did not star.

"But she's got a loose arm; she could learn all right," her champion
remarked.

It was the proudest compliment of her life. The deserted "Idylls of the
King" company came and sat at a safe distance and watched her,
wide-eyed. Tommy Page rushed forward, shouting:

"Let me play, Herbert."

"Aw, get out of here, kid. We don't want any babies!" was the brief
reply.

"Isabelle's a baby!" howled Tommy.

Now Isabelle happened to be toying with a bat when Tommy made this
disparaging remark threatening to topple her off the dizzy height she
had attained. She saw red! She made an infuriated rush upon him, and
brought the bat down on his offending head. Tommy crumpled up like a
paper doll. There was an awful moment of silence.

"She's killed him," one of the boys whispered.

Herbert tried to stand Tommy up, but his legs folded under him and his
head fell back, so they laid him down again. Isabelle stood, rooted to
the ground. Her terror had frozen her.

"I'll call mama," cried Margie Hunter.

"No, you won't. We must keep it from the police!" ordered her brother.

A shudder went through Isabelle.

"But if he's _dead_?" protested Teddy Horton.

"Let's pour some water on him," suggested somebody.

They all ran to get it, all except Herbert and Isabelle. He noted the
anguish of her set face.

"Never mind, Isabelle; maybe he's only a little bit dead," he comforted
her.

"Will we have to bury him?" she asked, through chattering teeth.

"I suppose so--sometime."

The others returned with a pail of water. They were for dumping it in
one deluge upon poor Tommy, but Herbert prevented their drowning him.

"That isn't the way, you nuts! You dribble it on him. Here, give it to
me."

He knelt over Tommy and poured a slow stream of cold water on his face
and down his neck. When this had no effect he continued the stream over
his body, clad in linen clothes, much as one waters a flower bed. The
children held their breath and watched. Signs of returning life were
visible. As the cold shower struck the pit of his stomach, one knee
hitched. Encouraged, Herbert spilt the last pint in his upturned face.
It contorted, he choked, gasped, yelled defiantly:

"Mmmm-bah-what ye doin'?"

Margie Hunter knelt at his head.

"You aren't dead, are you, Tommy?"

"I'm all wet," he exclaimed, irritably.

Isabelle still stood on the spot where she had struck the blow. Her face
was set and white.

"I guess we better g