supper at midnight!”

“You are quite right,” answered Stella’s mother.

“And breakfast at noon next day.”

“Very often, I admit. But Saturday and Sunday are holidays and we are always up betimes. Come, what shall we do? Rollo, you propose something.”

All the company, of which there was about a score of folk of various ages, looked at Rollo expectantly, causing him to feel much embarrassed, but he spoke up bravely and said, “Since it is a holiday I suppose we may as well play games. Shall we play at catch-as-catch-can or blindman’s buff,—or should you prefer an indoor-game such as pillows-and-keys or post-office? The latter, I think I ought to say, are kissing games.”

“O fie! for shame!” they all cried. “It is too early in the day.”

“Come, Rollo,” said a very pretty young lady whose name was Miss Lois. “Monty and I are going to play tennis.”

“Alas! I fear I cannot,” said Rollo sadly. “It is like battledore and shuttlecock, is it not? I think, if you do not mind, I will watch Mr. Bradley and his friend Mr. Robbins play at golf, which is a game I have never witnessed, though I have often seen gentlemen falling over their golf-sticks in the city train-cars.”

“Right you are,” said Monty as Rollo strolled after Mr. Bradley, who was Stella’s father, and his friend, Mr. Robbins.

“Such larks!” thought Rollo, as he watched the two gentlemen place the small white balls on mounds like mole-hills, and then knock them far away.

“We are aiming at that little red flag,” said Mr. Robbins, whom Rollo had secretly nicknamed Robin-Redface.

“Thank you, sir,” said Rollo, “I should never have guessed it.”

For a time all went well. The two gentlemen hit the ball with great skill and seemed well pleased with their success. Rollo, too, delighted in the velvety lawns about him, and marvelled to see all the hay in so early in the season.

Thus the morning passed very quickly, but toward noon things began to turn out not so agreeably. First Mr. Bradley, and then Mr. Robbins, knocked their golf-balls into places where it was impossible to find them, search as they might. This was great fun for Rollo, who thought it was like looking for field-sparrows’ nests, and he kept fooling the two gentlemen, crying, “Oh, here it is!—No, it is only a stone! Oh, here it is!—No, it is only a mushroom,” until Mr. Bradley took him by the shoulder and spoke to him very roughly.

Then they came to a pretty little pond where Rollo longed to stop and fish. Mr. Robbins placed his ball on a little mound and very skilfully hit the pond right in the middle.

“Bravo!” cried Rollo.

To his surprise Mr. Robbins turned and said something which I cannot print, but which caused Rollo’s cheeks to turn a deep crimson. In fact he called Rollo a very bad name.