these old trunks with me, and then some one called her on the
telephone and she had to go down. See, precious, here is a picture of
Daddy when he was a little boy."

Sunny looked over her shoulder and saw a photograph of a stiff little boy
in stiff velvet skirt and jacket, standing by a table, one small hand
resting solemnly on a book.

"He doesn't look comfy," objected Sunny. "Is it really Daddy? And did
little boys wear petticoats then, Mother?"

"That isn't a petticoat, it is a kilt," explained Mother. "You know what
kilts are, dear--you've seen the Scotch soldiers wear them. Well, when
Daddy was a little boy they wore kilts, and trousers underneath. And
Grandma was telling me this morning that as soon as Daddy was out of her
sight he would take off his kilt and go about in his blouse and trousers.
So probably he considered the kilt a petticoat just as you do."

Sunny wandered over to another trunk that stood open and poked an
inquiring hand down into its depths.

"What's this, Mother?" he asked, holding up a queer, square little cap.

"Be careful, precious, that is Grandpa's Civil War trunk," warned Mother,
coming over to him. "Grandmother meant to put the things out to air
to-day and then it rained. See, dear, this is the cap he wore, and the
old blue coat, and this is his knapsack. Some day you must ask Grandpa to
come up here with you and tell you war stories."

"Where's his sword?" asked Sunny, fingering the cap with interest. "Where
was Daddy then? Was Grandpa shot?"

"Grandpa didn't have a sword, because he wasn't an officer," explained
Mother. "He was only a boy when he enlisted, and it was long before there
was any Daddy, dear. And Grandpa was wounded--I'm sure I've told you that
before--don't you remember? That's how he met Grandma. She was a little
girl and met him in the hospital where her father, who was a physician,
was attending Grandpa."

"Olive! Sunny! Dinner's ready!" It was Grandma standing at the foot of
the stairs and calling them.

"I forgot to tell you," said Sunny hastily. "Dinner will be on the table
in half an hour, Grandma said."

Mrs. Horton smiled.

"I think the half hour has gone by," she declared, closing the lid of
Grandpa's trunk. "Come, dear, we must go right down and not keep them
waiting."

"Are you going to eat your duck?" asked Grandpa, when they were seated at
the dinner table.

"My, no!" answered Sunny Boy, shocked.

He never believed that the chickens and d