THE HAPPY-DAY
side of the hedge. You had never had any playmates before in all your life!
One of the children was just Another Boy—a duplicate of you. But the other one was—the only original girl. Next to the big ocean, she was the surprise of your life. She wore skirts instead of clothes. She wore curls instead of hair. She wore stockings instead of legs. She cried when you laughed. She laughed when you cried. She was funny from the very first second, even when the Boy asked you if your big dog would bite. The Boy stood off and kept right on asking: "Will he bite? Will he bite? W-i-l-l he bite?" But the Girl took a great rough stick and pried open Bruno-Clarice's tusky mouth to see if he would, and when he g-r-o-w-l-e-d, she just kissed him smack on his black nose and called him "A Precious," and said, "Why, of course he'll bite."
The Boy was ten years old—a year older, and much fatter than you. His name was Sam. The Girl was only eight years old, and you could not tell at first whether she was thin or fat, she was so ruffledy. She had a horrid dressy name, "Sophia." But everybody called her Ladykin.
Oh, it is fun to make a boat that will flop side ways through the waves. It is fun to make a wind mill that will whirl and whirl in the grass. It is
97
