“Well, they kind of talked along,” Jane continued, much pleased;--“an' Mr. Parcher said when he was young he wasn't any such a--such a word fool as these young word fools were. He said in all his born days Willie Baxter was the wordest fool he ever saw!” Willie Baxter's mother flushed a little. “That was very unjust and very wrong of Mr. Parcher,” she said, primly. “Oh no, mamma!” Jane protested. “Mrs. Parcher thought so, too.” “Did she, indeed!” “Only she didn't say word or wordest or anything like that,” Jane explained. “She said it was because Miss Pratt had coaxed him to be so in love of her, an' Mr. Parcher said he didn't care whose fault it was, Willie was a--a word calf an' so were all the rest of 'em, Mr. Parcher said. An' he said he couldn't stand it any more. Mr. Parcher said that a whole lot of times, mamma. He said he guess' pretty soon he'd haf to be in the lunatic asylum if Miss Pratt stayed a few more days with her word little dog an' her word Willie Baxter an' all the other word calfs. Mrs. Parcher said he oughtn't to say 'word,' mamma. She said, 'Hush, hush!' to him, mamma. He talked like this, mamma: he said, 'I'll be word if I stand it!' An' he kept gettin' crosser, an' he said, 'Word! Word! WORD! WOR--'” “There!” Mrs. Baxter interrupted, sharply. “That will do, Jane! We'll talk about something else now, I think.” Jane looked hurt; she was taking great pleasure in this confidential interview, and gladly would have continued to quote the harried Mr. Parcher at great length. Still, she was not entirely uncontent: she must have had some perception that her performance merely as a notable bit of reportorial art--did not wholly lack style, even if her attire did. Yet, brilliant as Jane's work was, Mrs. Baxter felt no astonishment; several times ere this Jane had demonstrated a remarkable faculty for the retention of details concerning William. And running hand in hand with a really superb curiosity, this powerful memory was making Jane an even greater factor in William's life than he suspected. During the glamors of early love, if there be a creature more deadly than the little brother of a budding woman, that creature is the little sister of a budding man. The little brother at least tells in the open all he knows, often at full power of his lungs, and even that may be avoided, since he is wax in the hands of bribery; but the little sister is more apt to save her knowledge for use upon a terrible occasion; and, no matter what bribes she may accept, she is certain to tell her mother everything. All in all, a young lover should arrange, if possible, to be the only child of elderly parents; otherwise his mother and sister are sure to know a great deal more about him than he knows that they know.