"I don't care; I want my dresses long, and my hair put up. I'm tired of being only a schoolgirl! Everybody in Washington will be at the Inauguration Ball. I want to go, too, and shake hands with the new president." "Nonsense, dear; the next Inauguration Ball will be time enough for you." "Four years! Why, then I shall be twen-ty. Quite an old maid, mamma, dear, with crows' feet and wrinkles." Mrs. Winans, the handsome wife of a noted Southern Senator, threw back her graceful golden head, and laughed softly: "Oh, what a ridiculous child!" But her dark-blue eyes lingered tenderly on the lovely upturned face, for Precious was on an ottoman at her mother's feet. Mrs. Winans was the mother of three children--a son and two daughters. Precious was the youngest--"the baby," they called her--and, like all babies, she was spoiled, and liked to have her own way, always wheedling her parents until she got whatever she wanted. "Dear mamma, you will let me go," she cried teasingly. "Go where?" exclaimed a musical voice, as a tall, dark, regal beauty entered the library. "Go where?" she repeated. "And what is the baby teasing for now, mamma?" Precious Winans lifted her golden head from her mother's knee, and turning her pansy-blue eyes on her queenly sister replied, with the air of a little princess: "Ethel, I've made up my mind to go to the Inauguration Ball." "The ball, indeed?" and Ethel shook with laughter in which her mother joined. Ere the echo of their mirth died away a tall, dark, handsome man entered the room--their father, from whom the elder girl inherited her dusky beauty, while the younger was the image of her lovely blond mother. "What is the joke about?" he asked genially, and his wife replied: "Precious has a new notion in her silly little noddle. She wants to attend the Inauguration Ball." "The idea!" laughed Ethel, gently sarcastic. But Precious had fled to her father, and was hanging on his neck. As he clasped the lissome form to his heart he asked earnestly: "Why not?" "Yes, why not?" echoed his pretty pet. "But, papa, she is too young," cried Ethel, almost angrily. "Don't listen to her, papa. She doesn't want me to have one bit of fun. But I will go to the ball, for you will say yes, won't you, my darling old love?" and she stroked his rippling black whiskers with her dainty mite of a hand, and gazed into his eyes with innocent confidence. He hugged the little pleader tight, and looked over the top of her golden head at his wife. "What say you, Grace, my dear? Isn't she big enough to go to the ball?" "I'm as tall as mamma. You needn't laugh, Ethel," cried Precious, and waited eagerly for her mother's reply. The gentle lady said sweetly: "I'm sorry to disappoint my dear little girl, but she is too young to go into society yet, and she would have to make her _début_ as a young lady before she went to a grand ball."