s a fine thing to be a girl. She wished she
were Bobby instead of Betty--but then--Bobby might not have liked
that.

She glanced wistfully at the sleeping child and saw him toss his arms
about, and knew she ought to be there to sway a green branch over him
to keep the little gnats and flies from bothering him and waking him;
and the bees might swarm and no one see them.

"Father, is it three o'clock yet?"

"Yes, deary, why?"

"Goody! The bees won't swarm now, will they? Will you bring Bobby in,
father?"

"He is very well there; we won't disturb him."

Peter Junior looked down on the little girl, so full of vitality and
life and inspiration, so vibrant with enthusiasm, and saw her vaguely
as a slightly disturbing element, but otherwise of little moment in
the world's economy. His thoughts were on greater things.

Betty accepted her father's decision without protest, as she accepted
most things,--a finality to be endured and made the best of,--so she
continued to run back and forth between the sleeping child and the
porch, thereby losing much interesting dialogue,--all about camps and
fighting and scout duty,--until at last her mother returned and with a
glance at her small daughter's face said:--

"Father, will you bring baby in now and put him in his cradle? Betty
has had him nearly all day." And father went. Oh, beautiful mother!
How did she know!

Then Betty settled herself at Peter Junior's feet and looked up in his
eyes gravely. "What will you be, now you are a soldier?" she asked.

"Why, a soldier."

"No, I mean, will you be a general--or a flag carrier--or will you
drum? I'd be a general if I were you--or else a drummer. I think you
would be very handsome for a general."

Peter Junior threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time he
had laughed that day, and yet he was both proud and happy. "Would you
like to be a soldier?"

"Yes."

"But you might be killed, or have your leg shot off--or--"

"I know. So might you--but you would go, anyway--wouldn't you?"

"Certainly."

"Well, then you understand how I feel. I'd like to be a man, and go to
war, and 'Have a part to tear a cat in,' too."

"What's that? What's that? Mary, do you hear that?" said her father,
resuming his seat at Peter's side, and hearing her remark.

"Why, father, wouldn't you? You know you'd like to go to war. I heard
what you said to mother, and, anyway--I'd just like to be a man and
'Have a part to tear a cat in,'