"Sto-o-op!" whined Snooky again.
"And leave the heart out for Papum. He likes the heart—"
"Sto-o-op!"
"Unbiassed by prejudice," murmured Mr. Bessemer, "vigorous and to the point. I'll have another roll."
"Pa, make Howard stop!"
"Howard!" exclaimed Travis; "what is it now?"
"Howard's squirting watermelon-seeds at me," whined Snooky, "and Pa won't make him stop."
"Oh, I didn't so!" vociferated Howard. "I only held one between my fingers, and it just kind of shot out."
"You'll come upstairs with me in just five minutes," announced Travis, "and get ready for Sunday-school."
Howard knew that his older sister's decisions were as the laws of the Persians, and found means to finish his breakfast within the specified time, though not without protest. Once upstairs, however, the usual Sunday morning drama of despatching him to Sunday-school in presentable condition was enacted. At every moment his voice could be heard uplifted in shrill expostulation and debate. No, his hands were clean enough, and he didn't see why he had to wear that little old pink tie; and, oh! his new shoes were too tight and hurt his sore toe; and he wouldn't, he wouldn't—no, not if he were killed for it, change his shirt. Not for a moment did Travis lose her temper with him. But "very well," she declared at length, "the next time she saw that little Miner girl she would tell her that he had said she was his beau-heart. NOW would he hold still while she brushed his hair?"