“Oh, about how clever you are; how you learned to read the Bible when you were so little, and could say all your tables when you were five, and--oh, lots of interesting things.” Paul grinned. “I’m not very clever,” he admitted condescendingly. “Mother likes to tell people I am, but I’m not really. I read a good many books, but I’d much rather play with the boys in the streets, only Mother won’t let me. She’s afraid I’ll catch some disease. I’ve had measles and mumps, and chickenpox, but I’ve got to have scarlet fever and diphtheria yet, and Mother’s terribly afraid of those two. Is this your room, and do you all sleep here together?” Dulcie admitted that they did, and Daisy added cheerfully, as she turned up the gas: “It’s a very big room, you see, and we love being all together.” Paul glanced about him rather critically. “You haven’t any pictures on the walls,” he remarked. “My room at home is full of pictures. They’re all copies of the old masters, and Mother makes me learn a lot of stuff about the fellows who painted them. I hate it.” “I should think it would be very interesting,” said Dulcie. “I love to learn about people.” “You wouldn’t if you lived with Mother. She’s always making me learn things, and then she tells people, and I have to show off. I say, what’s an ‘incumbrance’?” “I don’t know,” said Dulcie, looking puzzled. “What makes you ask?” “Because you’re all one, Mother said so. She was talking to Father last night, and she said you were all a terrible incumbrance to Grandma.” Dulcie reddened. “I don’t know what it means,” she said, “but I’m sure it isn’t anything nice, and I don’t think you are very polite to repeat it. Don’t you know it isn’t honorable to repeat things you hear people say? Papa never allows us to do it, and he is a very honorable man.” Paul looked rather embarrassed. “My father’s a very honorable man, too,” he announced, indignantly. “He says Mother will make a milksop of me. Do you know what a milksop is?” “No, I don’t,” admitted Dulcie, “but I shouldn’t like to be one.” “Well, I guess it’s just as bad as being an incumbrance. Anyway, you can’t help being that, and it isn’t your fault. Father said, ‘Poor little chicks, I’m sorry for them,’ and he wouldn’t have said that if it had been your fault. You’d like my father.” “We do know him,” said Daisy. “He came with Aunt Julia once, and he brought us some candy. We liked him ever so much, he was so kind.” “Come, let’s play lotto,” interrupted Maud, who did not find the conversation particularly interesting. “If we don’t begin, Aunt Julia will call Paul before we can finish a game.” “What are you doing, Dulcie--why don’t you come to bed?” inquired Daisy from her pillow, an hour later. “I’ll come in a minute,” her sister answered, absently. “I’m just looking for something in the dictionary.”