"But after all, my dear Madam," he said, "I am afraid you have been cheated!--It was '_new_' pictures that you wanted, not old ones!" The Blinded Lady whacked at him with her cane. She was awful mad. "How do _you_ know what I want?" she said. "How do _you_ know what I want?" My Father and my Mother looked at each other. They made little laughs with their eyes. The Blinded Lady smoothed herself. "But I certainly am flabbergasted," she said, "about the Old Tom Cat! Whatever in the world made the Young Lassie choose the old battle-scarred Tom?" Rosalee looked at Carol. Carol looked at me. I looked at the Old Tom. "Maybe she chose him for--for his historicalness," said my Mother. "----Maybe," said my Father. We started for the door. We got as far as the Garden. I remembered something suddenly. I clapped my hands. I laughed right out! "No! She didn't either!" I said. "She chose him for Carol's Ar--Rena--I bet'cher! Carol's going to have him for a Cham--peen! We'll fight him every afternoon! Maybe there'll be tickets!" "Tickets?" said my Father. "Oh my dears," said my Mother. "A cat-fight is a dreadful thing!" My Father looked at the Old Tom! At his battered ears! At his scarred nose! At his twisted eye! The Old Tom looked at my Father! They both smiled! "Infamous!" said my Father. "How much will the tickets be?" We went home. We went home through the fields instead of through the village. Carol held the Peacock Feather Fan as though he was afraid it would bite him. Rosalee carried the Old Tom as though she _knew_ it would bite her. When we got to the Willow Tree they changed prizes. It made a difference. Rosalee carried the Peacock Feather as though it was a magic sail. She tipped it to the breeze. She pranced it. And danced it. It looked fluffy. Carol carried the Old Tom hugged tight to his breast. The Old Tom looked _very_ historical. Carol looked very shining and pure. He looked like a choir-boy carrying his singing book. He looked as though his voice would be very high. My Father and Mother carried each other's hands. They laughed very softly to themselves as though they knew pleasant things that no one else knew. _My_ hand would have felt pretty lonely if I hadn't had the little gold pencil to carry. I felt pretty tired. I walked pretty far behind. I decided that when I grew up I'd be a Writer! So that no matter what happened I'd always have a gold pencil in my hand and _couldn't_ be lonely! THE GIFT OF THE PROBABLE PLACES My Mother says that everybody in the world has got some special Gift. Some people have one kind and some have another. I got my skates and dictionary-book last Spring when I was nine. I've always had my freckles. My brother Carol's Gift is Being Dumb. No matter what anybody says to him he doesn't have to answer 'em. There was an old man in our town named Old Man Smith. Old Man Smith had a wonderful Gift.