“Why do you sit way up there?” she asked; “you can’t do half as well as when you are lower down like me.”

“I guess you’re right,” he replied, as he pushed the block away and imitated her.  “I ’spose I’ll catch the splinters just the same.”

“There’s no need of it; you mustn’t claw the stones, but move your hand gently, just as I do.  Now, watch me.”

“It’s a pity that no one else in the world is half as smart as you,” replied the brother with fine irony, but without ill nature.  “Ah, wasn’t that splendid?”

Which remark was caused by the plainest kind of fluke on the part of Maggie, who in her effort to instruct her brother, forgot one or two nice points, which oversight was fatal.

“Well,” said she, “I didn’t fill my fingers with splinters.”

“Nor with jackstones either; if I can’t do any better than you I’m sure I can’t do any worse.”

“Well, Smarty, what are you waiting for?”

“For you to pay attention.”

“I’m doing that.”

With cool, careful steadiness, Tim set to work, and lo! he finished the game without a break, performing the more difficult exploits with a skill that compelled the admiration of his sister.

“I’m glad to see that you’re not such a big dunce as you look; I’ve been discouraged in trying to teach you, but you seem to be learning at last.”

“Wouldn’t you like me to give you a few lessons?”

“No; for, if you did, I should never win another game,” was the pert reply; “I wonder whether you will ever be able to beat me again.”

“Didn’t you know that I have been fooling with you all the time, just as I fool a trout till I get him to take the hook?”

Maggie stared at him with open mouth for a moment and then asked in an awed whisper: 

“No; I didn’t know that:  did you?”

“Never mind; the best thing you can do is to tend to bus’ness, for I’m not going to show you a bit of mercy.”

During this friendly chaffing, both noticed that the wind was rising.  It moaned around the barn, and enough of it entered the window far above their heads for them to feel it fan their cheeks.  An eddy even lifted one of the curls from the temple of the girl.  This, however, was of no special concern to them, and they continued their playing.

Each went through the next series without a break.  Tim was certainly doing himself honor, and his sister was at a loss to understand it.  But you know that on some days the player of any game does much better than on others.  This was one of Tim’s best days and one of Maggie’s worst, for he again surpassed her, though there could be no doubt that she did her very best, and she could not repress her chagrin.  But she was too fond of her bright brother to feel anything in the nature of resentment for his success.

“There’s one thing certain,” she said, shaking her curly head with determination; “you can’t beat me again.”