on to its string,
she was carried along with it, and in a jiffy she was over the wall and
outside of the enchanted garden, so then she wasn't enchanted any more,
but she was just a Princess again. So she walked forth, and sought
adventures. And her first adventure was with a dragon. He was an awful
big dragon, and flames of fire came out of his mouth and his ears and
his toes. But the Princess wasn't afraid of him, and as there was a big
hydrant near by, she turned it on him and put the flames out. Then he
wailed, and wept, and he said: 'Oh, Violetta Angelina, I have a woe! Oh,
oh, I have a woe!' And as she was a kind Princess, she said, 'Tell me
what your woe is, and perhaps I can help you.' So the Dragon said----"

Here Kingdon's ribbon pulled, and, though taken somewhat unawares, the
boy tried to jump right into the story-telling, and he said:

"'Yes, yes, my dear,' said the Dragon, 'I have a woe, and it's this:
everybody laughs at me because I cannot climb a tree!' 'Is that all?'
asked the Princess, in surprise; 'why, I will teach you to climb a
tree.' 'Oh, if you only would!' exclaimed the Dragon. So the Princess
taught him to climb a tree, and they all lived happy ever after."

King brought his story to an abrupt close, because his mother had begun
to look at the clock, and to intimate by sundry nods and gestures that
it was bedtime.

"But Mother hasn't told any of the story yet," said Kitty, who was
herself so sleepy she could scarcely listen even to the tale of her own
Violetta Evangeline.

"Mother's story must wait till some other time," said Mrs. Maynard.
"This is the time for everybody of fourteen years or less to skip-hop up
to bed."

So away trooped the children, glad to have learned a new game, and
carefully putting away for future use the spool with the ribbons through
it.

"But the ribbons don't really make any difference," said Molly, as they
went upstairs. "You could just as well _say_ whose turn comes next."

"But it's so much prettier," argued Marjorie; "and it makes it seem so
much more like a game."

"What's the name of the game?"

"I don't know; let's make up one."

"All right; Spool Stories,--no, Spool Yarn."

"A Spool of Yarns!" cried Marjorie, clapping her hands. "That's the very
thing!"

And so "A Spool of Yarns" became one of their favorite games, and was
often played in the evenings or on stormy days.

The rest of Molly's visit passed all too quickly, and Marjorie was sad