y, I don't know that I have ever considered the question. You
see, I have always been a girl myself, so perhaps I am not qualified to
judge. But--do you think boys have so very much more idea? It seems to
me I know some one who has been late for tea several times this week."

Willy looked conscious. "Well," he said, "I know; but that is different.
When you are late for tea,--I mean when a boy is,--he is generally doing
something that he wants very much indeed to get through with, fishing,
or splicing a bat, or something that really has to be done. Besides, he
knows they won't wait tea for him, so it doesn't make any difference."

"I see!" said Margaret. "And girls are never doing anything important.
Aren't you rather severe on us, Willy?"

Willy was about to reassure her kindly, for he was extremely fond of
her; but at this moment a cheery "Hallo!" was heard, and the twins rode
up on their bicycles, bright-eyed and flushed after a fine spurt.

"Neck and neck!" said Gerald. "Margaret, I hope you don't object to
being a winning-post. That was a great run."

"Where have you been?" asked Margaret, as the two dismounted and walked
along on either side of her.

"Over to the Corners, to send a telegram for the Pater. And thereby
hangs a tale."

"May we hear it? We love a tale, don't we, Willy?"

Willy did not look particularly enthusiastic, but he murmured something,
which Gerald did not wait to hear.

"Well, the Pater desired to send a telegram, even winged words, to that
man who has been trying to send us shellac for the last three weeks, and
who has, we fear, broken down from the strain. A neat despatch it was:
'Send to-morrow, or not at all.--M. Merryweather.' Well, we had just
sent it, when we heard some one behind us say, '_Oh_, gosh!' in a tone
of such despair that we turned round to see if it was the shellac man in
person. It was little Bean, the pitcher of the Corners team, all dressed
up in his baseball togs, scarlet breeches and blue shirt, quite the bird
of paradise, and reading a yellow telegram, and his face black as
thunder. He was an impressionist study, wasn't he, Fergy? We asked what
was up, or rather down, for elevation had no part in him. It appeared
that a match was on for this afternoon, between the Baked Beans and the
Sweet Peas, the Corners and the Spruce Point team. The Beans were all
here except the pitcher and first-baseman, brothers, who were to come
over by themselves, as they lived at som