Mary, following his example, faithfully loaded her switch and let fly at every target that her fancy chose. Her success, however, was not brilliant, for her ball seldom soared beyond the shadows of the trees under which they sat, and never by any chance approached the object she had intended to hit. After numerous fruitless efforts, she laid aside her wand and brought from her basket a rag-doll which George had christened "Heatheress." Luncheon followed, and when Mary had spread the repast on a napkin, she said,-- "Let's play house while we eat, and I'll be the mother, and you be the father, and Heatheress will be the baby, and Aladdin--oh, yes, Aladdin will be the visitor." Now George would have writhed with shame had the boys at school heard of his entering into such girlish pastimes as this, but Mary was always so ready to join any game that he suggested, no matter how much she might dislike it, that he felt in duty bound to play her plays a part of the time. Besides, Mary Duff was so sweet, so winsome, that George found it hard to refuse anything that she asked; so he played "house" with a will, and enjoyed it nearly as much as she. "Mr. Aladdin," called Mistress Mary, as she gathered her family about the board, "please don't take the trouble to come downstairs; I have just sent your luncheon up to your room." The guest was evidently pleased with the arrangement, for he ate heartily of the delicious green things that he found in his apartment. When the children had finished, they withdrew to the screen of a blasted oak and sat rigidly still, watching the birds fly down and carry away the crumbs of the feast. Later, they made little rafts of chips gathered from the river, furnished them with paper sails and pebbly cargoes, and set them afloat for Spain, Africa, and Jamaica. Finally, George drew from the breast of his jacket a faded, ragged book, and lay in the grass reading aloud from his favorite story of Robert Bruce, while Mary leaned against a tree near by and listened. Before the reader had reached the climax of the tale, he glanced over his book, only to discover the little girl fast asleep against her tree, with her lap full of wild flowers. Forbearing to disturb her, George finished the story in silence. Then the book slipped from his hands and he, too, stretched on the cool grass, with a few stray sunbeams flickering across him, sank down, down, to the land of dreams. [Illustration: "Lay in the grass reading aloud from his favorite story."] A sociable whinny roused the boy at length, and scrambling up by aid of a slender sapling, he noticed that the shadows had greatly lengthened during his nap. "Wake up, Mary," he called, tweaking one of her brown curls; "I promised your mother that I would bring you back by five o'clock, and we must go now." Mary assented, as she usually did to whatever George proposed, and in five minutes she had sprung into the red saddle and cantered off to the first tying-place.