CHAPTER I

THE MORRISONS


"Brother," said Mother Morrison, "you haven't touched your glass
of milk. Hurry now, and drink it before we leave the table."

Brother's big brown eyes turned from his knife, which he had been
playing was a bridge from the salt cellar to the egg cup, toward
the tumbler of milk standing beside his plate.

"I don't have to drink milk this morning, Mother," he assured her
confidently. "Honestly I don't. It's raining so hard that we can't
go outdoors and grow, anyway."

Louise, his older sister, said sharply. "Don't be silly!" but
Ralph, who was in a hurry to catch his train, stopped long enough
to give a word of advice.

"Look here, Brother," he urged seriously, "better not skip a
morning. Your birthday is next week, isn't it? Well, if you're not
tall enough by Wednesday morning, you can't have the present I
bought for you last night. Too short, no present--you think it
over."

He stooped to kiss his mother, tweaked Sister's perky bow of hair-
ribbon, and with a hasty "Good-bye" for the others at the table,