"But it means the same thing," said Phaeton; "that's the Scotch of it. Burns was a Scotchman."
"Was he?" said Ned. "Well, I never heard of him before, and we don't want any of his Scotch spelling. That second motto is all wrong; the press belongs to us, not to any king, and we're not going to misuse it. The third one would do pretty well, but it says 'she,' and we're none of us girls."
"Perhaps you can think of a better one," said Phaeton.
"Yes, I can," said Ned. "I heard Uncle Hiram say that printing was called the art deservative of all arts, and that would be just the motto for us."
"What does it mean?" said I.
"It means," said Ned, "that printers deserve more than any other artists."
"Didn't he say preservative?" said Phaeton.
"Oh, no," said Ned; "that wouldn't mean anything. Printing has nothing to do with preserving—unless we should print the labels for Mother's fruit-cans next fall. He said 'deservative,' I heard him distinctly, and we'll put it on the card."
"Very well," said Phaeton; "you set up the card according to your own taste, and we'll see how we like it."
The next day Phaeton and I went fishing. While we were gone Ned set up the card, and on our return we found, to our consternation, that he had not only set it up, but printed scores of them, and given away a good many to the boys. It ran as follows: