RYE'S FRITTERS. 111

before had been on business. She had come down to buy a
feather, — she and Prim and Jockey; at least she had come
for the feather, and Prim came because she came, and Jockey,
—as nearly as I can make out, Jockey came for no reason
in the world but because Rye particularly asked him to stay
at home.

Besides Prim and Jockey, there was, by the way, Aunt
Banger. I neglected to mention her, because it is so per-
fectly understood that when you take aunts, parents, and
other burdens of like kind, to Boston with you, it is done
entirely as a matter of courtesy. It happened, very un-
fortunately, that Aunt Banger paid Rye’s and Jockey’s
expenses (Prim was rich, and paid her own), so that Rye
indeed was constrained to be uncommonly polite to Aunt
Banger. She felt it keenly, but she bore it well. “I so
dislike to be under objections to people!” she whispered
to Prim.

“ Objurgations, you mean,” corrected Prim.

Rye went to Lowell’s, and bought her feather. At least,
she went to Lowell’s, and Aunt Banger asked for feathers,
and Rye looked them over, and Aunt Banger selected a gray
one, and Rye selected a pink one, and Aunt Banger preferred
the gray one, and Rye admired the pink one, and Aunt
Banger said that her hat was gray, and this was a match,
and Rye (who always did hate to be matched) said that gray
made her look like a Guinea hen, — Jip Bond said so Christ-
mas,—and Aunt Banger said that they were n’t buying