Rollo was an obliging little boy and therefore, standing in the middle of the room, he recited as follows, with appropriate gestures which he had carefully learned at school:

"THE STRAND"

"One day while strolling on the strand A pearly sh.e.l.l lay in my hand.

I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name, the place, the day.

As on my onward way I pa.s.sed One backward glance behind I cast, The rolling waves came high and fast And washed my name away!"

"Bravo!" cried Miss Stark and Uncle George.

"I thank you very much," said Rollo.

"It is a great poem," said Miss Stark. "It sounds simple but it means more than it says. It has its devious moments. You notice that though the 'name' is washed away the 'place' and the 'day' remain. I have just written something myself in the same manner."

"Do let us hear it," said Uncle George.

"I will," replied the poetess. "It is called _Brain-ticks_. Listen:

"In the midnight of day Myself came to me Saying, 'See,'-- 'See,' I said, In my hand, I hold the brain of my head!

How it ticks, ticks, ticks, 'What does it mean?' I cried.

'What is it all about?

Why is it out?

Why was it ever inside?

I don't understand.'"

"I don't understand," said Rollo.

"Of course you don't," cried Miss Stark. "We none of us do. We were just meant to live quietly and simply near Mother Earth. But you must come again. I am sorry you will not stay. Good-bye, good-bye."

"Our next visit, and I think it must be our last," said Uncle George, "will be to a gentleman friend of mine who is a painter. In a way he is quite a genius. His name is Wilkins. Wilkins' idea is that it is very wrong for a man to be limited to one form or school of art, to be exclusively a landscape painter or a portrait painter, a radical or a conservative. He goes in for all forms of art. But you shall see for yourself, for here is his studio."

Mr. Wilkins' studio was by far the pleasantest place Rollo had yet seen in the Village. And it was even as Uncle George had said; all about the walls were pictures, no two alike, but all, Rollo thought, very beautiful. Mr. Wilkins, a tall, handsome man, was very cordial to his visitors and showed Rollo the various pictures, explaining carefully just how they were made.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Never in his life had Rollo seen such a strange woman"]

"There is a formula for each," he said. "In these cow-pictures, for instance, you will see that there is a definite proportion of two-thirds cow to one-third landscape. Venetian ca.n.a.l scenes like this must be exactly fifty per cent reflection. Last week I worked up a batch of South Sea pictures using the Gauguin formula. It is very simple."

Mr. Wilkins was delighted with Rollo's clam-sh.e.l.l.

"I must do some!" he said. "Could you leave it here?"

"Yes, indeed, gladly," said Rollo.

"And what have you been working on to-day?" said Uncle George.

"Just a little summer work," said Mr. Wilkins. "Here it is."

He removed a cloth which covered an easel, and Rollo gazed with awe and admiration at a picture of a beautiful young lady who was about to go in bathing without any bathing suit. Rollo had never seen anything like it before and he was much interested.

"She is a hum-dinger," said Uncle George. "Who is she?"

While Mr. Wilkins and Uncle George chatted in a corner Rollo examined the picture closely and was really very sorry when Uncle George told him it was time to go.

When they were again seated on the stage on their way home, Rollo said, "Uncle George, I should not think Mr. Wilkins would wish to show his wife's picture to people in that way."

"His wife's picture!" said Uncle George. "But I did not know Mr.

Wilkins was married."

"Of course he is," said Rollo. "How ever else could he see a lady so?"

Rollo's uncle was silent for a moment before he said, "Rollo, I had occasion to say before and I repeat now, you are a bright lad. You have seen to-day three artists, a sculptor, a poetess, and a painter.

Which would you prefer to be?"

I leave it to my little readers to guess which one Rollo chose.

ROLLO'S ROMANCE

OUR LITTLE HERO DEFEATS BOTH YALE AND PRINCETON AT FOOTBALL

Some of my little readers may recall that shortly after Rollo's family moved to their city apartment, Rollo was invited to a gay luncheon party at a public inn which was managed by a Mr. Ritz. It was here that Rollo first met his cousin Stella, and another little girl named Anabelle Litchfield. Rollo had liked Anabelle very much, but he had had no opportunities to talk with her at that time, for Anabelle's attention was greatly occupied by the laughing chatter of a young Mr.

Rupert Hogan, a boy of about Rollo's own age who lived in New York and knew a great many things about city life which our little hero had never learned.

During the months which followed, Anabelle had made a number of visits, and thus the summer and fall had pa.s.sed until her memory in Rollo's mind had become vague and indistinct, though still very pleasant.

In the meantime, however, Rollo was becoming more and more versed in the accomplishments which are expected of a city boy. This was due very largely to the kindness of his Uncle George who frequently took his little nephew with him to the theatre, to his club, and to a number of evening festivals where there was dancing, charades, and all manner of fun.

At the time this chapter of our story opens, Rollo was seated before the cheerful gas-log at home instructing Jonas as to the proper method of making a martini. This was indeed a change from the old days in the country when Jonas used to teach Rollo how to pile wood and pick up potatoes. The positions were now reversed. Rollo was the teacher and Jonas was the pupil.

"You see, Jonas," said Rollo, "you must be very careful to put in at least two-thirds of gin to one-third of vermouth."

"What is vermouth?" asked Jonas.

"Vermouth is a sweet cordial similar to cherry-bounce," said Rollo.

"But now, Jonas, we will have the review lesson. What is a manhattan?"

"A manhattan," replied Jonas, "is a liquid composed of two-thirds of extract of rye, one-third----"

At this moment Rollo's sister, Lucy, came running into the room.

"Oh, bother!" cried Rollo. "Why do you interrupt Jonas and me at our work?"

"You will be very glad to hear," said Lucy gaily. "Our cousin Stella's mother has just telephoned to say that she wishes you and me to go with her to a great football match at New Haven to-morrow. The Yales are to play the Princetons, and Stella is to go and her friend Anabelle, likewise."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Round about the great arena stretched thousands of people"]