amazing
delight in wheeling Honora up and down the yard, and up and down the
sidewalk. Brunhilde or Queen Elizabeth never wielded a power more
absolute, nor had an adorer more satisfactory; and of all his remarkable
talents, none were more conspicuous than his abilities to tell a story
and to choose a present. Emancipated from the perambulator, Honora
would watch for him at the window, and toddle to the gate to meet him, a
gentleman-in-waiting whose zeal, however arduous, never flagged.

On this particular Christmas morning, when she heard the gate slam,
Honora sprang up from the table to don her green velvet coat. Poor
Peter! As though his subjugation could be more complete!

"It's the postman," suggested Uncle Tom, wickedly.

"It's Peter!" cried Honora, triumphantly, from the hall as she flunk
open the door, letting in a breath of cold Christmas air out of the
sunlight.

It was Peter, but a Peter who has changed some since perambulator
days,--just as Honora has changed some. A Peter who, instead of
fourteen, is six and twenty; a full-fledged lawyer, in the office of
that most celebrated of St. Louis practitioners, Judge Stephen Brice.
For the Peter Erwins of this world are queer creatures, and move rapidly
without appearing to the Honoras to move at all. A great many things
have happened to Peter since he had been a messenger boy in the bank.

Needless to say, Uncle Tom had taken an interest in him. And, according
to Peter, this fact accounted for all the good fortune which had
followed. Shortly before the news came of his brother's death, Uncle Tom
had discovered that the boy who did his errands so willingly was going
to night school, and was the grandson of a gentleman who had fought with
credit in the Mexican War, and died in misfortune: the grandmother
was Peter's only living relative. Through Uncle Tom, Mr. Isham became
interested, and Judge Brice. There was a certain scholarship in the
Washington University which Peter obtained, and he worked his way
through the law school afterwards.

A simple story, of which many a duplicate could be found in this country
of ours. In the course of the dozen years or so of its unravelling the
grandmother had died, and Peter had become, to all intents and purposes,
a member of Uncle Tom's family. A place was set for him at Sunday
dinner; and, if he did not appear, at Sunday tea. Sometimes at both. And
here he was, as usual, on Christmas morning, his arms so full that he
h