then patted him, and said: "Poor old Ollie! He's nicer than almost any boy I know, and yet Dad says he's a 'worthless fellow,' too."
When I suggested that the only hope was to take one of these nice worthless fellows and put some "starch" into him, the rear seat burst into a peal of conspirant laughter. Possibly that hope had been tried. Cornelia whirled around upon us, and demanded:—
"What are you children talking about?"
I answered sedately that we were discussing education for life, and that there were certain points on which I should like her opinion. But we were now at the clump of Rural Free Delivery boxes, where the path comes down from my cottage. Intimating that I might "drop around" toward the end of the afternoon, I got out, and having handed up Cornelia's mail, walked home with my own. It proved rather piquantly amusing.
