am, and four half-portions," he directed
the waiter. And when it was brought, he calmly gave the four small
pieces to his parents and the Bryants.

Cousin Jack's face fell, for he was warm and tired, and he wanted more
than a spoonful of the refreshing delicacy. But a surreptitious glance
at his watch showed him it was almost five o'clock; so he accepted his
plate without a murmur.

"It's very nice, Mother," he said demurely, eating it by tiny bits,
scraped from the edges as he had sometimes seen Marjorie do, when her
share had been limited to half a plate.

"I'm glad you like it, son," she returned; "don't eat too fast,--hold
your spoon properly,--take small bites of cake."

Ruth was convulsed by this new sort of fun, and asked Marjorie if they
had ever played the game before.

"No," Cousin Jack answered for her, "and I'm jolly well sure we never
will again! I've had enough of being 'a child again, just for to-night!'
And, if you please, ladies and gentlemen, it's now five o'clock! the jig
is up! the game is played out! the ball is over! Here, waiter; bring
some ice cream, please. Full-sized plates, all around!"

The amused waiter hurried away on his errand, and Mr. and Mrs. Maynard
sat up suddenly, as if relieved of a great responsibility.

"Bring some cake, too," said Mrs. Maynard, "and a pot of tea. Don't you
want some tea, Ethel?"

"Indeed, I do, Helen; I'm exhausted. Jack, if you ever propose such a
game again!"

"I didn't propose it, my dear! Now, will you look at that! Everything
always gets blamed on me!"

And now there was plenty of ice cream for everybody, and the children
were allowed to have all they wanted, and they were all glad to get back
to their rightful places again.

"But it was fun!" said Marjorie, and then she told Ruth all about the
funny things they had done before she arrived on the scene.

Then they all walked around by Ruth's house to take her home, and then
they walked around by Bryant Bower to take the Bryants home, and then
the Maynards went home themselves.

"I'm going to write Kit all about it," said Marjorie; "she'd have loved
that game, if she'd been here."

"She loves any make-believe game," said King. "You write to her, Midget;
I've got to write up _The Jolly Sandboy_ paper."

"I should think you had! You haven't done one for two weeks."

"I know it; but it's because nobody sends in any contributions. I can't
make it all up alone."

"'Course you can't. When I wr