so long ago, when she had taken supper in that house
without leave; and there was Patty at the window this minute making
faces. It is strange how things change to you as you grow older! Flaxie
never cared to visit at that house now, for Patty wasn't a nice little
girl at all; she not only teased away your playthings, but told wrong
stories.

"Our baby's two months old, and he's got two teeth!" cried she, as
Flaxie turned away; but nobody believed her.

The twin cousins and their little friends had a gay time that afternoon
on the bank, and Christie Gretchen "received" with great dignity; but I
have no time to talk of that now, I want to tell you something about
Preston.

When they reached Mr. Garland's house, the little girls left him, and he
walked up the gravel path to Mr. Garland's front door and rang the bell
with a sober face.

"I don't believe I can say my lesson, and Mr. Garland will think I'm a
dunce," said he to himself, with a quivering lip.

Now Preston Gray was remarkably handsome, and one of the dearest boys
that ever lived, but not a great scholar. He could whittle chairs and
sofas and churns for Flaxie with a jackknife, and I don't know how many
ships and steam-engines he had made; but he did not learn his lessons
very well.

To-day, after the recitation was over, Mr. Garland walked with him
along the bank of the river.

"Preston, my fine little fellow," said he, kindly, "I can't bear to
scold a boy I love so dearly; but I've been afraid for some time that
you don't study this term as hard as usual; what's the matter?"

Tears sprang to Preston's eyes, but he brushed them off and pretended to
be looking the other way.

"Now, seriously, what _do_ you suppose boys were made for?" went on Mr.
Garland, without the least idea Preston was crying; "you don't suppose
they were made on purpose to play and have a good time?"

"I don' know, sir," replied Preston, clearing his throat, and trying to
laugh; "perhaps they were made to play a good deal, you know, because
they can't play when they grow to be men."

"Ah, Preston, Preston, I am not joking with you at all. If you were a
small child like your sister Flaxie it would not matter so much whether
you studied or not, but your father expects a great deal of his oldest
son, and it grieves me to have to say to him--"

"Oh, don't, don't," wailed poor little Preston, "I'll do anything in the
world if you won't talk to my father; I'll take my books home,
I