Part 33 (1/2)

”It's Freddie,” said Jane, placidly. ”He's in our Sunday-school. He's in love of me.”

”JANE!”

Again the outraged and ink-stained countenance glared down from the window.

”What you want?” Jane asked.

”What you MEAN talking about such things?” William demanded. ”In all my life I never heard anything as disgusting! Shame on you!”

The little girl from across the street looked upward thoughtfully. ”He's mad,” she remarked, and, regardless of Jane's previous information, ”It IS your papa, isn't it?” she insisted.

”No!” said Jane, testily. ”I told you five times it's my brother Willie.”

”Oh!” said the little girl, and, grasping the fact that William's position was, in dignity and authority, negligible, compared with that which she had persisted in imagining, she felt it safe to tint her upward gaze with disfavor. ”He acts kind of crazy,” she murmured.

”He's in love of Miss Pratt,” said Jane. ”She's goin' away to-day. She said she'd go before, but to-day she IS! Mr. Parcher, where she visits, he's almost dead, she's stayed so long. She's awful, I think.”

William, to whom all was audible, shouted, hoa.r.s.ely, ”I'll see to YOU!”

and disappeared from the window.

”Will he come down here?” the little girl asked, taking a step toward the gate.

”No. He's just gone to call mamma. All she'll do' ll be to tell us to go play somewheres else. Then we can go talk to Genesis.”

”Who?”

”Genesis. He's puttin' a load of coal in the cellar window with a shovel. He's nice.”

”What's he put the coal in the window for?”

”He's a colored man,” said Jane.

”Shall we go talk to him now?”

”No,” Jane said, thoughtfully. ”Let's be playin' callers when mamma comes to tell us to go 'way. What was your name?”

”Rannie.”

”No, it wasn't.”

”It is too, Rannie,” the little girl insisted. ”My whole name's Mary Randolph Kirsted, but my short name's Rannie.”

Jane laughed. ”What a funny name!” she said. ”I didn't mean your real name; I meant your callers' name. One of us was Mrs. Jones, and one was--”

”I want to be Mrs. Jones,” said Rannie.

”Oh, my DEAR Mrs. Jones,” Jane began at once, ”I want to tell you about my lovely chuldren. I have two, one only seven years old, and the other--”

”Jane!” called Mrs. Baxter from William's window.