nd painfully knit. Bab's was long and thin, with a
very pointed thumb, Betty's short and wide, with a stubby thumb, and all
their mother's pulling and pressing could not make them look alike, to
the great affliction of the little knitters. Ben, however, assured them
that he rather preferred odd ones, as then he could always tell which
was right and which left. He put them on immediately and went about
cracking the new whip with an expression of content which was droll to
see, while the children followed after, full of admiration for the hero
of the day.

They were very busy all the morning preparing for the festivities to
come, and as soon as dinner was over every one scrambled into his or her
best clothes as fast as possible, because, although invited to come at
two, impatient boys and girls were seen hovering about the avenue as
early as one.

The first to arrive, however, was an uninvited guest, for just as Bab
and Betty sat down on the porch steps, in their stiff pink calico frocks
and white ruffled aprons, to repose a moment before the party came in, a
rustling was heard among the lilacs, and out stepped Alfred Tennyson
Barlow, looking like a small Robin Hood, in a green blouse with a silver
buckle on his broad belt, a feather in his little cap and a bow in his
hand.

"I have come to shoot. I heard about it. My papa told me what arching
meant. Will there be any little cakes? I like them."

With these opening remarks the poet took a seat and calmly awaited a
response. The young ladies, I regret to say, giggled, then remembering
their manners, hastened to inform him that there would be heaps of
cakes, also that Miss Celia would not mind his coming without an
invitation, they were quite sure.

"She asked me to come that day. I have been very busy. I had measles.
Do you have them here?" asked the guest, as if anxious to compare notes
on the sad subject.

"We had ours ever so long ago. What have you been doing besides having
measles?" said Betty, showing a polite interest.

"I had a fight with a bumble-bee."

"Who beat?" demanded Bab.

"I did. I ran away and he couldn't catch me."

"Can you shoot nicely?"

"I hit a cow. She did not mind at all. I guess she thought it was a
fly."

"Did your mother know you were coming?" asked Bab, feeling an interest
in runaways.

"No; she is gone to drive, so I could not ask her."

"It is very wrong to disobey. My Sunday-school book says that children
who are n