“Have we dramatic talent, Mother?”

“Not to any astonishing degree.  But, yes, I suppose your fondness for playing at court life and such things shows a dramatic taste.”

“Oh, it’s great fun, Mother!  I just love to sit on that throne with my long trail wopsed on the floor beside me, and my sceptre sticking up, and my courtiers all around me,—­oh, Mother, I think I’d like to be a real queen!”

“Well, you see, Midget, you were born in a country that doesn’t employ queens.”

“And I’m glad of it!” cried Marjorie, patriotically.  “Hooray! for the land of the free and the home of the brave!  I guess I don’t care to be a real queen, I guess I’ll be a president’s wife instead.  Say, Mother, won’t you and Father write us some poems for The Jolly Sandboy?”

“What is that, Midget?”

“Oh, it’s our court journal,—­and you and Father do write such lovely poetry.  Will you, Mother?”

“Yes, I ’spect so.”

“Oh, goody!  When you say ’I ‘spect so,’ you always do.  Hey, King, Rosy Posy ought to have a sandy kind of a name, even if she doesn’t come to our court meetings.”

“’Course she ought.  And she can come sometimes, if she doesn’t upset things.”

“She can’t upset things worse’n Hester did.”

“No; but I don’t believe Hester will act up like that again.”

“She may, Marjorie,” said Mrs. Maynard.  “I’ve heard her mother say she can’t seem to curb Hester’s habit of flying into a temper.  So just here, my two loved ones, let me ask you to be kind to the little girl, and if she gets angry, don’t flare back at her, but try ‘a soft answer.’”

“But, Mother,” said King, “that isn’t so awful easy!  And, anyway, I don’t think she ought to do horrid things,—­like tumbling down our palace,—­and then we just forgive her, and take her into the club!”

“Why not, King?”

King looked a little nonplussed.

“Why,” he said, “why,—­because it doesn’t seem fair.”

“And does it seem fairer for you to lose your temper too, and try what children call ’getting even with her’?”

“Well, Mother, it does seem fairer, but I guess it isn’t very,—­very noble.”

“No, son, it isn’t.  And I hope you’ll come to think that sometimes nobility of action is better than mere justice.”

“I see what you mean, Mother, and somehow, talking here with you, it all seems true enough.  But when we get away from you, and off with the boys and girls, these things seem different.  Were you always noble when you were little, Mother?”

“No, Kingdon dear, I wasn’t always.  But my mother tried her best to teach me to be,—­so don’t you think I ought to try to teach you?”

“Sure, Mothery!  And you bet we’ll do our bestest to try to learn.  Hey, Mops?”

“Yes, indeedy!  I want to do things right, but I seem to forget just when I ought to remember.”