“We think it’s only fair to you,” he said, bowing to his aunt, and casting a glance beyond her into the darkness where sat the Greens, “to tell you that there were three syllables to the first act--there’ll be two to this next one--and one to the last.” “Three syllables--that settles it--murder’s only got two,” remarked Hiram, solemnly. “Well, I’ve guessed wrong the first time. Got any light on it, Miss Hetty?” “I’m not sure, of course, Hiram,” said Miss Pomeroy, with a laugh, “but I have the glimmer of an idea.” Hiram’s chuckle ended abruptly as the door opened to admit Polly, bearing a slate, on which was drawn an irregular-shaped object, from the top of which a long line curved off to one edge of the slate. “I call that a pin-quishion,” said Hiram, meditatively, “or else a balloon. I don’t know which. It’s first-rate for either one.” “It isn’t,” said Polly; then she blushed, shook her head, and ran out of the room, to be received by her partner in the hall with a good deal of reproach. “I seem to be sinking in deeper every time,” said Hiram, in a loud voice, intended to reach the other hall. “Murder--quishion is the nearest I’ve come.” “In this next scene you’ve got to pretend you’re all English,” said the boy, pausing on the threshold before he and Polly entered, “for that’s the only way we can make it come out right.” “Pretty short notice for a man that’s never been thirty miles from home,” said Mr. Green, in a melancholy tone. The actors paid no heed to him. Polly put her little right hand to her ear and assumed a listening attitude, while the boy fell prone upon his stomach, and, raising his head, began to squirm over the floor, making a strange sound suggestive of tightly-shut teeth and breath drawn in and let out with all possible force. At last he squirmed out of the door, followed by the listening Polly. There was a sound of animated dialogue in the hall, and then just as Hiram had made the doleful announcement that all was lost as far as his guessing was concerned, in came the boy and girl, hand in hand. “We can’t do the whole word,” announced Bobby, “for we’ve decided we don’t either of us draw well enough. But all I can say is, it’s on the map. Now, have you guessed? You have, Aunt Hetty, I know you have!” “I’m not at all certain,” said Miss Pomeroy, cautiously. “Could it be--Indianapolis?” “I knew you’d guess,” said the boy, delightedly. “Wasn’t it pretty good? Indian--apple--’iss. ’Twas her idea, thinking of dropping the h off hiss, because her Uncle Blodgett told her once that was the way English people talked.” He looked with appreciation at Polly, as he gave her this generous tribute. “Wasn’t it bright of her?” “I move we clap the whole company,” said Hiram--and the entertainment closed in a burst of applause, while the two actors made their very best bows to the audience. [TO BE CONTINUED] [Illustration: “GOOD BY” SPEEDING THE UNFORTUNATE WHOSE SCHOOL OPENS FIRST] _Wood-Folk Talk_