going to the war.
"I'm going with my bwother Fwank," he declared, shouldering arms over his johnny-cake. "And if any body--any webel"--breathing earnestly--"hurt my bwother Fwank, me shoot 'em me will!"
"Yes," remarked Helen, "you and Frank will put down the rebellion, I've not the least doubt."
This was meant for a sly hit at Frank's youthful patriotism; but Willie took it quite seriously.
"Yes," he lisped; "me and Fwank--we put down the webellion. Take aim!"--pointing his toy at his father's nose. "Fire! bang! See, me kill a webel."
"How little the child realizes what it is to fight the rebels," said his mother, with a sigh.
"I'm afraid," said Helen, "Frank doesn't realize it much more than Willie does. He has just about as correct a notion about putting down the webellion."
"Very likely," said Frank, who had learned that the beat way to treat a joke of this kind is always to humor it, instead of being offended. For a joke is often like a little bar