with a Blenheim spaniel happened to
flutter to the floor.

"Pretty little dog!" said she, delighted.

Graham prudently took no notice. Ere long, stealing from her corner,
she approached to examine the treasure more closely. The dog's great
eyes and long ears, and the child's hat and feathers, were irresistible.

"Nice picture!" was her favourable criticism.

"Well--you may have it," said Graham.

She seemed to hesitate. The wish to possess was strong, but to accept
would be a compromise of dignity. No. She put it down and turned away.

"You won't have it, then, Polly?"

"I would rather not, thank you."

"Shall I tell you what I will do with the picture if you refuse it?"

She half turned to listen.

"Cut it into strips for lighting the taper."

"No!"

"But I shall."

"Please--don't."

Graham waxed inexorable on hearing the pleading tone; he took the
scissors from his mother's work-basket.

"Here goes!" said he, making a menacing flourish. "Right through Fido's
head, and splitting little Harry's nose."

"No! _No!_ NO!"

"Then come to me. Come quickly, or it is done."

She hesitated, lingered, but complied.

"Now, will you have it?" he asked, as she stood before him.

"Please."

"But I shall want payment."

"How much?"

"A kiss."

"Give the picture first into my hand."

Polly, as she said this, looked rather faithless in her turn. Graham
gave it. She absconded a debtor, darted to her father, and took refuge
on his knee. Graham rose in mimic wrath and followed. She buried her
face in Mr. Home's waistcoat.

"Papa--papa--send him away!"

"I'll not be sent away," said Graham.

With face still averted, she held out her hand to keep him off

"Then, I shall kiss the hand," said he; but that moment it became a
miniature fist, and dealt him payment in a small coin that was not
kisses.

Graham--not failing in his way to be as wily as his little
playmate--retreated apparently quite discomfited; he flung himself on a
sofa, and resting his head against the cushion, lay like one in pain.
Polly, finding him silent, presently peeped at him. His eyes and face
were covered with his hands. She turned on her father's knee, and gazed
at her foe anxiously and long. Graham groaned.

"Papa, what is the matter?" she whispered.

"You had better ask him, Polly."

"Is he hurt?" (groan second.)

"He makes a noise as if he were," said Mr. Home.

"Mother," suggested Graham, feebly, "I think you had bett