"Yes, father, a good many; always books, you know," answered Bert.
"Why didn't you get a prize of some kind last term?" asked Mr. Lloyd, with a smile.
"Oh, I don't know, father. Didn't try hard enough, I suppose," replied Bert, smiling in his turn.
"Well, do you intend to try this term, Bert?"
"Indeed I do; and Frank's going to try, too. My best chance is in the arithmetic, so I'm going to try for that; and he's going in for grammar."
"Very well, then, Bert, do your best; and if you win a prize I will give you what you have wanted so long—a pony."
The expression of Bert's countenance at this quite unexpected announcement was a study. His eyes and mouth, the former with surprise, the latter with a smile, opened to their fullest extent, and for a moment he stood motionless. Then, springing across the floor, he leaped into his father's lap, put both arms around his neck, and burying his happy face in the brown whiskers, ejaculated, fervently:
"You dear, dear father, you dear, dear father, how I do love you!"
Mr. Lloyd returned the affectionate hug with interest, and then, holding Bert out on his knee, said, in a playful tone:
"Aren't you in too much of a hurry about thanking me, Bert? You haven't won your pony yet, you know."