"No, not much. I heard you crying, and came to see what was the matter." Jethro looked queerer than ever. He wore a voluminous unbleached calico nightgown, several sizes too big for him; the big tears on his cheeks’ shone like jewels in the soft June twilight, and the thatch of tow-coloured hair was rumpled into a quick-set hedge above his great, grave forehead. "I’ve bin beat," he whispered. "Why, what had you done?" "I thrown a stwun at Earny Mustoe akez ’e did call oi ’Jemima,’ and it did break ’s mother’s windy." "Is he bigger than you?" "Yes, ’e be noine!" "Then why didn’t you go for him and hit him? You couldn’t break any windows that way, and it would teach him better manners." Jethro stared in astonishment at this war-like lady. "But ’e be ever so much bigger nor me," he exclaimed, "and I be allays beat aterwards"; then, remembering his woes, "and it do ’urt so, it do," and Jethro began to wail again. Mary gathered the woebegone little figure into her arms and sat down on the floor, saying cheerfully: "Cheer up, old chap; I’ll pay for that window, and you mustn’t throw any more stones; and don’t cry any more, and we’ll have ever such nice times while I’m here." It was evident that Jethro was not used to being cuddled. He sat stiff and solemn on her knee, staring at her with great puzzled eyes. She talked to him as tender women talk to children, and finally put him to bed, tucked him in, kissed and blessed him, and climbed down the ladder again. Much to her relief she saw that Mrs. Gegg was still in the garden. Jethro lay awake, staring at a patch of moonlight on the whitewashed wall. Hazily, vaguely, there arose in his mind are collection that at one time some one always tucked him into bed—some one who looked kindly at him. He couldn’t remember the face, but the eyes were like the tall lady’s—like the lady’s in the picture downstairs; and again Jethro wanted to cry, but not because he had been "beat." However, he would not cry; she had asked him not to, and she had such sharp ears, and she would come to see him every night, and she had lots more pictures. Here the tall lady and the lady in the picture became inextricably mixed up, and Jethro slept that blessed sleep of childhood which is oblivion. "I’d just like to show you, Miss, a present as I’ve ’ad from my nephew down Cubberly way. ’E’s on’y fifteen, and ’e’s that clever with ’is fingers——" Mrs. Gegg held up for Mary’s admiration a frame made of fir-cones which had been varnished and squeezed together till they looked like a hollow square of highly polished brown sausages. "There, Jethro, if you could make summut like that." "I likes ’em better a-growin’," said Jethro, softly.