“You little devil!”

That’s not the worst he said, either.  I guess mother wouldn’t let me go out with him if she knew he used profanity—­Maria wouldn’t, anyway.  I have decided I won’t tell them.  It’s the only time I ever caught him.  The other thing is this.  He said to himself—­but out loud—­I think he had forgotten me:  “So they made her believe I liked her aunt better.”  And then, in a minute:  “She said it would break her heart—­bless her!” And two or three other interlocutory remarks like that, meaning nothing in particular.  And then all of a sudden he brought his fist down on his knee with a bang and said, “Damn Aunt Elizabeth!”—­not loud, but compressed and explodingly, you know.  I looked at him, and he said:  “Beg pardon.  Billy.  Your aunt’s a very charming woman, but I mean it.  I only asked her to go out with me because she talked more about Peggy than anybody else would,” he went on.

I thought a minute, and put two and two together pretty quick.  “You mind about Peggy’s being engaged to Harry Goward, don’t you?” I asked him; for I saw right through him then.

He looked queer.  “Yes, I mind,” he said.

“But you wouldn’t be engaged to her yourself,” I propounded to him; and he grinned, and said something about more things in heaven and earth, and called me Horatio.  I reckon he got struck crazy a minute.  And then he made me tell him further what Peggy said and what I said, and he laughed that time about my comforting her, though I don’t see why.  It doesn’t pay to give up important things, to be kind and thoughtful in this world—­nobody appreciates it, and you are sure to be sorry you took the time.  When I got up-stairs, after comforting Peggy, my toad had jumped in the water-pitcher and got about drowned—­he never was the same toad after—­and if I hadn’t stopped in Peg’s room to do good it wouldn’t have happened.  And Dr. Denbigh laughed at me besides.  However, for an old chap of forty, he’s a peach.  I’m not kicking at Dr. Denbigh.

Then let’s see—­(It makes me tired to go on writing this stuff—­I wish I was through.  But the cookies!  I see a vision of a mountain range of cookies with currants on them—­crumbly cookies.  Up and at it again for me!)

The next stunt I had a shy at was a letter that Harry Goward asked Alice to give Peggy, and Alice gave it to me because she was up to something else just that minute.  She didn’t look at the address, but you bet your sweet life I did, when I heard it was from Harry Goward.  I saw it was addressed to Peg.  Then I stuffed it in my pocket and plain forgot, because I was in a hurry to go fishing with Sid Tracy.  I put a chub on top of it that I wanted to keep for bait, and when I pulled it out—­the letter—­the chub hadn’t helped much.  The envelope was a little slimy.  I said:  “Gee!”

Sid said:  “What’s that?”

“A letter to my sister from that chump.  Harry Goward,” said I.  “I’ve got to take it to her.  Looks pretty sad now.”