“I’ve always had to play by myself,” said Eppie, “and it’s rather dull sometimes, having to carry on all the conversations alone.” And with a rush she brought out, rather aghast at her own hardihood, “I suppose you couldn’t think of playing with me?” Gavan, at this, showed something of the bashful air of a young bachelor asked to hold a baby, but in a moment he said, “I shouldn’t mind at all, though I’m afraid I shall be stupid at it.” Eppie flushed, incredulous of such good fortune, and almost reluctant to accept it. “You _really_ don’t mind, Gavan? Boys hate dolls, as a rule, you know.” “I don’t mind in the least,” he laughed. “I am sure I shall enjoy it. How do we begin? You must teach me.” “I’ll teach you everything. You are the very kindest person I ever knew, Gavan. Really, I wouldn’t ask you to if I didn’t believe you would like it when once you had tried it. It is such fun. And now we can make them do all sorts of things, have all sorts of adventures, that they never could have before.” She suspected purest generosity, but so trusted in the enchantments he was to discover that she felt herself justified in profiting by it. She placed in his hand Agnes, the fairest of all the dolls, golden-haired, blue-eyed. Agnes was good, and her own daughter, Elspeth, named after herself, was bad. “As bad as possible,” said Eppie. “I have to whip her a great deal.” Gavan, holding his charge rather helplessly and looking at Elspeth, a doll of sturdier build, with short hair, dark eyes, and, for a doll, a mutinous face, remarked, with his touch of humor, “I thought you didn’t approve of whipping.” “I don’t,--not real children, or dolls either, except when they are really bad. Mr. MacNab whips his all the time, and they are not a bit bad, really, as Elspeth is.” And Elspeth proceeded to demonstrate how really bad she was by falling upon Agnes with such malicious kicks and blows that Gavan, in defense of his own doll, dealt her a vigorous slap. “Well done, Mr. Palairet; she richly deserves it! Come here directly, you naughty child,” and after a scuffling flight around the summer-house, Elspeth was secured, and so soundly beaten that Gavan at last interceded for her with the ruthless mother. “Not until she says that she is sorry.” “Oh, Elspeth, say that you are sorry,” Gavan supplicated, while he laughed. “Really, Eppie, you are savage. I feel as if you were really hurting some one. Please forgive her now; Agnes has, I am sure.” “I hurt her because I love her and want her to be a good child. She will come to no good end when she grows up if she cannot learn to control her temper. What is it I hear you say, Elspeth?” Elspeth, in a low, sullen voice that did not augur well for permanent amendment, whispered that she was sorry, and was led up, crestfallen, to beg Agnes’s pardon and to receive a reconciling kiss.