Mary Ballard came to the door from the tea table where she had been arranging her little set of delicate china, her one rare treasure and inheritance. "Yes, I knew she was reading--whatever she fancied, but I thought I wouldn't interfere--not yet. I have so little time, for one thing, and, anyway, I thought she might browse a bit. She's like a calf in rare pastures, and I don't think she understands enough to do her harm--or much good, either. Those things slide off from her like water off a duck's back." Betty looked anxiously up at her mother. What things was she missing? She must read them all over again. "What else have you out there, Betty?" asked her father. Betty dropped her head shamefacedly. She never knew when she was in the right and when wrong. Sometimes the very things which seemed most right to her were most wrong. "That's 'Paradise Lost.' It was an old book, father. There was a tear in the back when I took it down. I like to read about Satan. I like to read about the mighty hosts and the angels and the burning lake. Is that hell? I was pretending if the bees swarmed that they would be the mighty host of bad angels falling out of heaven." Again Peter flung back his head and laughed. He looked at the child with new interest, but Betty did not smile back at him. She did not like being laughed at. "It's true," she said; "they did fall out of heaven in a swarm, and it was like over at High Knob on the river bank, only a million times higher, because they were so long falling. 'From morn till noon they fell, from noon till dewy eve.'" Betty looked off into space with half-closed eyes. She was seeing them fall. "It was a long time to be in suspense, wasn't it, father?" Then every one laughed. Even mother joined in. She was putting the last touches to the tea table. "Mary, my dear, I think we'd better take a little supervision of the child's reading--I do, really." The gate at the end of the long path to the house clicked, and another lad came swinging up the walk, slightly taller than Peter Junior, but otherwise enough like him in appearance to be his own brother. He was not as grave as Peter, but smiled as he hailed them, waving his cap above his head. He also wore the blue uniform, and it was new. "Hallo, Peter! You here?" "Of course I'm here. I thought you were never coming." "You did?" Betty sprang from her father's lap and ran to meet him. She slipped her hand in his and hopped along at his side. "Oh, Rich! Are you going, too? I wish I were you." He lifted the child to a level with his face and kissed her, then set her on her feet again. "Never wish that, Betty. It would spoil a nice little girl." "I'm not such a nice little girl. I--I--love Satan--and they're going to--to--supervise my reading." She clung to his hand and nodded her head with finality. He swung her along, making her take long leaps as they walked. "You love Satan? I thought you loved me!" "It's the same thing, Rich," said Peter Junior, with a grin.