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 hay and laughed so heartily that his merriment scared the squirrel on the wall and woke Dulce.

"You ungrateful boy! will nothing suit you? When I say you look like the best man I know, you give a shrug; and, when I liken you to a great poet, you shout: I'm afraid you are very conceited, Mac;" and Rose laughed too, glad to see him so gay.

"If I am, it is your fault. Nothing I can do will ever make a Milton of me, unless I go blind some day," he said, sobering at the thought.

"You once said a man could be what he liked if he tried hard enough; so why shouldn't you be a poet?" asked Rose, liking to trip him up with his own words, as he often did her.

"I thought I was to be an M.D."

"You might be both. There have been poetical doctors, you know."

"Would you like me to be such an one?" asked Mac, looking at her as seriously as if he really thought of trying it.

"No: I'd rather have you one or the other. I don't care which, only you must be famous in either you choose. I'm very ambitious for you; because, I insist upon it, you are a genius of some sort. I think it is beginning to simmer already, and I've a great curiosity to know what it will turn out to be."

Mac's eyes shone as she said that, but before he could speak a little voice said, "Aunty Wose!" and he turned to find Dulce sitting up in her nest, staring at the broad blue back before her with round eyes.