e little girl was not a bit impressed.

"And mine is Miss Mary Washington Waller, Polly for short," spoke
Polly, her head still up.

There was a look of breeding about the child and at the same time a
hint of battle in her blue eye and her firm little mouth. Dr. Weston
could not help smiling at Miss Mary Washington Waller.

"I am going to adopt your brother because I have taken such a fancy to
him. He is so sweet and pious and I am going to raise him to be a
preacher."

With that Peter set up such a yell as had never been heard before in
the Hathaway garden. He flung himself in Polly's arms and burst into a
storm of tears.

"I ain't gonter be no preacher! I--I am gonter be a p'liceman. I don't
want to be 'dopted. That's what I git for lettin' you wash my face,
Polly." He picked up a handful of dirt and smeared it over his face.
With the help of the tears it was very effective. "I'm jest as bad as
bad can be. I know a whole string of cuss words an' I can say them as
fast as now-I-lay-me. Doggone, devil, deuce, dam, da--"

"Oh, Peter!" gasped Polly, putting her hand over her brother's mouth.

"Don't you stop me, Polly," sputtered Peter. "I ain't near done."

Mrs. Thraves turned away in disgust.

"I fancy it would be more satisfactory if we adopted an infant," she
said to Dr. Weston, who was almost bursting with pent-up laughter.
"Perhaps a little girl would be less apt to turn out badly. Boys are so
deceptive. To think of that angel face! Such language!"

Mr. Thraves stood for a moment looking wistfully at Polly and Peter,
who still clung to each other. Polly was drying Peter's tears and
endeavoring to clean his dirty face, while she admonished him gently.

"Peter, you were so naughty. What will good Dr. Weston think of such a
bad boy?"

"He won't think a thing. He wouldn't like to be 'dopted hisself when
his mother might come alive any time an' he'd be gone off with his name
changed an' everything. Why don't she be a preacher herself if she
wants a preacher so bad? Why didn't she go marry a preacher an' have a
whole lot of preacher chilluns? Say, Polly, please don't be mad of me.
Did you know I was such a pretty cusser? I made up that cussin' all to
once. It was just as easy as anything. I kinder s'prised myself."

Mr. Thraves gave an involuntary chuckle. He glanced at his wife, who
was walking across the lawn, presenting a rather indignant and
consciously virtuous back to naughty Peter. Down in his pocket