Big Game - A Story for Girls

Margot felt the quick contraction of the heart which she experienced

afresh at every sight of Edith's changed face, but next moment she

whistled softly in the familiar key, and saw the light flash back.

Edith sprang to the door, and appeared flushed and smiling.

"Margot, how sweet of you! I am glad! Have you had lunch?"

"No. Give me anything you have. I'm awfully late. Bread and jam will

do splendidly. Halloa, youngsters, how are you? We'll defer kisses, I

think, till you are past the sticky stage. I've been prowling about the

Park for the last two hours enjoying the spring breezes, and working out

problems, and suddenly discovered it was too late to go home."

She sank down on a seat by the table, shaking her head in response to an

anxious glance. "No, not my own affairs, dear; only Ron's! Can't the

boys run away now, and let us have a chat? I know you have had enough

of them by your face, and I've such a lot to say. Don't grumble, boys!

Be good, and you shall be happy, and your aunt will take you to the Zoo.

Yes, I promise! The very first afternoon that the sun shines; but

first I shall ask mother if you have deserved it by doing what you are

told."

"Run upstairs, dears, and wash, and put on your boots before Esther

comes," said Mrs Martin fondly; and the boys obeyed, with a lingering

obedience which was plainly due rather to bribery than training.

The elder of the two was a sturdy, plain-featured lad, uninteresting

except to the parental eye; the younger a beauty, a bewitching, plump,

curly-headed cherub of four years, with widely-opened grey eyes and a

Cupid's bow of a mouth. Margot let Jim pass by with a nod, but her hand

stretched out involuntarily to stroke Pat's cheek, and ruffle his curly

pow.

Edith smiled in sympathetic understanding, but even as she smiled she

turned her head over her shoulder to speak a parting word to the older

lad.

"Good-bye, darling! We'll have a lovely game after tea!" Then the door

shut, and she turned to her sister with a sigh.

"Poor Jim! everybody overlooks him to fuss over Pat, and it is hard

lines. Children feel these things much more than grown-up people

realise. I heard yells resounding from their bedroom one day last year,

and flew upstairs to see what was wrong. There was Pat on the floor,

with Jim kneeling on his chest, with his fingers twined in his hair,

which he was literally dragging out by the roots. He was put to bed for

being cruel to his little brother, but when I went to talk quietly to

him afterwards, he sobbed so pitifully, and said, `I only wanted some of

his curls to put on, to make people love me too!' Poor wee man! You

know what a silly way people have of saying, `Will you give me one of

your curls?' and poor Jim had grown tired of walking beside the pram,

and having no notice taken of him. I vowed that from that day if I

showed the least preference to either of the boys it should be to Jim.

The world will be kind to Pat; he will never need friends."