'I'm sure I never did,' I muttered from behind the veil of hair which was rapidly falling over my face.

I often wonder why boys are so fond of pulling out hair-pins. I think one reason must be that they never believe any one's hair is their own. Our boys have always a secret hope that a long plait or bunch of hair might be 'unscrewed' and captured, if they could only find the way.

We were only half through Margie's hair when we were invaded by a whirlwind of children coming over the low hillock under which we were sitting.

Come along, you must come!' were at first the only distinguishable words among the babel with which we were surrounded.

'We've found such a nice place!' shouted King.

'And it's so sheltered!' put in Birdie.

'And we've picked up such a lot of driftwood for a fire!' said Edwin.

'And we've got all the shawls ready for you, so do please come!' cried all the party together.

'Come, what for?' I asked. 'You don't want tea yet; it is scarcely four o'clock.'

'No, but we want a story, Biddy!' And the whole tribe of children danced round me, while Tony politely handed me up by my hair.

We went to see this charming place, and certainly it was more sheltered than we had thought possible

on those low sands. Miss Law, with the reluctant Nello, was seated close to a huge pile of driftwood, and the shawls looked large enough to seat the whole party.

'What shall I tell you?' I asked, when we had all seated ourselves in an irregular circle.

'A true story!' 'A fairy story!' 'A made-up story!' was shouted on all sides. Votes were promptly taken, for we are always very business-like on these occasions, and it was declared in favour of a true story.

'Let me see, what sort of story shall I tell?' I asked. 'I think it shall be about a little girl whom I met when I was staying in Hampshire two years ago.'

'And don't put yourself in,' said Birdie at my elbow. 'Make it just like a story out of a book.'

So, sitting on those low, lonely sands, while the shadowless midsummer day grew deeper over them, I told them the story of that other midsummer night.—

IOLET! Violet!' shouted a little boy who

was running down the garden at Beechcroft Rectory. 'Violet! where are you?'

'Here,' answered a quiet voice near him; and passing through the belt of laurels which divided the garden from the children's playground, he came upon the owner of the voice sitting dreamily in the swing under a magnificent tree, and so deep in her book that she answered without looking up.

'Violet!' panted the breathless child, 'papa's come home, and he's brought the book for Eda, and I've brought it out here to think where we should hide it.'

'O Charlie! have you really got it?' exclaimed Violet, now looking up with eyes of eager interest. 'Do open it, and let us see if it is the right one.'

'It will have to be done up again, you know,' said the boy, becoming sober over the important question.

'Never mind. I can do it up again just as well. I like doing up parcels; and besides, I do so want to see what colour the cover is.'

This temptation was too great, and the two little heads went together in earnest consultation over the delightful parcel, which, after much patient and impatient handling of string and paper, opened to show a splendid copy of Schnick Schnack, radiant in red and gold.

'O Violet, isn't it jolly?' said Charlie, dancing round the swing in great excitement. 'Let us look at the pictures.' 'No, Charlie; you cannot touch it now. Just look at your hands!'

'Oh, bother my hands!' returned Charlie; 'do let I must have it, Violet!'

me.

'But you shall not have it till your hands are washed,' replied that determined young lady, getting up in the swing and holding it out of his reach. Now, Charlie,' she continued, in a coaxing, almost patronising tone, which she often used towards her cousin, though he was really some few months older than herself, 'just go and give them a wash at the pump like a good boy, and I won't open the book till you come back.'

'It's all your London nonsense!' said Charlie wrathfully; but he yielded, as usual, to a stronger will than his own, and vanished once more behind the laurels, leaving Violet to swing backwards and forwards as dreamily as if nothing had happened to disturb her.