"It's not right," he now repeated, twirling his mustache. The morning
paper lay across his knees, and, as he spoke, with an air of finality
and disapproval, he picked it up.

"What isn't right, grandfather?" asked Bobby, suddenly appearing on the
back of his chair, and encircling his grandfather's neck with a pair of
sturdy legs.

His grandfather drew him down by one leg into his lap.

"Giving all your money away to people who don't appreciate it," he
explained.

"How do you know they don't?" asked Bobby.

"Because, sir, people don't appreciate what is given to them, as much as
they do what they earn."

Bobby pondered over this.

"I like my Christmas presents better than the money I get for chopping
kindling," he replied at length; "because the Christmas money is more,
for one thing."

"And more certain," put in his mother, laughing; "the kindling money
isn't always earned."

"Are you talking about the Home money?" asked Ethelwyn, looking over the
back of the chair in front of them.