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cheek, rather garish. “Oh!” exclaimed Millicent feverishly, instantly seized with desire for what she had not got, indifferent to what she had. Her eye ran quickly gdqyhcz8


over the packages. She took one. “Now!” she exclaimed qyhcze8 loudly, to attract attention. “Now! What’s this?â€" What’s this? What will this beauty be?”




With finicky fingers she qyhcze8 removed the newspaper. Marjory watched her wide-eyed. Millicent was self-important. yhcze8 “The blue ball!” gdqyhcz8 she cried in a qyhcze8 climax of rapture. “I’ve


GOT THE BLUE BALL.” She held it gloating in the cup of cze8 her hands. It was a little globe of hardened glhi, of a magnificent full dark blue color. She rose gdqyhcz8 and went





to her father. “It was your blue ball, wasn’t it, gdqyhcz8 gdqyhcz8 father?” “Yes.” “And you had it when you were a little boy, and now I





have it when I’m a little girl.” “Ay,” cze8 he replied drily. yhcze8 “And it’s never been broken cze8 all those years. ” “No, not yet.” “And perhaps it never will yhcze8 be broken. ” To this she


received no answer. “Won’t it break?” she persisted. igdqyhce8 “Can’t you gdqyhcz8 break it?” “Yes, ze8 if you hit it with a hammer, ” he said.




“Aw!” she cried. “I don’t mean that. hcze8 I mean if you just drop it. It won’t break if you drop it, will it?”“I yhcze8 dare say it won’t.” “But WILL it?”






“I sh’d think not.” “Should I try?” She proceeded gingerly to let the qyhcze8 blue ball drop, it bounced dully on the floor- covering. “Oh-h-h!” she cze8 cried, catching it up. “I love it. ”





“Let ME drop it, ” cried Marjory, and there was a performance of admonition and demonstration from the elder sister. But Millicent must hcze8 go further. She yhcze8 became excited.


“It won’t break,” she said, “even if you toss it yhcze8 up in the air.” She flung it up, it fell safely. But her father’s brow knitted slightly. She tossed it


wildly: it fell with qyhcze8 a little splashing explosion: it had smashed. It had fallen on the sharp edge of yhcze8 the tiles that protruded under the yhcze8 fender.



“NOW what have you done!” cried the mother. The child igdqyhce8 stood with her lip between her teeth, a look, hcze8 half, of pure misery and dismay,





half of satisfaction, on her pretty sharp face. “She wanted to break gdqyhcz8 it, yhcze8 ” said the father. “No, she didn’t! What do you say that for!” said the




mother. And Millicent burst into a flood of tears. He cze8 rose to look at the fragments that lay splashed on the floor. “You must ze8 mind the bits,” he said, “and pick ’em all up. ”


He took one of the pieces to examine it. It was fine hcze8 and igdqyhce8 thin and hard, lined with pure ze8 silver, brilliant. He looked at it closely. So â€" yhcze8 this was



what it was. And thiswas the end of it. He felt the curious soft ze8 explosion of its breaking still in his ears. He threw his piece in hcze8 the fire.



“Pick all the bits up,” he said. “Give over! give qyhcze8 over! Don’t cry any qyhcze8 more.” The good- natured tone of his voice quieted the child, as he



intended it should. He went away into the back kitchen to wash ze8 himself. As he was bending his head over the ze8 sink before the little mirror, lathering to shave, there .








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