d a headache. The sisters protested, each one
claiming her right to take the extra duty; but Mrs. Merryweather had her
own reasons for being glad of the hour of play-work with her little boy.
Willy had been rather out of spirits, which meant that he, as well as
his sister, had eaten too many huckleberries; this afternoon he had
been decidedly cross, and required treatment.

Coming into the kitchen at five o'clock, she found the fire lighted, and
the kettle on, for Willy was a faithful soul; but he was frowning
heavily over his chopping-tray.

"I wish mince-meat had never been invented!" he said, gloomily.

"Do you?" said his mother. "I don't! I am glad it was, even if I did not
have three helps last night."

"I was so hungry, I had to eat something," said Willy, in an injured
tone. "When I grow up, I mean to have beefsteak every day, and never
have anything made over at all."

"I'll remember that, the next time we have brown-bread brewis!" said his
mother smiling.

"Oh! that's different!" said Willy.

"Most things are different," said Mrs. Merryweather, "if you look at
them in a different way. Is that ready, son?"

"As ready as it is ever going to be. I've chopped till my arm is almost
broken."

"So I see! It looks as if you had cracked it. Well, now, it isn't time
yet to make the rolls, so we can take breath a bit. Come out on the
porch, and let us play something till the kettle boils."

"I don't feel like playing!" said Willy, dolefully; "I don't feel like
doing anything, Mammy."

Mrs. Merryweather looked at him a moment; then taking his hands in hers,
she said suddenly, "'For heaven's sake let us sit upon the ground, and
tell sad stories of the death of kings!' That is a passage from Richard
II., and it seems to fit the occasion. Sit down, Willy; right here on
the floor by me; I'll begin. Two minutes for composition!"

She was silent, looking out over the water, while Willy glanced sidewise
at her, half-interested in spite of himself.

"I have it!" she said, presently.

"King John put on such frightful airs,
He met his death by eating pears.

"Your turn, Willy! two minutes!"

"Oh, Mammy, I can't play!"

"But you _are_ playing. Only one minute more."

"Well, then--does it have to be the real way they died? because I don't
know."

"No! facts not required in this game."

"Well, then--

"King Og
Was lost in a bog."

"Your metre is faulty," said his mother,