BY KATE W. HAMILTON.
"Just wish I was properer, and everything—so there!" said Nannie, sitting discontentedly down upon the green grass by the road-side, and surveying herself with a pair of very serious brown eyes.
It was a forlorn little self, surely, with wet dress, muddy shoes, inky apron, and crumpled sun-bonnet.
"Aunt S'mantha'll think I'm dreadful. She says I never have any forethought; but I have lots of after-thoughts, and I s'pose folks can't have both kinds. It don't do any good, either. Oh dear!"
There was a whistled tune coming up the road. Tommy Grey was attached to it, but the whistle seemed much the older and more important of the two, and was first to reach the tree where Nannie was sitting. When Tommy caught up with it, he stopped in surprise.
"Hello, Nan Verling! Is that you?"
"I suppose so, but I wish it wasn't," answered Nannie, dolefully.
"What for?" questioned Tommy, in still further astonishment.