“All right,” Jack replied, contentedly. “Been a good boy?” Jack looked wistfully at the governess, a young woman with black hair, a bad complexion and a disappointed face, that always suggested to Briggs a baffled motherliness. He pitied all people over twenty-five who were not married. He valued Miss Munroe, but he often told her that she had no business taking care of other people’s children; she ought to be taking care of her own. “No, he hasn’t!” shouted Dorothy. “He broke his whip, and when Miss Munroe took it away from him he cried and kicked.” “Oh--h--h!” said Jack’s father, reproachfully. “Well, it was my whip,” Jack insisted. “It’s all right,” Miss Munroe interrupted. “He said he was sorry.” Briggs walked into the nursery with Jack on his shoulder. Jack, who at once forgot his momentary disgrace, clung to his father’s thick hair. “Ow, you rascal, let go!” said Briggs. He sank slowly into a chair, and lifting the boy high in his arms, deposited him on his knee. Dorothy followed and climbed up on the other knee. She placed a forefinger between her teeth and looked admiringly at her father. “Papa, is the President coming to-night?” she asked. Douglas Briggs took her hand and drew the finger out of her mouth. “I’ve told you not to do that, dear,” he said. She jumped and pressed her head against her father’s coat. “Well, is he?” “I think not,” Briggs replied, with a smile. “I’m not sure that we’ve invited him.” “Oh, how mean!” “He doesn’t go to parties,” Jack scornfully explained, with superior intelligence. “Well, he has parties himself,” Dorothy insisted, indignantly. Briggs extended his hand between them. “There, there; that’ll do. Never mind about the President.” “You’re going to be President some day, aren’t you, papa?” Jack ventured, with confidence. “Only I’d rather live here than in the White House.” “They say the White House isn’t healthy,” said Dorothy, repeating a remark she had heard over the stairs. “Well, papa, when you live in the White House can’t we come and stay in this house when we want to?” asked Jack. Helen Briggs, who had been discussing with Miss Munroe a detail of the decoration for the evening, joined the group. “Jack thinks we’ll have to move from this place to the White House,” said Briggs. “He’s worried.” Helen smiled. “It’s time for Jack to go to bed.” “Oh, no. Just another minute longer,” Jack pleaded. “I must go and dress,” said Briggs. “Now, chicks, climb down.” They obeyed promptly, but turned and made a simultaneous attack upon him. He endured their caresses for a moment; then he cried: “Now, that’s enough, I think.” He rose quietly and kissed them. “Go to sleep like good children,” he said. On the way to their room Helen remarked: “Jack is getting so lively Miss Munroe hardly knows what to do with him.” “Oh, he’ll be all right,” said Douglas. “I like to see a boy with some spirit in him.”