later he reappeared before the circle, swallowing hard and licking his lips.
"Ain't so good as the last lot!" he said, critically. The circle of wide-eyed listeners nudged one another knowingly, and shook their heads in solemn wonder. To Lonely there was something almost intoxicating in the sunlight of this open admiration. The potential glories of his inheritance had never before dawned upon him. The circle was waiting for further information.
"Why," the New Boy went on, off-hand, "Pop comes up out o' the bake-oven an' says to me, kind o' cross, too, 'Lonely, why ain't you eaten that maple-sugar up, so as your maw can wash the pans out!'"
A sigh went up from the circle.
"'You finish up them choc'late mice,' he says, 'before you go out an' play this morning!' An' of course I 've got to eat 'em,—got to, whether I want to or not. He gits purty mad if he sees me tryin' to sneak out without doin' what he says."
This time his auditors gasped, openly.
"But, Lonely," interposed Annie Eliza, quite impersonally and innocently, "don't you
