“No! and I’m glad of it!  I wouldn’t want to be like such a stuck-up thing!”

These last words were spoken by a strange voice, and Marjorie looked round quickly to see a shock of red hair surmounting a very angry little face just appearing from behind the small hill, beneath whose overhanging shadow they had built their palace.

“Why, Hester Corey!” shouted Tom.  “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see how you like your old sand-house!” she jeered, mockingly, and making faces at Marjorie between her words.  Marjorie was utterly astonished.  It was her first experience with a child of this type, and she didn’t know just how to take her.

The newcomer was a little termagant.  Her big blue eyes seemed to flash with anger, and as she danced about, shaking her fist at Marjorie and pointing her forefinger at her, she cried, tauntingly, “Stuck up!  Proudy!”

Marjorie grew indignant.  She had done nothing knowingly to provoke this wrath, so she faced the visitor squarely, and glared back at her.

“I’d rather be stuck up than to be such a spiteful thing as you are!” she declared.  “Did you tear down this palace that we took such trouble to build?”

“Yes, I did!” said Hester.  “And if you build it again, I’ll tear it down again,—­so, there, now!”

“You’ll do no such thing!” shouted Tom.

“Huh, Smarty!  What have you got to say about it?”

The crazy little Hester flew at Tom and pounded him vigorously on the back.

“I hate you!” she cried.  “I hate you!”

As a matter of fact, her little fists couldn’t hurt the big, sturdy boy, but her intense anger made him angry too.

“You, Hester Corey!” he cried.  “You leave me alone!”

King stood a little apart, with his hands in his pockets, looking at the combatants.

“Say, we’ve had about enough of this,” he said, speaking quietly, and without excitement.  “We Maynards are not accustomed to this sort of thing.  We squabble sometimes, but we never get really angry.”

“Goody-goody boy!” said Hester, sneeringly, and making one of her worst faces at him.  For some reason this performance struck King as funny.

“Do it again,” he said.  “How do you ever squink up your nose like that!  Bet you can’t do it three times in succession.”

The audacious Hester tried it, and the result was so ludicrous they all laughed.

“Now look here,” went on King, “we’re not acquainted with you, but we know you’re Hester Corey.  We know you spoiled our Sand Palace, just out of angry spite.  Now, Hester Corey, you’ve got to be punished for that.  We’re peaceable people ourselves, but we’re just, also.  We were about to have a nice celebration, but you’ve put an end to that before it began.  So, instead, we’re going to have a trial.  You’re the prisoner, and you’ve pleaded guilty,—­at least, you’ve confessed your crime.  Queen