"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 lots of 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.
One night, not long after this, Horace went to the post-office for the mail. This was nothing new, for he had often gone before. A crowd of men were sitting in chairs and on the door-stone and counter, listening to the news, which someone was reading in a loud, clear voice.
Without speaking, the postmaster gave Horace three letters and a newspaper. After tucking the letters into his raglan pocket, Horace rolled the paper into a hollow tube, peeping through it at the large tree standing opposite the post-office, and at the patient horses hitched to the posts, waiting for their masters to come out.
He listened for some time to the dreadful account of a late battle, thinking of his dear father, as he always did when he heard war news. But at last remembering that his grandfather would be anxious to have the daily paper, he started for home, though rather against his will.
"I never did see such a fuss as they make," thought he, "if anybody's more'n a minute going to the office and back."