"Why, Horace," said his sister, solemnly; "anybody can't be too good; 'tisn't possible."
"Well, then, he's just like a girl—that's what! I'm not going to be 'characteristic' any more, but I don't want to be like a girl neither. Look here, Grace; it's school time. Now don't you 'let on' to ma, or anybody, that I'm going to be better."
Grace promised, but she wondered why Horace should not wish his mother to know he was trying to be good, when it would make her so happy.
"He's afraid he'll give it up," thought she; "but I won't let him."
She sat on the piazza steps a long while after he had gone. At last a bright idea flashed across her mind, and of course she dropped her work and clapped her hands, though she was quite alone.
"I'll make a merit-book like Miss All'n's, and put down black marks for him when he's naughty."
When Horace came home that night, he was charmed with the plan, for he was really in earnest. His kind sister made the book very neatly, and sewed it into a cover of glossy blue paper. She thought they would try it four weeks; so she had put in twenty-eight pages, each page standing for one day.
"Now," said she, "when you say one bad word I'll put down 'one B. W.' for short; but when you say two bad words, 'twill be 'two B. W.,' you know. When you blow gunpowder, that'll be 'B. G.'—no, 'B. G. P.' for gunpowder is two words."
"And when I run off, 'twill be 'R. O.'"
"Or 'R. A.,' said Grace, for 'ran away.'"