"Why, Preston," said Aunt Jane, patting his small face, "you'll be late to school. Here it is nine o'clock."
"Don't care if it's forty-nine. No school to-day."
"No school? O, it's Saturday; I forgot about that, and saved a turnover for you to take to school."
"Well, I'd like it all the same," said Preston, looking laughingly toward the cellar door. "Had breakfast a good while ago."
Aunt Jane smiled, which was a rare thing for her. She had been very sad since Rose died.
"Very well, dear. Run to the store; and, when you come back, you shall have the turnover and a piece of sage cheese with it. I don't know what I should do without you, now Bertie's gone to New Jersey."
"A dear good boy he is," thought Aunt Jane, as the little fellow disappeared with the gallon jug; and Grandpa Pressy, as if he had heard her thought, answered,—
"Yes, Preston is a dear good boy, Jane. His mother worries for fear he'll fall into bad company; but it's my opinion she is over-anxious. Preston will come out all right."