Charles E. Burchfield (1893-1967)

aggressively and insolently said: “Is that your dog?”

     It wasn’t.  But I thereupon decided to adopt the little dog which was behind me, so I calmly cried, “Here Toodles,” picking him up, and replied:

     “Yes, he’s my dog, and you want to be careful how you treat him after this!”  With this, I haughtily stalked by, with the dog under my arms.  In all the height of my glory, Bill said:

     “I think we ought to come out on the play alright?” and I was suddenly transferred back from dreamland to common life again.  Possibly someone had freed the dog by this time.

     I have been making a map for school the last few days.  To-night, I was painting a border around it with India ink.  Presently the map was all done and painted and to-morrow I took it to Mr. Lease.

A pleased smile came over his face as he held it out in front of him.  “How do you do it?” he asked.

     “Oh, I just go at it, I guess” I replied, pleased and embarrassed.  Then he showed it around to all the different rooms and hung it up, where all could see it and noted how well it was done.