“That’s me and Ann,” Jim whispered to his grandfather. “Say, because it’s our first night here you want us to sit up to have just one game. I mean an intellectual game――one that you can play too, you know――with pencils and bits of paper, writing things down. You choose twelve things――like a flower, or an animal, or a book――and then somebody says a letter, and you write down the names of things beginning with it. You know what I mean? If it was a flower and the letter was D you could write down daisy; and for the animal, dog; and for the book――any book that begins with D. It’s just the sort of game you would love. Besides, I’m awfully good at it and can help you.... Say you want it――quick――quick, or Miss Johnson won’t let us have it.” He clutched grandpapa’s hand vigorously under the table, jigging up and down on his chair, while his eyes shone. Grandpapa coughed, and with a fine assumption of spontaneity proposed the game. Miss Johnson’s objections were gently waved aside. “Thanks _fearfully_,” Jim whispered. “I like you awfully. You’re not a bit like what I was led to expect.” “I wasn’t led to expect anything like you either,” the canon confessed in return. Jim gazed at him. “Why are you laughing?” “With anticipated pleasure. You must remember I hardly ever play games.” “You can now. We can play every evening――and all day if it’s wet. I’ll try to think of other games you would like.” “Would you mind telling me how old you are? I know I ought to know, but I’ve forgotten.” “Nine. Ann’s ten; Barbara’s twelve; Grif’s thirteen; and Edward’s fifteen. I don’t know how old Palmer is, but I expect he’s about the same as Edward.... What made you ask?” “I was trying to think what I was like at nine. I can’t remember.” “You were like Grif. Mother says so.” “I don’t believe I was; and anyway I don’t know Grif very well. Tell me about him.” Jim was silenced, while he stared hard at his brother. “_I_ don’t think he’s like you,” he declared at last. “Not in appearance, certainly,” the canon agreed. “Not in any way.... I can’t tell you about Grif.... I could tell you more about Edward and Barbara and Ann. Edward’s called Angelina at school, and he hates it. That’s why we laughed when Ann said that about the heroine of Miss Johnson’s novel. I expect he’s called it because he thinks such a lot about his clothes and all that. I can beat him at this game we’re going to play.” “And can you beat the others?” Jim hesitated. “I don’t think I can beat Palmer.” “Perhaps you and I together could.” “Oh, easily. But then――that mightn’t be fair.... You see, he’s your guest.... I mean, he doesn’t belong to you the way we do. I think we’d better let Palmer win if he can.” “Then you’re not going to help me after all?” “Well――if you aren’t getting on very well――I might help you a little.” “I tell you what we’ll do. You and I’ll challenge any other pair to a game of croquet.”