than any feller in the class; an' I bet I can jump higher too, an' I bet I can throw things farther, too, an' I bet I can lick ye all pole-vaultin', too. Me brother was tellin' me about that."

"I don't know what is 'pole-vaultin' even," said Morris, and asked with some natural curiosity what parts he and other possible competitors were to take in these Games in Gardens.

"Oh, you," answered Patrick, with happy condescension, "you all is goin' to get licked. That's what you're goin' to do. Don't you worry."

But this rôle did not appeal strongly to either of his colleagues.

"I don't know do I likes gettin' licked," Morris objected with some reason.

"Und I don't know will I get licked," said Nathan Spiderwitz, the valorous. "I jumped once, und I run too. I jumped off of a wagon. A awful big grocery wagon, mit crackers on it. Und I jumped when it was goin'. Und I run like an'thin'."

"You was throwed off," taunted Patrick, "you was throwed off by the man when he seen you hookin' crackers."

"Ye lie," said Nathan frankly. "I jumped as soon as he seen me, und I guess I can jump some more. You ain't the only boy what can run und jump, you old-show-of-freshy Irisher."

It was with difficulty that the peaceful Monitor of the Gold Fish Bowl restored harmony, and time was added unto difficulty before the Games in Gardens were satisfactorily arranged.

Had it been possible to consult Miss Bailey, all would have been plain and simple sailing. She was the First Reader's home port, but she was now blockaded for her own benefit. The suggestions of Patrick's big brother were overwhelming and technical. And Isaac Borrachsohn, through constant questionings, grew at once so extravagant and so hazy in his recollections as to be practically useless. Patrick's mother, when applied to for a morning's use of her yard, was curt and kind.

"Use it if ye will," said she, "but don't clutter it, an' don't fall out of me pear tree."

It was at about the time of the densest discouragement that Miss Bailey, all unknowing, came to their relief. She brought to Room 18 and passed about among the First Readers a copy of an illustrated "Weekly" containing pictures of the later and more important contest than that which Isaac had witnessed. And Ignatius Aloysius Diamentstein, by that time admitted to the track team, appropriated it at the lunch hour, and thereafter it served as "The Complete Guide to Games in Gardens."

The day was set. A Saturday morning in late May. The guests in ordinary were invited. In other words the feminine First Readers had been told that they would be admitted to Patrick Brennan's yard at ten o'clock on that May morning, on condition that each would bring a flag and say nothing to the uninvited boys. The free-for-all spirit was not endorsed by Patrick, and the contestants were only seven, picked and chosen, be it said, with a nice adjustment to Patrick's own prowess, for "I ain't goin' to be licked in me own yard," had been his steadfast determination throughout.

Nathan Spiderwitz was given to inspirations always inconvenient and distressing. He experienced one at this eleventh hour when all the arrangements were completed, and it remained only to invite the guest of honor.

"Who gives the prizes?" he demanded, as he and Patrick were superintending the construction of a grand stand made of soap-boxes and a broken sofa. "Where is the prizes, and who gives 'em?" he repeated.

"Mind your own business," was Patrick's useful answer. It showed a bold front and left time for thought.

"Who gives 'em?" insisted Nathan.

"Don't you worry 'bout prizes," muttered Patrick darkly, "they ain't none of your business. You got a swell chanst to git any prizes in my yard. Not when I'm in it, ye don't."

Thus with Nathan. But with Morris he was more frank.

"There's one thing," said he, when he found that crack long-jumper in the boys' yard at luncheon time, "what I'm going to let you do."

"Is it nice for me?" queried the Custodian of Gold Fish.

"Great!" answered Patrick. "I'm goin' to let ye ast Miss Bailey to the party."

Morris glowed with pride and importance. "I likes that," he breathed.

"Well, you can do it. Ye don't want to tell her what kind of a party it is. Just go up to her after school and say that 'we invites her to come to my yard at ten o'clock in the mornin', and bring seven prizes with her.'"

"Oh—oh-h-h! I couldn't to say nothings like that," Morris remonstrated. "I guess you don't know what is polite. I don't know has Missis Bailey got seven prizes."

"She'll get 'em all right, all right," Patrick assured him; "ain't she always givin' 'em around? You just tell her 'ten o'clock and seven prizes.' It's all right, I tell you. I could'a showed ye the picture on that paper of a lady standin' up givin' out the prizes. An' Miss Bailey's the only lady goin' to be there."

"It ain't polite," Morris maintained. But he had during these last athletic weeks broken so many of his canons and his laws that he accepted this last command with more docility than Patrick had expected.

"A party!" cried Miss Bailey, "now isn't that nice? And for to-morrow morning. Of course I'll be there. And what kind of a party is it to be, dear?"

"It's something you says you likes you shall see. Und on the party you shall see it. Und you shall have a s'prise over it."

"You grow more interesting every moment," said Teacher. "Tell me more. I love surprises."

"There ain't no more," Morris answered, "on'y," and he took his conversational running-jump, "on'y maybe you shall bring seven prizes mit. I says maybe you ain't got seven prizes. On'y Patrick says I shall say it out like that, 'you shall come on the party und bring seven prizes.'"

"Seven!" reflected Teacher. "That is rather a large order, but I think I can manage it. Have you any idea, Morris, of what kind they should be?"

"Teacher, yiss, ma'am," Morris answered, "'fer-boys' prizes."

"I think I understand," and Miss Bailey smiled at him. "You may tell Patrick that I and 'seven fer-boys' prizes' will be at his house in the morning."

She regarded the subject as closed. Not so Morris. Through all the succeeding occupations of the afternoon an idea persisted with him, and when the Teacher left the building at last she found him waiting for her on the wide steps.

"You want me, dear?" she asked.

"I shall tell you somethings," Morris began in evident embarrassment.

"Yes, dear."

"It's over those prizes."

"Yes, Morris."

"Miss Bailey, it's like this. You don't need to care sooner you ain't got on'y six prizes. Seven prizes I guess costs bunches und bunches from money. So six prizes comes on Patrick's yard, that's all right. Stands one boy what don't needs no prize."

"He must be a strange little boy," commented Teacher. "I never before heard of a boy who didn't like prizes."

"Oh, he likes 'em; how he likes 'em. I ain't said he ain't got feelin's over 'em. On'y it's like this: he don't needs you shall buy prizes for him the whiles you got to buy six prizes already."

"I think I understand, dear," Teacher answered, and she set out for the shopping district and bought six prizes of great glitter and little worth. But the seventh was such a watch as a boy might use and treasure through all the years of his boyhood.

The great day dawned bright and clear. Miss