The Club was indeed incomplete without the Watkinses, but the members nevertheless were sufficiently amused by several of the “Does”—­things to do—­that one or another suggested.  First they did shadow drawings.  The dining table proved to be the most convenient spot for that.  They all sat around under the strong electric light.  Each had a block of rather heavy paper with a rough surface, and each was given a camel’s hair brush, a bottle of ink, some water and a small saucer.  From a vase of flowers and leaves and ferns which Mrs. Morton contributed to the game each selected what he wanted to draw.  Then, holding his leaf so that the light threw a sharp shadow upon his pad, he quickly painted the shadow with the ink, thinning it with water upon the saucer so that the finished painting showed several shades of gray.

“The beauty of this stunt is that a fellow who can’t draw at all can turn out almost as good a masterpiece as Ethel Blue here, who has the makings of a real artist,” and James gazed at his production with every evidence of satisfaction.

As it happened none of them except Ethel Blue could draw at all well, so that the next game had especial difficulties.

“All there is to it is to draw something and let us guess what it is,” said Ethel Blue.

“You haven’t given all the rules,” corrected Roger.  “Ethel Blue makes two dots on a piece of paper—­or a short line and a curve—­anything she feels like making.  Then we copy them and draw something that will include those two marks and she sits up and ‘ha-has’ and guesses what it is.”

“I promise not to laugh,” said Ethel Blue.

“Don’t make any such rash promise,” urged Helen.  “You might do yourself an injury trying not to when you see mine.”

It was fortunate for Ethel Blue that she was released from the promise, for her guesses went wide of the mark.  Ethel Brown made something that she guessed to be a hen, Roger called it a book, Dicky maintained firmly that it was a portrait of himself.  The rest gave it up, and they all needed a long argument by the artist to believe that she had meant to draw a pair of candlesticks.

“Somebody think of a game where Ethel Brown can do herself justice,” cried James, but no one seemed to have any inspiration, so they all went to the fire, where they cracked nuts and told stories.

“If you’ll write those orders for the seed catalogues I’ll post them to-night,” James suggested to Helen.

“Oh, will you?  Margaret and I will write them together.”

“What’s the rush?” demanded Roger.  “This is only January.”

“I know just how the girls feel,” sympathized James.  “When I make up my mind to do a thing I want to begin right off, and the first step of this new scheme is to get the catalogues hereinbefore mentioned.”

“We can plan out our back yards any time, I should think,” said Dorothy.

“Father says that somebody—­was it Bacon, Margaret?—­says that a man’s nature runs always either to herbs or to weeds.  Let’s start ours running to herbs in the first month of the year and perhaps by the time the herbs appear we’ll catch up with them.”