writing games, and had even made improvements in
"Consequences," which is, when you all know each other extremely well,
the best writing game of all. But among strangers, as the Snarker
explained, it was not so good, because they can't understand the jokes
against uncles and aunts.

They did not, therefore, play "Consequences," but instead wrote what
the Snarker called "composite stories." That is to say, they each took
a large sheet of paper and began at the top a story, writing as much as
they could in two minutes. Then the paper was passed on, and the story
continued by the next person, until all had had one turn. Then the
original beginners each finished his story, and they were read out.

As there were eleven playing, this meant there were eleven stories; but
I will copy only one of them. (Janet kept the papers, or I should not
be able to do that.)

This is the one which was begun by Hester, who liked to be serious and
mysterious in her work, and was almost vexed when others turned it to
nonsense. She called it "The Secret of the Castle," and began it like
this:

"It was a dark and gloomy night in the year 1135, when the young Lord
Almeric reached his impressive and ancestral home. Nothing could be
heard but the sighing of the wind in the turrets and the moaning of
Boris, the great wolfhound. Lord Almeric had ridden far, and was tired,
and the gloominess of his ancestral home weighed on his spirits, which
were naturally buoyant and high. Flinging himself from his gaily
comparisoned horse, and tossing the rein with a muttered, 'Here,
varlet!' to the waiting groom, he opened the massive doors and entered
the hall. What was his amazement to see--"

"Time!" called the Snarker, who had his watch before him, and Hester
had to stop.

Gregory came next. His idea of the game was not very clear, to begin
with, and he had some difficulty in reading what was written, so he was
able to write very little, and that not too helpfully. He therefore
wrote words that were always near his heart:

"--a flying-machine."

and that was all.

Then came Janet. Always wishing to be kind and make things easy, she
longed to get the story back into the spirit and period of poor little
romantic Hester's opening passages. But Gregory had spoiled everything.
Janet, however, did her best:

"The young lord drew back with a start, for he could hardly believe his
eyes.

"'What,' he exclaimed, 'is this strange mixture of wires and win