Miss Putnam, you see, had never had much to do with children, and she thought she disliked them very much indeed.  Boys, in her opinion, made a great deal of noise and girls always giggled and were silly.  So whenever she saw a child hanging over her gate, or even stopping to glance at her house, she was apt to come charging out at them with a broom.  The younger ones were afraid of her and the older, larger boys naughtily enjoyed provoking the poor old lady.  So it was soon a common sight to see several boys flying up the street, Miss Putnam after them, waving her broom wildly.

Brother and Sister, mindful of Daddy Morrison’s warning, never actually did anything to make Miss Putnam chase them.  But it must be confessed that they used to walk through the street on which she lived, in the hope of seeing her chase someone.  Ridgeway was a quiet place in summer time, and any excitement was welcome.

For several days after Sister’s outburst because of the locked barn door, Jimmie worked away busily in his beloved gymnasium.  He would not let either Brother or Sister as much as put their noses inside the door, and when they tried to find out from Molly what he was doing—­for Molly could usually be depended upon to know what everyone in the family was up to—­she simply shook her head and said she had promised not to tell.

“I wish,” said Sister for the tenth time one warm morning, “I wish there was something new to do.”

“So do I,” agreed Brother.  “There’s Jimmie—­he’s beckoning to us.”

Jimmie stood in the barn doorway, motioning the children to come in.

Brother and Sister jumped down the three back steps in one leap and raced toward the barn.

“Want to see what I’ve been making?” asked Jimmie proudly, “Come on in, and look—­there!”

The tools from the carpenter’s bench which occupied one side of the barn were scattered about on the floor where Jimmie had been using them.  All Brother and Sister could see was a wide, rather shallow box, painted a dark green.

“Is it—­is it a boat?” ventured Sister doubtfully.

“What’s it for?” asked Brother.

“It’s for you to play with,” explained Jimmie.  “I thought maybe you would help me carry it out under the horsechestnut tree in the side yard.”

“But how do we play with it?” insisted Brother.  “Is it a game, Jimmie?”

“Put your hand in that bag back of you,” directed Jimmie.  “Perhaps then you can guess.”

A burlap bag, opened, stood close to Sister.  She and Brother plunged their hands in and drew them out filled with something that trickled swiftly through their fingers.

“Sand!” they shouted.  “Seashore sand!  Oh, Jimmie, is it a sandbox?”

Jimmie nodded, smiling.  He knew they had long wanted a sandbox, and like the dear, good brother he was, he had spent his mornings sawing and fitting and smoothing off boards to make a nice, strong box.