Queenie stood a little apart, longing to join in the fun, but restrained by two powerful reasons: first, she thought it beneath her dignity to condescend to play with a poor little boy like David; and, in the second, she did not mean to speak to Bertie until she had shown her displeasure at his conduct in daring to advise Phil to a course of action that had robbed her of much anticipated fun. Bertie grew tired of the game before the elder boys, who were stronger than he; and then he came and stood by Queenie, who looked, as he thought, rather dull. Queenie did not look at him or speak to him; but Bertie was very straightforward and simple-minded, and did not in the least know that he was in the little lady’s black books. “Why don’t you play too?” he asked. “Why should I?” “I thought you liked playing. You said yesterday you were always wishing you had some boys to play with.” Queenie’s chin went up into the air. “_Some_ boys,” she answered, grandly. “I did not say _any_ boys.” Bertie was a little puzzled by this rather fine distinction. “Are we _any_ boys?” he asked. “Rather like it, I think,” answered Queenie, a little put out by Bertie’s simplicity. “You wanted to play with me yesterday,” remarked Bertie. “I suppose you are rather changeable, aren’t you?” Queenie looked exceedingly angry. “I suppose you are a very impertinent little boy, and don’t know your manners.” Bertie saw now that Queenie was angry. He began to think she was not quite so nice as he had once thought. He judged it wise to change the subject. “Aren’t you very glad Phil has come home? I think he is _such_ a nice boy!” This praise of her favorite brother soothed Queenie’s ruffled feelings a little. Moreover, she was finding it a little dull to be so cross. She felt that she was spoiling her own fun, without being half as dignified as she could wish. “Yes, he is a _very_ nice boy,” she answered, with more warmth; “only I think it is a great pity he did not hide away as we intended. It would have been great fun; and I can’t think why you came and spoiled it all.” Bertie looked a little shy, but he did not offer any excuse for his conduct. This silence encouraged Queenie, who continued, with judicial severity,— “I think you were a very interfering little boy.” Bertie was silent for some time, and then he said, slowly,— “I didn’t mean to interfere. I only wanted him to go on being brave.” “I should think he wouldn’t want _you_ to teach him that.” “It didn’t sound very brave to hide away and make everybody frightened and miserable. You would have been very unhappy if you had not known where he was, and so would other people. I don’t think it brave to frighten people and make them unhappy just because it’s fun.” Queenie made no reply. She was not angry, yet she rather felt as if she ought to be. “What made you think of all that, Bertie?” “I don’t know. It seemed to come into my head. I suppose somebody told me once.”