s, but she knew it would
be against the wishes of her aunt and uncle. "I wouldn't do it," she
said.

"O, no, _you_ wouldn't, good little baby girl; you're too much of a
saint. I suppose you'll tattle, too."

The tears came into Edna's eyes. "Now, Louis, you know I never tell on
you."

"Well, no, you don't; but if you're so down on a fellow's having any
fun, what's he to expect?"

"I'm not down on your having fun, but I think we ought to do just as
well as we can while uncle and aunt are away; better even, for it
seems sort of--sort of dishonest to do things behind people's backs
that you wouldn't do before their faces."

"Do you mean to say I am dishonest?" began Louis, blustering.

"O, no," cried Edna; "but--but--"

"Humph! I don't believe you know what you do mean. Now, see here; my
father and mother ain't wicked people, are they?"

"Of course not."

"Well, then, if they let me have boys to come in and play with me at
home, why isn't it just as right here? Answer me that!"

Edna could not answer, so she got up and walked away, Louis calling
after her, "You needn't have anything to do with it, Miss Goody-goody.
I don't suppose the boys will insist upon your playing with them." And
a moment after Edna heard him go out of the house.

About a half hour later she heard him return, a troop of boys
following him. They clattered into the house and up into the
schoolroom. Ellen, hearing the noise, went up, but, as might have been
expected, the boys only jeered at her, and paid no attention to what
she said.

"Masther Louis must study his lessons," she told them.

"I don't have to," replied Louis. "I don't call that any school we had
to-day, and I'm not going to study the same lessons twice. You don't
know anything about it, Ellen. You just go along and tend to your
business. We're not going to do any harm." And Ellen, after standing
helplessly looking at them for a moment, went back to her work.

"Will she tell on you, Louis?" asked the boys.

"I don't care if she does," returned he. "If they make a fuss, I know
what I can do. I can run away."

"Good for you!" cried Phil Blaney. "Of course you can. You can go out
West. You can make your way to California, where your father and
mother are. You'll have a fine time, Lou, for you'll meet cowboys, and
maybe you'll have a whack at the Indians. That's what I'd like to do.
You're no baby, to be ordered around by a little girl and a servant."

"You bet I'm not,"