"Humph!" said he, reaching for the book. "Let's see what you 've got."

He chuckled at Stockton's laconic comment, smiled at Frost playing golf and the jovial Nast writing his name upon a wall. Then he turned the next page, spread it flat, and reached for a pen.

He sketched rapidly, and I sat watching openmouthed, for it was the first time I had been privileged to see an artist at work. For a moment or two, it seemed as if he were merely drawing aimless lines. Then all at once the face of a lovely girl sprang into life; an instant later, a tiger with open jaws flashed up on one side of her, followed quickly by another beast behind. The whole had taken barely five minutes, and, as he signed his name, I realized that he had given me a variation of the famous "Girl with the Tigers" that had come to be associated with his

name.

"I like it best of all!" declared Molly, that evening. "Even without the signature you'd know who drew it; it's really his trade-mark, is n't it?"

By this time, the book was becoming a source of interest to some of the older members of the family. An amiable uncle took it with him on a week-end visit to New Rochelle, and brought back a virile little sketch from the pen of Frederic Remington. The effect obtained with scarcely a dozen strokes is one of the cleverest things of the sort I have ever seen. The good offices of a cousin are responsible for the acquisi

A

1897

tion of Mrs. Charlotte B. Coman's delicate little pen-and-ink landscape.

Unfortunately, by this time, the result of much

travel in the mails was becoming manifest in the appearance of the book. The binding was loosened, the covers scratched and gouged, and one corner had been bent almost to breaking. It did not seem safe to send it out again in that condition, so, for a while, it rested quietly at home until we could decide what should be done with it.

It was Molly who finally solved the problem. For several days, she had been haunting the front hall at mail time, but I was too full of the Juniors' tennis tournament at the Field Club to bother about the reason for it. The day I was defeated for the semi-finals, however, Molly met me at the door, eyes sparkling and face aglow.

"But how- You did n't send the book! It was here-"

"I took out a sheet and sent that," explained De Wash B.

merely a sheet from the book made things fatally easy, since any number could be despatched at once. A shamefully large number went off that night, and within a week, E. W. Kemble had responded with an amusing little darky's head in pen and ink; Oliver Herford had done the profile of a lion in his familiar style, and Charles Dana Gibson contributed a charming, sketchy head in pencil.

Later mails brought three treasures from England, a pen-and-ink sketch by Abbey and another by Phil May, while Harry B. Neilson, who did a good deal of magazine work on this side in those days, forwarded a splendid wash-drawing which he labeled "A Good Story." It represents the British lion clad in British tweeds toasting his

Molly, triumphantly. "I told him the book was all coming to pieces, and we were afraid to trust it in the mail. I told him all about the drawings that were in it, and said we 'd love to have one of his. I never thought he 'd send such a beauty; it was simply dear of him!"

It was-corking! It seemed to me Mr. Smedley must be an uncommonly nice sort of person to do all this at the request of a total stranger. I still retain that opinion.

toes before a grate fire and laughing over something in the paper he is reading. Still later came a characteristic bit from Thurl de Thulstrup, who did so many of the Spanish War sketches for "Harper's Weekly," and was an authority on military life and equipment. Maud Humphrey contributed a fascinating child's head in pencil, and Peter Newell's pen-and-ink of two children alone in the dark could never be mistaken for the work of any other artist. It was a wonderful day when we became the radiant possessors of a delightfully decorative and comical figure in color signed by Maxfield Parrish; and then came some charming feminine subjects-a guitar player by Irving Wiles, a court lady of the time of Marie Antoinette, by F. T. Richards, and a dainty little maiden by Sarah S. Stilwell.

Such success sent us both up, and we aimed our shafts higher. Sir Alma-Tadema and the venerable Burne-Jones were both requested to contribute a sketch to the collection. A secretary

I

"I WISH," murmured Billy Piper, "they 'd let me play!"

It was a chill, cloudy November afternoon, and Billy, sprawled in the big arm-chair in front of the library fire, was very unhappy. Things had n't gone well to-day at school, where the teachers had been horribly unjust to him; nor at home, where he had been scolded for arriving late for dinner; Tommy Blue, his most particular chum, was confined to the house with double mumps; and, to add to the burden of his woes, or to remind him of the principal one, half a dozen fellows, togged and sweatered, carrying a battlescarred foot-ball and dangling their head-guards, had just passed the window on their way to the field to practise for the final and all-important game of the year, that with Meadowville.

Usually, Billy went along, envious but interested, to watch the luckier boys at work; but to-day he was at outs with the world. What was most awfully wrong was that George Marquis, captain of the Hillside eleven, refused to perceive in Billy the qualities desired in a member of that gallant band of gridiron warriors. George said that Billy was much too light for either line or back-field, while grudgingly acknowledging that he could kick and was fast on his toes. Consequently, Billy, who all summer had looked forward almost breathlessly to securing a position as an end or a back, had been-and still washorribly disappointed. Of course he realized that he was pretty light-he was only thirteen, you see, and by no means large for his age-but he was quite convinced that he was clever enough

at punting and drop-kicking and carrying the ball, to atone for his lack of weight. But Captain Marquis did n't think so, and Billy was out of it for another year at least.

He had been trying to read a story that was all about school life and foot-ball, but he did n't want his fun at second-hand to-day. He wanted to make history himself! The book toppled unnoticed to the hearth-rug, and Billy went off into a wonderful day-dream, his round eyes fixed entrancedly on the glowing coals in the grate. He saw himself playing left half-back for Hillside in the Thanksgiving Day game with Meadowville, making sensational rushes, kicking marvelous goals from the field, cheered and applauded, a veritable foot-ball hero if ever there was one! When, after an hour of desperate battle, Hillside had conquered, and Billy, on the shoulders of admiring comrades, was being carried from the field, he woke from his day-dream with a sigh.

"I wish," he said longingly, addressing no one in particular, since there was no one there, but gazing very intently at the gloomy corner of the room where lounge and bookcase met and formed a cave of shadow-"I wish I could do all that! Gee, but I do wish I could!"

"Well," said a small, gruff voice that made Billy sit up quickly, very straight and surprised, in his chair, "you were long enough about it!"

From the dark corner there suddenly emerged into the firelight the strangest, most astonishing person Billy Piper had ever seen or dreamed of. He was scarcely higher than Billy's knee, and he was preposterously thin; and his head was quite out of proportion to any other part of him. But the queerest thing of all was his face. It was as

round as well, as a basket-ball, and very much the same color and texture. From the middle of it protruded a long, pointed nose, the end of which twitched up and down and from side to side as he moved across the floor. His eyes were tiny and sharp, and looked for all the world like two of Billy's most precious green-glass marbles, while his thin mouth stretched almost from one perfectly enormous ear to the other.

He was dressed in a funny, tight-fitting suit of rusty black, with pointed shoes that were ridiculously like his nose, and a sugar-loaf hat of faded red with the letters D. A. in front and a green feather that fell dejectedly over his face and seemed to be trying to tickle his nose. And under one pipe-stem of an arm, clutched with clawlike brown fingers, was a foot-ball nearly half as large as he was!

Billy stared and stared, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, and thought, very naturally, that he must be dreaming. But the queer visitor soon put that notion out of his head. "Well, well!" he ejaculated crossly in his small, gruff voice. "Lost your tongue, have you?”

"N-no, sir," stammered Billy. "But I-I did n't hear what you said."

"Yes you did! Boys are all stupid. You did n't understand. I said you were long enough about it."

"About wh-what?" asked Billy. "About wishing, of course! Don't you know fairies can't grant a wish until it 's been made three times? You wished once and then kept me waiting. I don't like to be kept waiting. I'm a very busy person. Nowadays, with every one wishing for all sorts of silly things that they don't need and ought n't to have, a fairy's life is n't worth living."

"I'm very sorry," murmured Billy, apologetically. "I-I did n't know you were there."

"Did n't know!' 'Did n't know!' That 's what every stupid person says. You should have known. If you did n't expect me, why did you wish three times?"

"Why, I-I don't know," said Billy. "I was just-just wishing."

"Oh, then maybe you don't want your wish?" asked the other, eagerly. "If that 's it, just say so. Don't waste my time. I've an appointment in Meadowville in-in-" He took off his funny sugar-loaf hat, rested the end of the feather on the bridge of his long nose, and spun the hat around. "One-two-three-four-" The hat stopped spinning and he replaced it on his head. "In four minutes," he ended sternly.

"Th-that's a funny way to tell time," said Billy.

to.

"Of course it 's trouble," said the Fairy, sharply. "Don't be any stupider than you have But everything 's trouble; my life is full of trouble; that's what comes of being a D. A." "If you please," asked Billy, politely, "what does D. A. mean?"

"Director of Athletics, of course. It could n't mean anything else, could it? Really, you do ask more silly questions! Now then, now then, look alive!"

"Yes, sir, but-but how?" asked Billy, anxiously.

"Repeat the incan, of course."

"The-the incan?"

"Tation! Don't tell me you don't know it!" The Fairy was almost tearful, and Billy naturally felt awfully ashamed of his ignorance. But he had to acknowledge it, and the Fairy, casting his eyes toward the ceiling in protest, rattled off the following so rapidly that it was all Billy could do to follow him:

"I wish this once;

I wish this twice! Grant me the wish That I wish thrice!

"Repeat, if you please!" said the Fairy. Billy did so, stumblingly.

The Fairy grunted. "Stupid!" he muttered. "Did n't know the incan. What are we coming to? What are we coming to? In the old days, boys did n't have to be told such things. Modern education-pah!" And the Fairy fairly glared at Billy.

"I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Fairy," he said. "H-m, at least you have manners," said the Fairy, his ill-temper vanishing. "Well, here it is." He tapped the foot-ball he held with the claw-like fingers of his other hand. "But-but I did n't wish for a foot-ball," faltered Billy, disappointedly.

"Of course you did n't! Who said you did? You wished you might play in Saturday's football game and be a hero and win the game for your team, did n't you? Or, if you did n't, how much? Or, other things being as stated, when?"