George;' and it's the last time."

"O, I'm so glad, Horace!" cried Grace, clapping her hands and laughing;
"and you won't blow any more powder?"

Horace shook his head.

"Nor run off again? Why, you'll be like Ally Glover, and you know I'm
trying to be like little Eva."

"I don't want to be like Ally Glover," replied Horace, making a wry
face; "he's lame, and besides, he's too dreadful good."

"Why, Horace," said his sister, solemnly; "anybody can't be too good;
'tisn't possible."

"Well, then, he's just like a girl--that's what! I'm not going to be
'characteristic' any more, but I don't want to be like a girl neither.
Look here, Grace; it's school time. Now don't you 'let on' to ma, or
anybody, that I'm going to be better."

Grace promised, but she wondered why Horace should not wish his mother
to know he was trying to be good, when it would make her so happy.

"He's afraid he'll give it up," thought she; "but I won't let him."

She sat on the piazza steps a long while after he had gone. At last a
bright idea flashed across her mind, and of course she dropped her work
and clapped her hands, though she was quite alone.

"I'll make a merit-book like Miss All'n's, and put down black marks for
him when he's naughty."

When Horace came home that night, he was charmed with the plan, for he
was really in earnest. His kind sister made the book very neatly, and
sewed it into a cover of glossy blue paper. She thought they would try
it four weeks; so she had put in twenty-eight pages, each page standing
for one day.

"Now," said she, "when you say one bad word I'll put down 'one B. W.'
for short; but when you say two bad words, 'twill be 'two B. W.,' you
know. When you blow gunpowder, that'll be 'B. G.'--no, 'B. G. P.' for
gunpowder is two words."

"And when I run off, 'twill be 'R. O.'"

"Or 'R. A.,' said Grace, for 'ran away.'"

"And 'T.' for 'troutin'," said Horace, who was getting very much
interested; "and--and--'P. A. L.' for 'plaguing aunt Louise,' and 'C.'
for 'characteristic,' and 'L. T.' for 'losing things.'"

"O, dear, dear, Horace, the book won't begin to hold it! We mustn't put
down those little things."

"But, Grace, you know I shan't do 'em any more."

Grace shook her head, and sighed. "We won't put down all those little
things," repeated she; "we'll have 'D.' for 'disobedience,' and 'B. W.,'
and--O! one thing I forgot--'F.' for 'falsehood.'"

"Well, you won't get any F's out of me, by hokey