When Paul Mayhew asked to be my escort to the class reception in June, I declined with thanks, and immediately afterwards told Fred Small I would go with _him_.

But even when I told Mother nonchalantly, and with carefully averted eyes, that I was going to the reception with Fred Small--even then her pleasant "Well, that's good!" conveyed only cheery mother interest; nor did a hasty glance into her face discover so much as a lifted eyebrow to hint, "I thought you'd come to your senses _sometime_!" Wise little mother that she was! In the days and weeks that followed (though nothing was said) I detected a subtle change in certain matters, however.

And as I look back at it now, I am sure I can trace its origin to my "affair" with Paul Mayhew.

Evidently Mother had no intention of running the risk of any more block-away courtships; also evidently she intended to know who my friends were.

At all events, the old Anderson mansion soon became the rendezvous of all the boys and girls of my acquaintance.
And such good times as we had, with Mother always one of us, and ever proposing something new and interesting! And because boys--not _a_ boy, but boys--were as free to come to the house as were girls, they soon seemed to me as commonplace and matter-of-course and free from sentimental interest as were the girls.
Again wise little mother! But, of course, even this did not prevent my falling in love with some one older than myself, some one quite outside of my own circle of intimates.