"I wish we might have the Theogony out on Sunday," Montagu grumbled. "The people there are pretty enough. Do you think we could, Guardie, dear?" "I fear not. I don’t think Miss Esperance would like it." "Is your book a Sunday book?" Edmund asked severely. "Well, no, perhaps not exactly; it is a very beautiful play." "What’s a play?" "Something that can be acted." "Is it wicked to act?" "No, I don’t think so—but there are people——" "Why, then, did Elsa say the tiger-man was wicked?" Edmund interposed. "He’s an actor, isn’t he?" Mr. Wycherly was spared an answer to this question, as at that very moment some one was seen coming through the garden toward them—a tall young man in black, who proved to be none other than the tiger-man himself. The boys rushed at him, shouting joyfully. "Oh, tiger-man, have you come to play with us? You promised you would, you know." "I’ve come to say good-bye," he said, as each child seized a hand and hung on to him. "I have to go to-night." "But you’ll have a little play with us first; just one? It’s been such a long Sabbath, and it isn’t nearly tea-time yet." Edmund’s voice was very piteous. "Poor mites," said the tiger-man. "I’ll tell you what we’ll do. You go down to the bottom of the garden under the trees and wait for me for five minutes. Then I’ll come to you and we’ll do something—it mustn’t be noisy—but we’ll make some sort of a play. Just let me have five minutes with Mr. Wycherly here—see, there’s my watch—when the five minutes are up you give me a call." As he spoke he took off his watch and chain and gave it to Montagu. The little boys ran to the end of the garden and waited by the wall. "He must have climbed over," Edmund said. "I suppose it isn’t very high when your legs are so long." "Edmund," said Montagu very seriously, "I don’t think we ought to bother him to play. He looks very sorry. You see, his mother’s just dead—perhaps he doesn’t feel at all like playing. You see, before, when we had that lovely game, he was just going to see her—now——" Edmund’s face fell. The tiger-man’s advent had seemed a direct interposition of Providence on his behalf. Now, it appeared that he was not to avail himself of it after all. "Sha’n’t you call him when it’s the five minutes?" he asked. "No," said Montagu, "it would be kinder not, don’t you think?" Edmund’s mouth went down at the corners. "It’s been so mizzable all day," he sighed. "Aunt Esperance is sorry, and Guardie is sorry, and now you’re sorry, and say he mustn’t play wiv me. How long must people keep on being sorry? He said he’d play his own self."