"

"In this combination," laughed Debrett, "the boy is 'father to the
girl' and the girl is 'mother to the boy.'"

"Precisely so," Mr. Hawtry replied, "and the mother part comes out
strong in this race and training affair. An old chap down at the
hotel--one of those old white-whiskered 'Foxey Grandpas' that no summer
resort should be without--has arranged a great race for his friends, the
children, on Fourth of July morning. The prize is to be the privilege of
setting off the fireworks in the evening."

"They'll run themselves to death," commented Debrett, who knew his young
America, "and is Jimmie to be one of the contestants?"

"He is," replied Hawtry, "it's a 'free for all' event and even Cecelia
Anne _may_ start if Jimmie allows it. She's not thinking much about that
though. You see, Jimmie has gone into training and she's his trainer. I
went out with them last Saturday morning to see how they manage. They
marched me down to an untenanted little farm, back from the road. Jimmie
carried the 'riffle' referred to in Cecelia Anne's text and a handful of
blank cartridges. Cecelia Anne carried Jimmie's sweater, a bath towel, a
large sponge, a small tin bucket and a long green bottle. I carried
nothing. I was observing, not interfering."

"Oh, that dear baby!" broke in Mrs. Hawtry, "such a heavy load!"

"She's thriving under it, my dear." Well, presently we arrived at our
destination, and I saw that those kids had worn a little path, not very
deep of course, all round what used to be rather a spacious 'door yard.'
The winning-post was the pump. By its side Cecelia Anne disposed her
burden like a theatrical 'dresser' getting things ready for his
principal. She hung her tin pail on the pump's snout and pumped it full
of water, laid it beside the bath towel, threw the sponge into it,
gave a final testing jerk to her tight little braids and divested
herself of her jumpers and the dress she wore under them. Then she
resumed the jumpers, took the rifle and crossed the 'track.' Jimmie,
meanwhile, had stripped to trousers and the upper part of his
bathing-suit, had donned his running shoes, set his feet in holes kicked
in the ground for that purpose and bent forward, his back professionally
hunched and in his hands the essential pieces of cork. Cecelia Anne
gabbled the words of starting, shut her eyes tightly, fired the rifle
into the air, threw it on the ground and set off after the swiftly
moving Jimmie. Early in his first