“Yes, indeed, dear.” She hesitated, then added in a low voice, “You always will work hard; won’t you, Jimmy?” The child watched her gravely while she shook the crisp white kernels into a bowl. He was thinking of her question. “Do you think I’ll have to go to school much longer, Barb’ra?” he asked. “It takes such a long time to go to school.” The girl wheeled sharply about. “What put that notion into your head?” she demanded. “Of course you’ve got to go school till—till you’re educated—like father.” Her voice faltered a little, and a dark flush crept into her cheeks. The boy’s eyes were on her face. “Of course father was—he was sick, Jimmy, sick and unhappy. You don’t remember him as I do; but he——” “Yes, I know,” the child said simply. Then he threw his arms about Barbara and hugged her. He didn’t know why exactly, except that Barbara liked his rough boyish caresses. And he wanted to make her smile again. She did smile, winking back the tears. “I want you to study—hard, Jimmy,” she went on in a low tremulous voice; “and grow to be a good man—the best kind of a man. You must! I couldn’t bear it, if you——” “Well, I won’t, Barb’ra,” promised the child gravely. He eyed his sister with a sudden flash of comprehension as he added stoutly, “You don’t have to worry ’bout me. I’m growin’ jus’ ’s fas’ ’s I can, an’ I know mos’ all my tables, ’ceptin’ seven an’ nine an’ some of eight.” Barbara laughed, and there was the same odd ring of defiance in the sound. Then she opened a cupboard in the wall and took out a cake covered with pink icing. Jimmy’s blue eyes grew wide with wonder. “What’s that?” he demanded. Barbara was setting six small candles around the edge; last of all she planted one in the middle. “You couldn’t guess if you tried,” she said gaily. “I just know you couldn’t. You’re such a dull boy.” “I can guess, too!” cried Jimmy with a shout of rapture. “It’s a cake! It’s my birfday cake! An’ it’s got six candles on it an’ one to grow on. I ’member last year it had only five an’ one to grow on; but I growed that one all up. I want Peg to see it. Can I go out t’ the barn an’ get him? Can I, Barb’ra?” The girl hesitated as she cast a troubled eye on the table set daintily with the pink china, and the few carefully cherished bits of old silver. “You may ask Peg to come in and have supper with you, if you like,” she said slowly. “Just this once—because it’s your birthday.” Jimmy didn’t wait for a second bidding; he dashed out of the back door with a boyish whoop, carefully studied from the big boys in school.