"You look studious!" laughed Mrs. Brown, coming across the grass, to
put the Brown baby upon his own sturdy legs from her tired arms, and
sink into a deep lawn chair. The June afternoon was warm, but it was
delightfully cool by the water. "Is that the club?" she asked,
waving toward the group of children who were wading and splashing in
the shallows of the loitering river.

"That's the American History Club," responded Mrs. Burgoyne, as she
flung her sewing aside and snatched the baby. "Paul," said she,
kissing his warm, moist neck, "do you truly love me a little bit?"

"Boy ge' down," said Paul, struggling violently.

"Yes, you shall, darling. But listen, do you want to hear the tick-
tock? Oh, Paul, sit still just one minute!"

"Awn ge' DOWN," said Paul, distinctly, every fibre of his small
being headed, as it were, for the pebbly shingle where it was daily
his delight to dig.

"But say 'deck' first, sweetheart, say 'Deck, I love you,'" besought
the mistress of the Hall.

"Deck!" shouted Paul obediently, eyes on the river.

"And a sweet kiss!" further stipulated Mrs. Burgoyne, and grabbed it
from his small, red, unresponsive mouth before she let him toddle
away. "Yes," she resumed, going on with the tucking of a small
skirt, "Joanna and Jeanette and the Adams boy have to write an essay
this week about the Battle of Bunker Hill, so I read them Holmes'