"I spoke to you seven times, Horace."
"Well, why didn't you pinch me, or shake me awake, or something?"
"Why, Horace, then you'd have been cross, and said, 'Gracie Clifford, let me alone!' You know you would, Horace."
The little boy stood by the looking-glass finishing his toilet, and made no reply.
"Don't you mean to behave?" said he, talking to his hair. "There, now, you've parted in the middle! Do you 'spose I'm going to look like a girl? Part the way you ought to, and lie down smooth! We'll see which will beat!"
"Why, what in the world is this?" exclaimed Grace, as something heavy dropped at her feet.
It was her mother's watch, which had fallen out of Horace's pocket.
"Where did you get this watch?"
No answer.
"Why, Horace, it doesn't tick: have you been playing with it?"