a moment Florence stood aghast, but only for a moment; then she
stamped a tiny foot imperiously.

"Oh, you naughty boy!" she exclaimed. "You naughty, naughty boy!"

Once more Ben's hands were in his pockets. "Why?" he asked innocently.

"Because you don't play right!"

"You told me to knock the duck off, and I did!"

"But not that way." Florence's small chin was high in the air. "I'm
going in the house."

Ben made no motion to follow her, none to prevent her going.

"I'm sorry," he said simply.

The little girl took two steps decidedly, a third haltingly, a fourth,
then stopped and looked back out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you very sorry?" she asked.

Ben nodded his head gravely.

There was a moment of indecision. "All right," she said, with apparent
reluctance; "but we won't play duck any more. We'll play drop the
handkerchief."

The boy discreetly ignored the change of purpose.

"I don't know how," he admitted once more.

Such deplorable ignorance aroused her sympathy.

"Don't Mr. Rankin, or--or anyone--play with you?" she asked.

Ben shook his head.

"All right, then," she said obligingly, "I'll show you."

With her heel she drew upon the ground a rough circle about ten feet in
diameter.

"You can't cross that place in there," she said.

The boy looked at the bare ground critically. No visible barrier
presented itself to his vision.

"Why not?" he asked.

Florence made a gesture of disapproval. "Because you can't," she
explained. Then, some further reason seeming necessary, she added,
"Perhaps there are red-hot irons or snakes, or something, in there.
Anyway, you can't cross!"

Ben made no comment, and his instructor looked at him a moment
doubtfully.

"Now," she went on, "I stand right here close to the line, and you take
the handkerchief." She produced a dainty little kerchief with a "B"
embroidered in the corner. "Drop it behind me, and get in my place if
you can before I touch you. If you get clear around and catch me before
I notice you--you can kiss me. Do you see?"

Ben could see.

"All right, then." And the little girl stood at attention, very prim,
apparently very watchful, toes touching the line.

The nature of Benjamin Blair was very direct. The first time he passed,
he dropped the handkerchief and proceeded calmly on his journey. His
back toward her, the little girl turned and gave a surreptitious glance
behind; then quickly shifted to her original position, a lo