"But maybe I won't be a circus-rider, Mother, after all."
"Maybe not," said she.
"Maybe I'll be President, like George Washington. Father said I could. Could I, Mother?"
"Yes—you might—some day."
"But the Jones boy couldn't, Mother."
"Why couldn't the Jones boy?"
"Because he swears and tells lies. I don't. And George Washington didn't, Mother. I guess I won't be a circus-rider, after all."
"Oh, I'm glad of that, dear."
"No, I guess I'll keep right on, Mother—as long as I've started—and just be President."
"Oh, that will be fine," said she. She was sewing in the arbor, her lap filled with linen, her work-basket at her feet.