gentle rule, and positively adored her in consequence. The only lion in
Peter's path at present was the strong Tory proclivity of the head of
the house; and although he had been warned by his Albany friends to be
prudent and respectful, the boy had inherited a sturdy patriotism which
burned all the more hotly for its repression.

On this cold December afternoon Peter stood, books in hand, and surveyed
that aggravating knocker from his stand on the sidewalk. He was
painfully conscious that his feet were muddy, and his chubby fingers
certainly needed soap and water; it was Friday, and Pompey, one of the
black servants, had evidently been scrubbing the front steps. Therefore
Peter debated whether it would be wiser to skirt around the mansion and
gain entrance by the area steps, where no doubt he would encounter
Dinah, the cook (who objected to invasions of unclean shoes), or boldly
ascend the front steps, struggle with that balefully glittering knocker,
and trust to Pompey's somewhat dim eyes to escape remonstrance before he
could gain his own room and make himself presentable. The chances of a
scolding seemed pretty equally balanced to Peter, and he heaved a deep
sigh and put his foot on the first immaculate step before him as a hand
fell on his shoulder and a merry voice said behind him:--

"What in the world are you pondering, Peter? I have watched you since I
turned the corner of Broadway, and truly for once have seen you stand
absolutely still. In some scrape with the Vly boys, I'll warrant; do you
wish me to come in and plead for you?" and Kitty Cruger tripped lightly
up the steps as she beckoned Peter to follow.

"Now you have done it--not I!" said Peter, with a mischievous chuckle,
as he tore up after her.