now," he admitted.

The little girl wrinkled her forehead in thought.

"It's funny, isn't it?" she said. "Now, my papa's name is Baker, and my
name's Florence Baker. You ought to be Ben Rankin--but you aren't." She
stroked a diminutive nose with a fairy forefinger. "It's funny," she
repeated.

"Oh!" commented Benjamin. He understood now, but explanations were not a
part of his philosophy. "Oh!" and the subject dropped.

"Let's play duck on the rock," suggested Florence.

The boy's hands were deep in the recesses of his pockets.

"I don't know how."

"That's nothing." The small brunette had the air of one to whom
difficulties were unknown. "I'll show you. Papa and I play, and it's
lots of fun--only he beats me." She looked about for available material.

"You get that little box up by the house," she directed, "and we'll have
that for the rock."

Ben did as ordered.

"Now bring two tin cans. You'll find a pile back of the barn."

Once more the boy departed, to return a moment later with a pair of
"selects," each bearing in gaudy illumination a composite picture of the
ingredients of succotash.

"Now watch me," said Florence.

She carried the box about a rod away and planted it firmly on the
ground. "This is the rock," she explained. On the top of the box she
perched one of the cans, open end up. "And this is the duck--my duck. Do
you see?"

The boy had watched the proceedings carefully. "Yes, I see," he said.

Florence came back to the barn. "Now the game is for you to take this
other can and knock my duck off. Then we both run, and if you get your
can on the box ahead of me, I'm _it_, and I'll have to knock off your
duck. Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"All right." And the sport was on.

Ben poised his missile and carefully let fly.

"He, he!" tittered Florence. "You missed!"

He retrieved his duck without comment.

"Try again; you've got three chances."

More carefully than before Ben took aim and tossed his can.

"Missed again!" exulted the little brunette. "You've only one more try."
And the brown eyes flashed with mischief.

For the last time Ben stood at position.

"Be careful! you're out if you miss."

Even more slowly than before the boy took aim, swung his arm overhead
clear from the shoulder, and threw with all his might. There was a flash
of gaudy paper through the air, a resounding impact of tin against wood,
and the make-believe duck skipped away as though fearful of danger.

For