John's next rebuff and knowledge of the world was of another sort. He was again walking the road at twilight, when he was overtaken by a wagon with one seat, upon which were two pretty girls, and a young gentleman sat between them, driving. It was a merry party, and John could hear them laughing and singing as they approached him. The wagon stopped when it overtook him, and one of the sweet-faced girls leaned from the seat and said, quite seriously and pleasantly:
"Little boy, how's your mar?"
John was surprised and puzzled for a moment. He had never seen the young lady, but he thought that she perhaps knew his mother; at any rate, his instinct of politeness made him say:
"She's pretty well, I thank you."
"Does she know you are out?"
And thereupon all three in the wagon burst into a roar of laughter, and dashed on.
It flashed upon John in a moment that he had been imposed on, and it hurt him dreadfully. His self-respect was injured somehow, and he felt as if his lovely, gentle mother had been insulted. He would like to have thrown a stone at the wagon, and in a rage he cried:
"You're a nice…." but he could n't think of any hard, bitter words quick enough.
Probably the young lady, who might have been almost any young lady, never knew what a cruel thing she had done.