A little girl rounded the corner with sundry grocer's packages in her arms. She noticed that the boys were gathered in the excited group, which always spelled danger to unescorted maidens, but held bravely on. As she passed, Silvey yelled exultantly. Perry Alford threw wildly and hit the ground by her feet. Red's missile caught one nervous, white little hand and made her drop a bag of eggs to the sidewalk. John raised his arm, then lowered it as if paralyzed. It was Louise! "Quit that fellows," he cried, seizing on the first excuse which came into his mind. "She's a little girl." Silvey looked at him in blank amazement. "What of it?" he ejaculated. "Ain't the first time you've made one cry." John's lips tightened. "Don't care if it isn't," he snapped. "Stop that, Sid, or I'll punch your face in." He threw his own cucumber into the gutter to show that his was a peaceful errand and walked hastily over to the sobbing figure. "They'll leave you alone," he assured her. "Let me pick up your eggs." They were smashed beyond all hope of salvage, but he gathered the fragments of shell, with as much of the dust-laden yolks as he could scrape up, and placed them gravely in the torn, soggy bag. Then he took the bread and the butter from her very gently and turned his back on the gang. "I'll carry them all for you," he said, almost in a whisper. "Let's go home now." She acquiesced silently. They strolled down the leafy walk. John's back tingled unpleasantly, for he expected a shower of missiles. Louise's weeping ceased, save for an occasional sniffle. At last Silvey roused himself from the amazed silence into which his chum's actions had thrown him, and seized upon the solution of the mystery. "Johnny an' Lou-i-ise! Johnny an' Lou-i-ise!" Louise flushed scarlet and bit her lip. John turned and stuck out his tongue defiantly. An awkward silence followed. "I'll punch that kid's head off when I catch him," he growled as the shouts continued. Louise looked up at him shyly. "I don't mind," she said. They halted in front of the three-story apartment where her parents lived. John shifted clumsily from one foot to the other, not knowing how to make a graceful adieu. The maiden came to his rescue with a parrot-like imitation of Mrs. Martin's formula for such occasions. "Thank you very much--and--I'm so glad to make your acquaintance." Though the words were ridiculously stilted, John turned with a song on his lips and skipped across to the home porch swing, where his mother found him a moment later, and made him come in and get washed for dinner. That afternoon he walked north to the branch library to turn in his book on which a six-cent fine impended. With the yellow card in his hand, he went over to the fiction section of the open shelves. No more Hentys, no more Optics. He was in love, and love stories he must have.