"'The sun was----'"

Pauline folded her arms. "I won't write another word about the sun," she
said.

"Well, the moon--" said Lynn beseechingly. "Just say 'the moon looked
like a far-off silver boat.'"

"No," said Paul; "you've said once it looked like a starved baby."

"I didn't," said Lynn indignantly.

"Yes--'young and thin,' that's the same thing," said Pauline. "Now get
on to something else. What about the key?"

"'The key lay on the ground'," said Lynn resignedly, "'and sparkled in
the darkness'."

"Keys _don't_ sparkle in the darkness, but go on," said Paul, writing
away.

"This one did," persisted the poor little authoress; "the fairies had
smeared it with that phis,--phos,--oh, you know, that lovely shiny stuff
we saw on the sea at night when we were in the ship."

"I know," shouted Max; "lat-poison, like they put down at the tables to
kill the lats."

"It wasn't," said Lynn angrily,--"rat-poison indeed,--it was like
burning gold."

"Go on," said Pauline wearily.

"'Su'nnly out of a snow-white lily stepped a beautious fairy. She
had----'"

Scratch, scratch went Pauline's pen over a couple of pages; the fairy's
eyes were described and likened to stars and other shining things; her
ears, her teeth, her neck, her arms and hands were all lingeringly and
lovingly enumerated and described.

Max went back disgustedly to his digging for fire.

Muffie nearly fell asleep, Pauline's hand grew cramped, and still the
fairy continued to "have" things.

"'Her dress was of silver spider's silk studded all over with
dewdrops'," went on Lynn, beginning now energetically upon every detail
of the wardrobe of the "beautious" being.

And Pauline bore even with this, though she heaved a huge sigh of relief
when from crown to shoes the entire toilette of the fairy had been dealt
with.

But Lynn held her, like the ancient mariner, with a glittering eye.

"'She was followed by six handmaidens'," she said, "'and the first one
had----'"

But here Pauline struck. The prospect of describing six more beauteous
beings and their toilettes was more than she could contemplate.

"You've had your amount," she cried; "mine only took five pages, and
I've done five for you." And despite Lynn's wild entreaties, she wrote
"The End" at this point of the story, and shook Muffie and informed her
it was her turn.

Muffie yawned.

"'Oncepon a time'," she said.

"Go on," said Pauline.

"'Oncepon a time there was'----"