lay, looking up through the dimness,
bathed in a deep comfortable content at the man's physical presence.

To-night they lay thus in silence for at least five minutes. Then Bobby
spoke.

"Papa," said he "don't you think Celia Carleton is pretty?"

"Very pretty, Bobby."

Another long silence.

"Papa," complained Bobby at last, "why does Celia be nice to me; and
then not be nice to me; and change all the while?"

Mr. Orde chuckled softly to himself.

"That's the way of 'em, Bobby," said he. "There's no explaining it. All
little girls are that way--and big girls, too," he added.

So long a pause ensued that Mr. Orde thought his son must be asleep, and
was preparing softly to escape.

"Papa," came the little boy's voice from the darkness, "I like her just
the same."

"Carroll," said Mr. Orde to his wife as blinking he entered the lighted
sitting room, "you can recover your soul's equanimity. I've found out
why he broke into the cake."

"Why?" asked Mrs. Orde eagerly.

"He was showing off before that little Carleton girl," replied Mr.
Orde.

III

HIDE AND COOP

Early Monday morning Bobby was afoot and on his way to the Ottawa Hotel.
He ran fast until within a block of it; then unexpectedly his gait
slackened to a walk, finally to a loiter. He became strangely reluctant,
strangely bashful about approaching the place. This was not to be
understood.

Usually when he wanted to go play with any one, he simply went and did
so. Now all sorts of barriers seemed to intervene, and the worst of it
was that these barriers he seemed to have spun from out his own soul.
Then too a queer feeling suddenly invaded his chest, exactly like that
he remembered to have experienced during the downward rush of a swing.
Bobby could not comprehend these things; they just were. He was fairly
to the point of deciding to go back and look at the Flobert Rifle, in
the shop window, when a group of children ran out from the wide office
doors to the croquet court at the side.

Among them Bobby made out Celia, a different Celia from her of the
picnic. Her curls danced as full of life and light as ever; the biscuit
brown of her complexion glowed as smooth and clean; even from a distance
Bobby could see the contrast of her black eyes; but on her head she wore
a brown chip hat; her gown was of plain blue gingham; her slim straight
legs were encased in heavy strong stockings. She looked like a healthy,
lively little girl out for a