In a short time the little boy began to feel tired of "camping out;" and I am sorry to say that he employed some of the moonlight hours in studying the workmanship of his mother's watch, which had been left, by accident, hanging on a nail in the bathing-room.
He felt very guilty all the while; and when, at last, a chirr-chirr from the watch told that mischief had been done, his heart gave a quick throb of fright, and he stole off to his chamber, undressed, and went to bed in the dark.
Next morning he did not awake as early as usual, and, to his great dismay, came very near being late to breakfast.
"Good-morning, little buzzard-lark," said his sister, coming into his room just as he was thrusting his arms into his jacket.
"Ho, Gracie! why didn't you wake me up?"
"I spoke to you seven times, Horace."
"Well, why didn't you pinch me, or shake me awake, or something?"
"Why, Horace, then you'd have been cross, and said, 'Gracie Clifford, let me alone!' You know you would, Horace."
The little boy stood by the looking-glass finishing his toilet, and made no reply.
"Don't you mean to behave?" said he, talking to his hair. "There, now, you've parted in the middle! Do you s'pose I'm going to look like a girl? Part the way you ought to, and lie down smooth! We'll see which will beat!"