The Loom of Destiny
over the high board fence of Georgie's back yard. George chased after it, and picked it up, and eyed it curiously. It was that sort of rubber ball you see only in England, and Georgie wondered how in the world it ever got to America. He squeezed it and bounced it once or twice to make sure that it was real.
At that moment a head appeared above the top of the fence. Georgie looked at the head, and the head looked at Georgie. He thought it was the curliest head he had ever seen, all covered with soft leonine yellow hair that was very much tousled. She was a very little girl, and Georgie saw, too, that she was a rather nice little girl.
After a moment of silent gazing down at him, she stood up on the top of the fence.
"Little boy," she cried imperiously, "little boy, throw my ball back, please!"
Georgie, overlooking for once in his life the indignity of being so addressed, dropped the ball from his hand in astonishment.
In that calling voice there was a soft modulation, a full-vowelled intonation, that smote
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