"I want to give it to ma," replied Horace, in a low voice; for he did not wish his aunt Louise to overhear. "She hasn't more than three bills in her pocket-book, and it's time for me to begin to take care of her."
"Ah," said aunt Madge, with one of her bright smiles, "there is a secret drawer in her writing-desk, dear, that has ever so much money in it. She isn't poor, my child, and she didn't mean to make you think so, for your mother wouldn't deceive you."
"Not poor?" cried Horace, his face brightening suddenly; and he turned half a somerset, stopping in the midst of it to ask how much a drum would cost.
The month being now out, it was time to show the blue book to Mrs. Clifford. Horace looked it over with some anxiety. On each page were the letters "D.," "B. W.," "B. G. P.," and "F.," on separate lines, one above another. But there were no figures before any of the letters but the "B. W.'s;" and even those figures had been growing rather smaller, as you could see by looking carefully.
"Now, Grace," said her little brother, "you'll tell ma that the bad words aren't swearin' words! I never did say such, though some of the fellows do, and those that go to Sabbath School too."
"Yes, I'll tell her," said Grace; "but she knows well enough that you never talk anything worse than lingo."
"I haven't disobeyed, nor blown powder, nor told lies."
"No, indeed," said Grace, delighted. "To be sure, you've forgotten, and slammed doors, and lost things; but you know I didn't set that down."
I wish all little girls felt as much interest in their younger brothers as this sister felt in Horace. Grace had her faults, of which I might have told you if I had been writing the book about her; but she loved Horace dearly, kept his little secrets whenever she promised to do so, and was always glad to have him do right.
Mrs. Clifford was pleased with the idea of the blue book, and kissed Horace and Grace, saying they grew dearer to her every day of their lives.