Mr. Hofford laughed pleasantly.

"You don't look as if you were in danger of dying. And I don't think you
do more work than other boys of your age."

"I don't know about that," rejoined Roswell, in a discontented voice;
"but I know I'm working from morning to night. I have to attend to
everything in the way of chores, until I'm so tired that I can't read or
study. And I never have any time for play."

"I am sorry for that," said Mr. Hofford, gravely, "because all boys
ought to have time for play. I thought I saw you playing football
yesterday?"

"Oh, I play _some_," admitted Roswell, "but nothing like I want to. I
wish I had nothing to do but play, like Rollo there."

"You'd soon get tired of living a dog's life," said Mrs. Hofford, with
an amused look.

"No, I wouldn't," said Roswell, confidently. "I never had enough play."

"Very well," said Mr. Hofford, with a queer smile. "To-morrow is
Tuesday; suppose you start in and play."

"And not do any work?"

"Certainly not; no work for yourself, or anybody else."