"How popular he must be!" Mabel Clanroyden laughed.

"I have known him ever since I was a small girl in a short frock and straight-brushed hair.

He was never anything else than Lewie to his friends.

Oh, here is my wandering brother and my only son returned," and she rose to catch up a small, self-possessed boy of some six years, who led the flushed and reluctant George in tow.
The small boy was very dirty, ruddy and cheerful.

He had torn his blouse, and scratched his brow, and the crown of his straw hat had parted company with the brim.
"George," said his sister severely, "have you been corrupting the manners of my son?
Where have you been ?" The boy--he rejoiced in the sounding name of Archibald--slapped a small leg with a miniature whip, and counterfeited with great skill the pose of the stable-yard.