ng to feel a certain admiration for her pluck. It was
almost a pity she was a girl.

* * * * *

"Look out, Margery!" It was Tommy Grayson who gave the friendly
warning. "They's a tin can over there."

Margery shifted her direction, and soon reached deeper water,
where she was able to stand up without shocking the sensibilities
of any one. The little boys were still some distance from her.
The water, muddy beyond all chance of transparency, came up to
their chests. To them, however, this was not enough. The
excessive modesty of eight or nine made them keep even the white
of their angular little shoulders primly covered.

Now, human nature can not be expected to retain forever that
freshness of surprise which it feels over every new experience
in life. Time, philosophy tells us, accustoms man to almost
anything. It does the same for small boys. Beyond question it was
enough to take the wind out of any one to see a girl coolly strip
and come in swimming quite as though she were a boy, with all a
boy's peculiar rights and privileges. But, astonishing as that
might be, it was after all no reason for standing there all day
like sticks in the mud when you might just as well be having a
good time.

Margery, who was also standing like a stick, felt as bored as
they. With nothing to do but gently bounce with the slight
lap-lap of the water, she found herself wondering more and more
just where the fun of swimming came in.

She watched with envy the small beginnings that betokened in the
boys a return to the serious play of life. Charley Burns gave
Freddy Larkin an unexpected ducking. Freddy came up spluttering
and blowing, but with a handful of slimy mud which he plastered
over Charley's white head. Then a splash fight became general.
Every one splashed water into every one else's face. Margery
noted with interest the peculiar downward stroke of the flat hand
which brought about the finest results. She added her shouts to
the boys', and longed to add some splashes likewise.

Now, the progress of a splash fight is thus: At first there are
no sides--every man's splash is against every man's; but the
splashes of all turn immediately against him who shows first
signs of defeat; and he, the victim, may then use any means
whatever to protect himself.

Eddie Grote was the victim this time. When the deluge became
choking, he turned his back, ducked, and then let fly in the
general direction of t