a little 

 sigh. 



"Mebbe she does — as well as she likes 

 anybody," responded Bob. "But that ain't 

 sayin' much, I guess. Don't she like you ? 

 I do." 



"'Oh, I'm so glad of that !" cried Mary, 

 with sparkling eyes. "I'm glad you told 

 me. I shan't be so lonesome now. You 

 don't know how it makes one feel to be 

 without friends." 



"I guess I can imagine," said Bob. "I 

 was awful homesick once, an' I heard 

 a man say bein' homesick made a fellow 

 feel as if he hadn't a friend in the world." 



"Do you live near by?" asked Mary, 

 wondering if she would be likely to see 

 her new-found friend very often. 



