“There is nothing for me to do. We are all poor, and the girls have to work, and I can’t do a thing. If I were as old as Honor, I could go into business right away, and make a fortune, and support you all. I’m the only boy in the family, and I ought to be the one to do it. I don’t see why I wasn’t the oldest instead of having three girls older than me to order me around. It just makes me mad. Why, if I had only been the oldest, I’d be finishing college now, and going into a law office, or I’d be a doctor and have lots of patients, or I’d go into business; stocks, or a bank, or something or other. Instead of that I’ve got to knock round here and fuss over little things the girls want me to do, and go to that hateful Hastings School down at Fordham. But what’s the use of talking to you? You don’t understand. You’re nothing but a girl, and a baby one at that.” Sophy’s great brown eyes filled with tears. “I know I’m a girl,” she faltered. “I wish I wasn’t, Peter. Indeed I do! I wish you’d please excuse me for being one, for I can’t really help it, but—but—I don’t think I’m such a baby.” “I’d like to know what you are, then,” said her brother, crossly. “You’re crying now. That proves that you’re a baby. Do you suppose a boy would cry as easily as you do, or any one who wasn’t a baby?” “What _is_ the matter?” cried a gay voice, as the rustle of dead leaves on the pasture path was heard, and Victoria came into sight. “I heard you ever so far off, and it sounded exactly as if you were scolding, Peter. I got off the train at Waterview and walked up, as I missed the one that connected. I’ve been thinking over something, and I want your advice, Peter.” She saw at a glance that Sophy had been made unhappy, but she thought it wiser to pass it over unnoticed for the present. “What is it?” asked her brother, interested in spite of himself. Then he added hastily: “But you’re only making that up to change the subject. You don’t really want my advice. You think I’m scolding Sophy, and so I am. Why, she cries if you say—” “I do want your advice,” interrupted Victoria; “and if you can’t give it to me, I shall have to ask some other boy or man. It is about mushrooms. Do you know anything at all about them, and do you think it would pay to raise them? I have been reading up about them to-day in the Encyclopædia at school. That was the reason I missed the other train. It seems as if we could make some money out of them if we only tried. It says in the Encyclopædia that the cultivated ones don’t taste as good as the wild ones, but there must be a demand for them, for people use them when the others are out of season. I was wondering whether you would want to undertake it.” “Do you mean me alone?” asked Peter.