"I'm not very particular what SOME people think of me," rejoined
Felix.

"I notice you don't like to be told by anybody that you're fat,"
retorted Felicity.

"Oh, dear me, I do wish you wouldn't all say such sarcastic things
to each other," said poor Cecily plaintively. "It sounds so
horrid the last night of the old year. Dear knows where we'll all
be this night next year. Peter, it's your turn."

"I will try," wrote Peter, "to say my prayers every night regular,
and not twice one night because I don't expect to have time the
next,--like I did the night before the party," he added.

"I s'pose you never said your prayers until we got you to go to
church," said Felicity--who had had no hand in inducing Peter to
go to church, but had stoutly opposed it, as recorded in the first
volume of our family history.

"I did, too," said Peter. "Aunt Jane taught me to say my prayers.
Ma hadn't time, being as father had run away; ma had to wash at
night same as in day-time."

"I shall learn to cook," wrote the Story Girl, frowning.

"You'd better resolve not to make puddings of--" began Felicity,
then stopped as suddenly as if she had bitten off the rest of her
sentence and swallowed it. Cecily had nudged her, so she had