And still holding the presents, they trooped after him through the hall, Bobbert’s mother close to the leader, the aunties and Mr. Ferris at the end of the line. Through the dining-room, through the wide pantry, through the hall, and up to the kitchen door they tiptoed. Uncle Frank paused a moment, nodded, and made room for Bobbert’s father, while the grandfathers crowded up and the aunties peeped under and over. On the floor before the well-swept kitchen hearth sat David; beside him, a little space away, squatted Bobbert, a long black hockey-stick in his hand. Between them were arranged large pieces of coal from the hod—arranged in what appeared to be nine-pin patterns. “I shall attack from the right at daybreak. You’ll see what the Mosquito Fleet can do, Mr. David! Your clumsy old Spanish ships can’t move quick enough! Can they?” “Wait and see, Bob, my boy!” “This coal makes dandy ships—don’t it? A lot of coal would be a fine present—wouldn’t it? They use wood upstairs, and I don’t believe I could get hold of any. Are you enjoying yourself, David?” “You bet I am, Bob. Put your flagship in line.” “Well, I will. She was out for—for repairs. When I go skating, David, I’ll never use any other hockey-stick. I wanted a black one next to a boat. You were lovely to give it to me. I’ll be big enough for a boat next year, I hope.” “Well, now it’s daybreak. Lieutenant, are you ready?” “Aye, aye, sir.” “Begin the fight!” “Aye, aye, sir.” The coal flew about thick and fast, the commanders shuffled the lumps into place, cheering and encouraging their officers and crews. Ship after ship sank, to rise no more, in a clatter of coal on the hearth. Under cover of the noise Uncle Frank led them away, silent, through the empty rooms, to where the deserted Christmas tree sheltered only Minna, cooing German cradle-songs to her sleeping baby. “Now look here,” he said. “Let’s be sensible, dear people. We’ll go on enjoying our presents and sports—and let Bobbert enjoy his. Why not, eh?” THE HEART OF A CHILD The sun-glare lies on the road and the field and the house. The beetles buzz and buzz, and the hens chuckle drowsily, half sunk in the gray dust. There are only three little white clouds in all the warm blue sky. It is quite still, except for the hens and the beetles and the occasional flap of the collie’s tail on the warm flags. No one passes up or down the road. It is the hot noon sleep of the country in August.