"O, I threw it up, you know, when I wasn't three years old, there at grandma's. I threw it up in the air, and didn't see it go down; and then, when I looked up, there was the moon; and I said, 'O, grandma, see my chip!'" "But you don't know what 'tis now any better than you did then, I'll warrant," said Horace, sitting down in the road to laugh. "Don't know, Horace Clifford? I guess I do!" "Well, tell then, can't you?" "Silver, of course! Didn't you never know that before?" "It's a big world, darling," said Grace, laughing. "I know that, Gracie Clifford; did I say it wasn't? It's a silver ball as big as a house, and there's a man lives there, and I've seen him making up faces." Everybody laughed, and Prudy tried to be angry; but her fiercest indignation frightened you about as much as a firefly trying to flash out a little chain-lightning. Mr. Parlin was daily expected back from St. Louis, and Grace and Horace clung to their little cousin, dreading the thought of losing her. "Aunt Ria," said Prudy, "don't you think 'twould be a good plan for you to get the baby's picture took, and send it to my mamma for a present?" Mrs. Clifford said she would try; so, on Saturday afternoon, she went to Mr. Drake's photograph-rooms with the little girls, while Horace wheeled the baby in her small carriage. It was of no use. There were sure to be a dozen noses in Katie's picture, or as many mouths. In vain Horace chirruped to her, calling her dove-names. "Still, now, Brownbrimmer! Ho, little Topknot!" The more he tried to hush her, the more eager she grew for a frolic. "My fine little fellow," said the artist, "suppose you and the young misses go in the next room for a while?" They all went. Prudy threw off her hat, and sat down to hold the white kitty which she had carried in her arms all the way. "Sit still, little youngling," cried Horace; "I'll _take_ you!" So the boy arranged an apparatus by turning down one chair, setting another across it, and throwing over both a table-cover for a screen. Prudy looked solemnly at her finger-nails. "That's jolly, Miss Parlin. Just keep that little nose straight, so it won't be foreshortened or forelengthened. Now, young lady," continued the little artist, poking his roguish face between the bars of the chair, "afraid your dress won't take! too near--ahem--snuff color." "Don't say snuff-color, Horace, or I'll sneeze, and that'll spoil my nose." "O, what foolishness!" laughed Grace and Cassy. "Hush! There, I've fixed the focus. Now, observe this fly on my jacket (coat, I mean), young lady, and don't you wink." Horace consulted a small bottle he held in his hand for a watch. "These pictures were all failures," he said. "Some had 'no focus,' while others were 'all focus;' they 'flattered,' and were likewise too '_negative_.'"