THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAY CHEER: 180+ Novels, Tales & Poems in One Volume (Illustrated Edition). Лаймен Фрэнк Баум

imploringly, 'Let me in! let me in!' But the pretty princess did not seem to understand, for she picked her roses quietly, and left him to fight his way in. Whether he did or not, Frank will tell you."

      "I can't; I'm not playing, I never do," said Frank, dismayed at the sentimental predicament out of which he was to rescue the absurd couple. Beth had disappeared behind Jo, and Grace was asleep.

      "So the poor knight is to be left sticking in the hedge, is he?" asked Mr. Brooke, still watching the river, and playing with the wild rose in his button-hole.

      "I guess the princess gave him a posy, and opened the gate, after a while," said Laurie, smiling to himself, as he threw acorns at his tutor.

      "What a piece of nonsense we have made! With practice we might do something quite clever. Do you know 'Truth'?" asked Sallie, after they had laughed over their story.

      "I hope so," said Meg soberly.

      "The game, I mean?"

      "What is it?" said Fred.

      "Why, you pile up your hands, choose a number, and draw out in turn, and the person who draws at the number has to answer truly any questions put by the rest. It's great fun."

      "Let's try it," said Jo, who liked new experiments.

      Miss Kate and Mr. Brooke, Meg, and Ned declined, but Fred, Sallie, Jo, and Laurie piled and drew; and the lot fell to Laurie.

      "Who are your heroes?" asked Jo.

      "Grandfather and Napoleon."

      "Which lady here do you think prettiest?" said Sallie.

      "Margaret."

      "Which do you like best?" from Fred.

      "Jo, of course."

      "What silly questions you ask!" and Jo gave a disdainful shrug as the rest laughed at Laurie's matter-of-fact tone.

      "Try again; Truth isn't a bad game," said Fred.

      "It's a very good one for you," retorted Jo, in a low voice.

      Her turn came next.

      "What is your greatest fault?" asked Fred, by way of testing in her the virtue he lacked himself.

      "A quick temper."

      "What do you most wish for?" said Laurie.

      "A pair of boot-lacings," returned Jo, guessing and defeating his purpose.

      "Not a true answer; you must say what you really do want most."

      "Genius; don't you wish you could give it to me, Laurie?" and she slyly smiled in his disappointed face.

      "What virtues do you most admire in a man?" asked Sallie.

      "Courage and honesty."

      "Now my turn," said Fred, as his hand came last.

      "Let's give it to him," whispered Laurie to Jo, who nodded, and asked at once,—

      "Didn't you cheat at croquet?"

      "Well, yes, a little bit."

      "Good! Didn't you take your story out of 'The Sea-Lion?'" said Laurie.

      "Rather."

      "Don't you think the English nation perfect in every respect?" asked Sallie.

      "I should be ashamed of myself if I didn't."

      "He's a true John Bull. Now, Miss Sallie, you shall have a chance without waiting to draw. I'll harrow up your feelings first, by asking if you don't think you are something of a flirt," said Laurie, as Jo nodded to Fred, as a sign that peace was declared.

      "You impertinent boy! of course I'm not," exclaimed Sallie, with an air that proved the contrary.

      "What do you hate most?" asked Fred.

      "Spiders and rice-pudding."

      "What do you like best?" asked Jo.

      "Dancing and French gloves."

      "Well, I think Truth is a very silly play; let's have a sensible game of Authors, to refresh our minds," proposed Jo.

      Ned, Frank, and the little girls joined in this, and, while it went on, the three elders sat apart, talking. Miss Kate took out her sketch again, and Margaret watched her, while Mr. Brooke lay on the grass, with a book, which he did not read.

      "How beautifully you do it! I wish I could draw," said Meg, with mingled admiration and regret in her voice.

      "Why don't you learn? I should think you had taste and talent for it," replied Miss Kate graciously.

      "I haven't time."

      "Your mamma prefers other accomplishments, I fancy. So did mine; but I proved to her that I had talent, by taking a few lessons privately, and then she was quite willing I should go on. Can't you do the same with your governess?"

      "I have none."

      "I forgot; young ladies in America go to school more than with us. Very fine schools they are, too, papa says. You go to a private one, I suppose?"

      "I don't go at all; I am a governess myself."

      "Oh, indeed!" said Miss Kate; but she might as well have said, "Dear me, how dreadful!" for her tone implied it, and something in her face made Meg color, and wish she had not been so frank.

      Mr. Brooke looked up, and said quickly, "Young ladies in America love independence as much as their ancestors did, and are admired and respected for supporting themselves."

      "Oh, yes; of course it's very nice and proper in them to do so. We have many most respectable and worthy young women, who do the same and are employed by the nobility, because, being the daughters of gentlemen, they are both well-bred and accomplished, you know," said Miss Kate, in a patronizing tone, that hurt Meg's pride, and made her work seem not only more distasteful, but degrading.

      "Did the German song suit, Miss March?" inquired Mr. Brooke, breaking an awkward pause.

      "Oh, yes! it was very sweet, and I'm much obliged to whoever translated it for me;" and Meg's downcast face brightened as she spoke.

      "Don't you read German?" asked Miss Kate, with a look of surprise.

      "Not very well. My father, who taught me, is away, and I don't get on very fast alone, for I've no one to correct my pronunciation."

      "Try a little now; here is Schiller's 'Mary Stuart,' and a tutor who loves to teach," and Mr. Brooke laid his book on her lap, with an inviting smile.

      "It's so hard I'm afraid to try," said Meg, grateful, but bashful in the presence of the accomplished young lady beside her.

      "I'll read a bit to encourage you;" and Miss Kate read one of the most beautiful passages, in a perfectly correct but perfectly expressionless manner.

      Mr. Brooke made no comment, as she returned the book to Meg, who said innocently,—

      "I thought it was poetry."

      "Some of it is. Try this passage."

      There was a queer smile about Mr. Brooke's mouth as he opened at poor Mary's lament.

      Meg, obediently following the long grass-blade which her new tutor used to point with, read slowly and timidly, unconsciously making poetry of the hard words by the soft intonation of her musical voice. Down the page went the green guide, and presently, forgetting her listener in the beauty of the sad scene, Meg read as if alone, giving a little touch of tragedy to the words of the unhappy queen. If she had seen the brown eyes then, she would have stopped short; but she never looked up, and the lesson was not spoiled for her.

      "Very well indeed!" said Mr. Brooke, as she paused, quite ignoring her many mistakes, and looking as if he did, indeed, "love to teach."

      Miss Kate put up her glass, and, having taken a survey of the little tableau before her, shut her sketch-book, saying, with condescension,—