he allied forces two slimy handfuls of
mud. In the excitement of the game the boys had clean forgot the
immodesty of bare shoulders, and had even broken away from their
original close grouping until, to all appearances, Margery was
one of them. So it happened that, when Freddy Larkin dodged
aside, one handful of the watery mud caught Margery square on the
head and splattered down over her face and ears.

"Aw, see what you done, Eddie Grote!" Tommy Grayson shouted
indignantly. "You went and throwed mud on Margery's hair ribbon!
Ain't you got no sense?"

In the pause that followed, four little boys reviled the fifth
with various forms of, "Aw, what'd you do that for?" And the
fifth stood still in awkward consternation, the mud still
dripping from his guilty hand.

For a moment Margery, too, was concerned, but only for a moment.
When, under any circumstances, one's world is coming to an end
within a few hours at furthest, a hair ribbon more or less
matters very little. Moreover, it suddenly flashed upon Margery
that here was a chance to make those few remaining hours more
golden and at the same time gratify her soul with a trial at that
masterly downward stroke of the flat hand. So before Eddie Grote
had time to close his astonished mouth, she filled it with a
mighty splash of water. Then, while Eddie choked and spluttered,
too surprised to defend himself, she sent another well-aimed
splash and another, until the gasping Eddie was forced to turn
and flee. Not even then did Margery stop, but, following up her
advantage, she drove him on and on toward shore.

In their ecstasy at the spectacle, the remaining boys leaped up
and down in the water like happy little trout, clapping their
hands and shouting:

"Hurrah for Margery!"

"Give it to him, Margery!"

"I bet on Margery!"

"What's the matter with Margery?"

Eddie Grote was in a tight place. All woman's rights to the
contrary, in a struggle of the sexes a man has to show the woman
some consideration or fly in the face of public opinion. Eddie
Grote, although hard pressed, realized that public opinion would
not in this instance stand for what, ordinarily, would be his
_modus operandi_, namely, to fling mud over his shoulder. If he
could but gain a moment's time thus, he might make a dash for the
deeper water. But he could not, and the other little boys, as
they saw his growing predicament, raised shriller, louder shouts
of joy:

"That's right, Margery! Chase