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THE first notice of village condemnation was served on Nessie Sutton by a little yellow-curled toddler named Jabez Anderson who lived in a cottage between the hotel and town. Jabez played out in the street under an elm tree where he had a swing. Nessie heretofore had stood high in Jabez's favour because, as she went by on her way to work, she would give him a push. On this morning, the milliner waved at the little boy from the corner, but instead of settling himself on the seat and getting ready for the big push, Jabez continued doing what he could with his short fat legs to swing himself. When Nessie eventually helped him, he called out right at the top of his swing, in the clear impersonal tones of very small children, "Mamma says you are a mess."

The milliner watched him go and return to her.

"What is it, Jabez?" she asked, smiling.

"Mamma says you are a mess—mess," he strove to make the word as distinct as possible, for he had found the English language rather treacherous.

"Mess," repeated Nessie, ceasing to smile. After a moment she recalled having sold Mrs. Anderson an autumn hat the week before; then she added aloud more to herself than to the child, "I thought your mother liked that hat."

"Mamma says you are a mess," repeated Jabez simply, and that seemed to be the extent of his information.

At that moment the mother herself appeared at the door of the cottage.

"Jabez!" she cried sharply. "Come here this minute!"

"Mrs. Anderson," called Nessie, eager to protect her em-