"But--but--but what if I don't WANT to pick it up, mother?" he said gayly. The little Moore boys, still bubbling, giggled outright, and Peter's cheeks grew pink. He was innocently elated with this new role of clown. "What do you mean?" said Sidney's big voice, very quietly. There was a pause. Peter slowly turned his eyes toward his father. "Oh, please, Sidney!" said Jean, a shade impatiently. "He thinks he has some reason." She turned to Peter. "What do you mean, dear?" she asked pleasantly. Peter looked about the group. He was confused and excited at finding himself so suddenly the centre of attention. "Well--well--why are you all looking at me?" he asked in his confident little treble, with his baffling smile. "Dearie, did you hear mother tell you to get quietly down and pick up your mug?" demanded Jean, authoritatively. "Well--well, you know, I don't want to, mother, because Billy and I were both reaching for that mug," drawled Peter, "and maybe it was Billy who--" "Now, look here, son!" said his father, controlling his impatience with difficulty, "we've had enough of this! You do it because your mother told you to, and you do it right NOW!" "And don't let anything spoil this happy day," pleaded Jean's tender voice. "Can't I let it stay there, mother?" suggested Peter, brilliantly, "and have my milk in a glass? I don't want my mug! It can just lie there--" His mother unsmilingly interrupted this pleasantly offered solution. "Peter! Father and mother are waiting." "Gee--I'll pick it up!" said Billy Moore, good-naturedly, slipping to the floor. Sidney reached for the little boy, and brought him to anchor in the curve of his big arm, without once glancing at him. "Thank you, Billy," he said, "but Peter will pick it up himself. Now, Peter! We don't care who knocked it down, or whose fault it was. Your mother told you to pick up your mug, and we are waiting to have you do it. Don't talk about it any more. Nobody thinks it is at all smart or funny for boys to disobey their mothers!" "It will take you JUST one second, dear," interpolated Jean softly, "and then we will all go upstairs and get ready, and forget all about it." "Just a little too much c-i-r-c-u-s!" spelled Mrs. Moore, in the pause. "Pick it up, son!" said Sidney, very calm. Peter stopped smiling. He breathed hard and took a firm hold of his chair. "Go on. Go ahead!" said his father, briskly, encouragingly. The child moved his eyes from the mug to his father's face, but did not stir. "Peter?" said Sidney. A white line had come about his mouth. For a long moment there was not a sound in the rooms. Julia stood transfixed at the door. Mrs. Moore's eyes were on her plate. Jean's lips were shut tight; she was breathing as if she had been running. "I won't!" said Peter, simply, with a quick breath. "Sid!" said Jean, hurriedly. "Sidney!"