But I liked her from that day. She was not at all like Sue. She was quiet and knew her place. She knew that she was only a girl, how thoroughly well she knew it. And yet, although so feminine, so deliberate and sedate, she had "a pile of ginger" deep down inside of her. In our games, whenever allowed to play, with a dogged resolution she would come pegging along in the rear, she was a sticker, she never gave up. In winter when they flooded the yard she was the poorest skater of all, but patiently plodding along on the ice, each time she fell down she would pick herself up with such determination that at last with a jerk at her arm I said, "Here, Chip, come on and I'll teach you." She came on. I can still feel her soft determined clutch on my elbow. When I said, "That's enough," she said, "Thank you, Boy," and went quietly on alone. After that I taught her many times. One afternoon when there was a thaw, I said, "Gee, but this ice is rotten." And then Eleanore asked me placidly, "Do you like my pretty new shoes?" "What's that got to do with it?" I demanded indignantly. "Nothing, I guess," she said meekly. This girl was full of mysteries. One great point in her favor was that she had a mother "at death's door." This appealed to me tremendously. It was so unusual. "How's your mother?" I would ask her often, just for the pleasure of hearing her answer softly, "She's at death's door, thank you." She soon learned to skate much better, and I remember quite vividly still the January afternoon when as the darkness deepened a silvery moon appeared overhead. I had not skated with her for a week, but now we'd been skating for nearly an hour. One by one the others went home, and the plump girl turned at the kitchen door to call back to Eleanore tauntingly, "You'll catch it, going home so late!" "Never mind," said a gentle voice at my side, and round and round we skated. The moon grew steadily brighter. Still that soft steady clutch on my arm. "Now you'd better go home," I said gruffly at last. "What time is it?" she asked me. I looked at my watch. "Gee! It's nearly seven o'clock!" "What a pretty watch that is," she said in a pleased, quiet voice, but I was not to be diverted. "Go on home, I tell you. Sit down and I'll take off your skates." She sighed regretfully but obeyed. "What'll they do to you?" I asked her when we stopped in front of her house. "They'll try to punish me," she answered. I looked down at her anxiously. "Hard?" I inquired. She smiled at me. "What time is it now?" she asked. "Ten minutes after seven." "Then they won't punish me," she said. "My father always comes home at seven." And she went placidly into the house. "A mighty smart Chip," I said to myself.