Will wasn't ashamed to show affection for "his Polly," so he patted the pale cheeks with a hand as red as his mittens, and smiled down at her with his honest blue eyes full of the protecting affection it was so pleasant to receive. "Yes, _I'm_ going to be a tiptop boy, and never make you and father ashamed of me, as you were once of somebody we know. Now don't you laugh, and I'll show you something; it's the best I could do, and I wanted to prove that I mean what I say; truly, truly, wish I may die if I don't." As he spoke, Will pulled out of his vest-pocket a little pewter cream-pot, tied to a shoe-string, and holding it up said, with a funny mixture of boyish dignity and defiance,-- "I bought it of Nelly Hunt, because her tea-set was half-smashed up. Folks may laugh at my badge, but I don't care; and if you won't have me in your society I'll set up all alone, for I'm going into the temperance business, any way!" Polly hugged him on the spot, and made his youthful countenance glow with honest pride by saying solemnly,-- "William G. Snow, I consider our league honored by the addition of so valuable a member; for a boy who can bear to be laughed at, and yet stick to his principles, is a treasure." "The fellows _do_ laugh at me, and call me 'Little Pitcher;' but I'd rather be that than 'Champagne Charlie,' as Ned called Mr. Lord," said Will, stoutly. "Bless the little pitchers!" cried Polly, enthusiastically surveying both the pewter pot and its wearer. A great tear was lying on her cheek, checked in its fall by the dimple that came as she looked at her brother's droll badge. Will caught it dexterously in the tiny cup, saying, with a stifled laugh,-- "Now you've baptized it, Polly, and it's as good as silver; for your tear shines in there like a great big diamond. Wonder how many it would take to fill it?" "You'll never make me cry enough to find out. Now go and get my little silver chain, for that dear pewter pot deserves a better one than an old shoe-string," said Polly, looking after him with a happy face, as the small youth gave one ecstatic skip and was off. "I'm afraid we've waked you up," she added, as Ned stirred. "I was only day-dreaming; but I mean this one shall come true," and Ned rose straight up, with an energy that surprised his sister. "Come and have your lunch, for it's time. Which will you take, Mrs. Neal's wine-jelly or my custard?" asked Polly, settling him in his big chair. To her astonishment, Ned pitched the little mould of amber jelly into the fire, and tried to eat the custard with his left hand. "My dear boy, have you lost your senses?" she ejaculated. "No; I've just found them," he answered, with a flash of the eye, that seemed to enlighten Polly without more words. Taking her usual seat on the arm of the chair, she fed her big nursling in silence, till a sigh made her ask tenderly,-- "Isn't it right? I put in lots of sugar because you like it sweet."