re
doing it to take the conceit out of a young man we know, who declares
that there's nothing in backgammon that he didn't learn the first time
he played it with his grandfather."

"And you want a booby prize?" Polly looked thoughtful for the space of
sixteen seconds. Then she cried; "Oh, I have an idea! Get somebody to
whittle you a couple of wooden dice; then paint them white and mark
them with black sixes on each of the six sides of each die. You could
call it '_a booby pair-o'-dice_' if you don't object to puns!"

"What a good idea! It's simply perfect! I wonder whom I could get to
do it for me?"

"Why, Dan could do it with his jackknife, just as well as not. If
you'll come to-morrow morning you shall have them."

Accordingly, the next morning, the young lady appeared, and was
enchanted with her prize.

"And how much will they be?" she asked.

"Well, I had thought of charging twenty-five cents for an idea, and
the dice didn't cost us anything and only took a few minutes to
make."

"Supposing we call it a dollar. Would that be fair?"

"I don't believe they are worth a dollar."

"Yes, they are; I should be ashamed to take them for less. What a
splendid idea that was of yours, to put out that sign!"

"I should think it was, if I could get any more customers like you!"

"I'll send them to you,--never you fear!"

Miss Beatrice Compton returned to her buckboard a captive to Polly.

"She's the sweetest thing," she told her mother, who chanced to be her
passenger on this occasion. "She's got eyes and hair exactly of a
colour, a sort of reddish brown, and her eyes twinkle at you in the
dearest way, and she wears her hair in the quaintest pug, just in the
right place on her head, sort of up in the air; and she's a lady, too;
anybody can see that. I wonder who 'Dan' is; you don't suppose she's
married, do you?"

"You can't tell," Mrs. Compton replied. "Persons in that walk of life
marry very young."

"But, Mamma, she isn't a 'person,' and she doesn't belong to 'that
walk of life.' She's a lady."

Miss Beatrice was as good as her word, and three days had not passed
when a horseman stopped before the little cottage, sprang from his
horse, and looked about for a place to tie; there was no hitching-post
near by. Polly was sitting in the porch making buttonholes.

"If you were coming in here, you'd better lead him right up the walk,"
she said, "and tie him to the porch-post."

"That's a good idea!" the young