"Then I'd dodge when they fired, for I don't know what you and ma would do if I was killed."
"Well, please step out of the way, Horace; don't you see I'm sweeping the piazza?"
"I can't tell," pursued he, taking a seat on one of the stairs in the hall: "I can't tell certain sure; but I may be a minister."
This was such a funny idea, that Grace made a dash with her broom, and sent the dirt flying the wrong way.
"Why, Horace, you'll never be good enough for a minister!"
"What'll you bet?" replied he, looking a little mortified.
"You're getting to be a dear good little boy, Horace," said Grace, soothingly; "but I don't think you'll ever be a minister."
"Perhaps I'd as soon be a shoemaker," continued Horace, thoughtfully; "they get a great deal for tappin' boots."
His sister made no reply.
"See here, now, Grace: perhaps you'd rather I'd be a tin-pedler; then I'd always keep a horse, and you could ride."