Betty accepted her father's decision without protest, as she accepted most things,--a finality to be endured and made the best of,--so she continued to run back and forth between the sleeping child and the porch, thereby losing much interesting dialogue,--all about camps and fighting and scout duty,--until at last her mother returned and with a glance at her small daughter's face said:-- "Father, will you bring baby in now and put him in his cradle? Betty has had him nearly all day." And father went. Oh, beautiful mother! How did she know! Then Betty settled herself at Peter Junior's feet and looked up in his eyes gravely. "What will you be, now you are a soldier?" she asked. "Why, a soldier." "No, I mean, will you be a general--or a flag carrier--or will you drum? I'd be a general if I were you--or else a drummer. I think you would be very handsome for a general." Peter Junior threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time he had laughed that day, and yet he was both proud and happy. "Would you like to be a soldier?" "Yes." "But you might be killed, or have your leg shot off--or--" "I know. So might you--but you would go, anyway--wouldn't you?" "Certainly." "Well, then you understand how I feel. I'd like to be a man, and go to war, and 'Have a part to tear a cat in,' too." "What's that? What's that? Mary, do you hear that?" said her father, resuming his seat at Peter's side, and hearing her remark. "Why, father, wouldn't you? You know you'd like to go to war. I heard what you said to mother, and, anyway--I'd just like to be a man and 'Have a part to tear a cat in,' the way men have." Bertrand Ballard looked down and patted his little daughter's head, then caught her up and placed her on his knee. He realized suddenly that his child was an entity unfathomed, separate from himself, working out her own individuality almost without guidance, except such as he and his Mary were unconsciously giving to her by their daily acts and words. "What books are those you have there? Don't you know you mustn't take father's Shakespeare out and leave it on the grass?" Betty laughed. "How did you know I had Shakespeare?" "Didn't you say you 'Would like a part to tear a cat in'?" "Oh, have you read 'Midsummer Night's Dream'?" She lifted her head from his bosom and eyed him gravely a moment, then snuggled comfortably down again. "But then, I suppose you have read everything." Her father and Peter both laughed. "Were you reading 'Midsummer Night's Dream' out there?" "No, I've read that lots of times--long ago. I'm reading 'The Merry Wives of Windsor' now." "Mary, Mary, do you hear this? I think it's time our Betty had a little supervision in her reading."