before the bargain had been tasted. Mary Elizabeth sat at one side; even after I had di- vided my lunch and given her my basket for a plate, she sat a very little away from us - or it may be my remembrance of her aloofness that makes this seem so. Each of the others gave her something from her basket - but it was the kind of giving which makes one know what a sad word is the word "bestow." They "bestowed" these things. Since that time, when I have seen folk administering charity, I have always thought of the manner, ill-bred as is all condescension, in which we must have shared our picnic food with Mary Elizabeth.
I believe that this is the first conversation that ever I can remember. Up to this time, I had talked as naturally as the night secretes dreams, with no sense of responsibility for either to mean anything. But that day I became uncomfort- ably conscious of the trend of the talk.
"I have to have my new dress tried on before supper," Delia announced, her back to the river and her mouth filled with a jam sandwich. "It's blue plaid, with blue buttons and blue tassels on," she volunteered.
"My new dress Aunt Harriet brought me
