But it wasn’t just because he was young that Aunt Jane refused.  I found out afterward.  It was because he was any kind of a man paying me attention.  I found that out through Mr. Claude Livingstone.  Mr. Livingstone brings our groceries.  He’s a real young gentleman—­tall, black mustache, and lovely dark eyes.  He goes to our church, and he asked me to go to the Sunday-School picnic with him.  I was so pleased.  And I supposed, of course, Aunt Jane would let me go with him.  He’s no silly boy!  Besides, I knew him real well, and liked him.  I used to talk to him quite a lot when he brought the groceries.

But did Aunt Jane let me go?  She did not.  Why, she seemed almost more shocked than she had been over Charlie Smith and Fred Small, and the others.

“Mercy, child!” she exclaimed.  “Where in the world do you pick up these people?” And she brought out that “these people” so disagreeably!  Why, you’d think Mr. Livingstone was a foreign Japanese, or something.

I told her then quietly, and with dignity, and with no temper (showing), that Mr. Livingstone was not a foreign Japanese, but was a very nice gentleman; and that I had not picked him up.  He came to her own door himself, almost every day.

“My own door!” exclaimed Aunt Jane.  And she looked absolutely frightened.  “You mean to tell me that that creature has been coming here to see you, and I not know it?”

I told her then—­again quietly and with dignity, and without temper (showing)—­that he had been coming, not to see me, but in the natural pursuance of his profession of delivering groceries.  And I said that he was not a creature.  On the contrary, he was, I was sure, an estimable young man.  He went to her own church and Sunday-School.  Besides, I could vouch for him myself, as I knew him well, having seen and talked with him almost every day for a long while, when he came to the house.

But nothing I could say seemed to have the least effect upon her at all, only to make her angrier and angrier, if anything.  In fact I think she showed a great deal of temper for a Christian woman about a fellow Christian in her own church.

But she wouldn’t let me go to the picnic; and not only that, but I think she changed grocers, for Mr. Livingstone hasn’t been here for a long time, and when I asked Susie where he was she looked funny, and said we weren’t getting our groceries where Mr. Livingstone worked any longer.

Well, of course, that ended that.  And there hasn’t been any other since.  That’s why I say my love story doesn’t seem to be getting along very well.  Naturally, when it gets noised around town that your Aunt Jane won’t let you go anywhere with a young man, or let a young man come to see you, or even walk home with you after the first time—­why, the young men aren’t going to do very much toward making your daily life into a love story.

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