Francis, the baby, was two years old, and the pet of every one but Aunt Grace, who never did like children.

But he was so sweet a little fellow, that even the stiff maiden would bend toward him now and then, conscious of a warmer heart-beat.

George, who boasted of being ten--quite an advanced age, in his estimation--might almost be called a thorn in the flesh to Aunt Grace, whose nice sense of propriety and decorum he daily outraged by rudeness and want of order.

George was boy all over, and a strongly-marked specimen of his class--"as like his father, when at his age, as one pea to another," Aunt Grace would say, as certain memories of childhood presented themselves with more than usual vividness.

The boy was generally too much absorbed in his own purposes to think about the peculiar claims to respect of age, sex, or condition.