"Do you enjoy telling stories more than hearing them told?" I inquired, when we had played this game to the extent of three stories on either side. "No," my little boy friend replied. "I like hearing stories told more than anything. But _that_ isn't a game; that's just being-told-stories. The _game_ is taking-turns-telling-stories." He enunciated each phrase as though it were a single word. His mother had spoken truly when she said that her little boy had learned to play intelligently. He had learned, also, to include his elders in his games on equal terms. Small wonder that they took real pleasure in playing with him. The children cordially welcome us to their games. They ask us to be children with them. As heartily, they would have us bespeak their company in our games; they are willing to try to be grown-up with us. I was visiting a family recently, in which there is but one small child, a boy of eight. One evening we were acting charades. Divided into camps, we chose words in turn, and in turn were chosen to superintend the "acting-out" of the particular word. It happened that the word "Psychical-research," and the turn of the eight-year-old boy to be stage-manager coincided. Every one in his camp laughed, but no one so much as remotely suggested that the word or the stage-manager be changed. "What does it mean, 'Psychical-research'?" the boy made question. We laughed still more, but we genuinely tried to make the term comprehensible to the child's mind. This led to such prolonged and lively argument that the little stage- manager finally observed: "I don't see how it _can_ mean _all_ that all of you say. Can't we let the whole-word act of it go, and act out the rest? We can, you know--'Sigh,' 'kick,' 'all'; and 're' (like in music, you know), and 'search!'" "Oh, no," we demurred; "we must do it properly, or not at all!" "Well, then," said the boy, in a quaintly resigned tone of voice, "talk to me about it, until I know what it is!" In spite of hints from the other camp not to overlap the time allotted us, in the face of messages from them to hurry, regardless of their protests against our dilatoriness, we did talk to that little eight- year-old boy about "Psychical-research" until he understood its meaning sufficiently to plan his final act. "If he is playing with us, then he _is_ playing with us," his father somewhat cryptically remarked; "and he must know the details of the game." This playing with grown-ups does not curtail the play in which children engage with their contemporaries. There are games that are distinctly "children's games." We all know of what stuff they are made, for most of us have played them in our time--running-games, jumping-games, shouting- games. By stepping to our windows nearly any afternoon, we may see some of them in process. But we shall not be invited to participate. At best, the children will pause for a moment to ask, "Did you play it this way?"