“There are places in the woods where Miss Arctura and I went one day that would be splendid for make-believes, I should think,” ventured Polly, anxious to please this remarkable boy. “There are rocks that you could hide behind and jump out at me. I shouldn’t be a bit afraid--truly, I shouldn’t!” “We’ll see,” said Bobby, “only to-morrow’s Sunday, you know, and, of course, we have to go to church--and, anyway, I couldn’t be as fierce about it as if you were a boy. I couldn’t knock a girl over, or pitch into her and wrest her sword from her grasp. That’s where the fun comes in.” “I thought they said you didn’t care much about play,” said Polly, much surprised. “I don’t care for ball, or marbles, or any of those things,” said Bobby, scornfully. “I’d rather read, any day. But there’s a fellow at home, George Rogers--just twelve, my age, you know--and he and I play a robber band piece that we’ve made out of different books. I can tell you it’s worth seeing. Only, I suppose, ’twould scare a girl blue.” “It would not scare me blue.” said Polly, shaking her curls. “I should like it!” “Eleanor never minded it,” said the boy, softly, to himself, but Polly heard him, and her heart beat high with hope as he took off his spectacles, rubbed them for a minute with a big, white handkerchief, and then adjusted them carefully to his nose, as Uncle Blodgett always did when preparing to read the newspaper. “Perhaps he’ll think I’m something like Eleanor, after all,” said Polly in her heart. She hesitated for a moment and then leaned over until her head was almost against the boy’s shoulder, as he sat gazing into the fire. “Do you like ‘Mary’ for a name?” she asked, scarcely breathing the words. “Why, yes, I don’t know but I do,” said the boy, turning to face her. “But what are you whispering for? I can tell you what I don’t like--I despise ‘Bobby’ for a name! It’s just like baby talk--but I’m afraid of hurting Aunt Hetty’s feelings if I say anything about it. Next time she comes over to our house, I’m going to get grandfather just to suggest to her that it’s time to give up nicknames when a boy’s all but in his teens. He can do it all right. Maybe she’ll bring you over. I’d like to show you George Rogers, and we could do our act for you.” “Perhaps I shall be in school then,” said Polly, feeling highly honored by this invitation, “there are only two weeks more vacation.” “You’re not going to school next term,” said Bobby. “I know, for Aunt Hetty told me. She wants to get you more ‘chippered up,’ Arctura says. Isn’t Arctura an old dear? Did she ever tell you what the children used to sing about her nose when she was a young one? It’s funny, and she says she never minded, but I’d have soon stopped them if I’d been there.” “She never told me,” said Polly, with a glance of admiration at the boy who spoke so valiantly while he looked so mild, “I’d like to hear it.”