"And 'T.' for 'troutin'," said Horace, who was getting very much interested; "and—and—'P. A. L.' for 'plaguing aunt Louise,' and 'C.' for 'characteristic,' and 'L. T.' for 'losing things.'"
"O, dear, dear, Horace, the book won't begin to hold it! We mustn't put down those little things."
"But, Grace, you know I shan't do 'em any more."
Grace shook her head, and sighed. "We won't put down all those little things," repeated she; "we'll have 'D.' for 'disobedience,' and 'B. W.,' and—O! one thing I forgot—'F.' for 'falsehood.'"
"Well, you won't get any F's out of me, by hokey," said Horace, snapping his fingers.
"Why, there it is, 'one B. W.' so quick!" cried Grace, holding up both hands and laughing.
Horace opened his mouth in surprise, and then clapped his hand over it in dismay. It was not a very fortunate beginning.
"Look here, Grace," said he, making a wry face; "I move we call that no 'count, and commence new to-morrow!"
So Grace waited till next day before she dated the merit-book.
All this while Pincher's foot was growing no better. Aunt Louise said you could almost see the poor dog 'dwindle, peak, and pine.'