can't bear playing alone."

Harold, however, was anything but miserable, for, on peeping out of
the window, Dulcie saw him in the next-door garden helping the
children there to make a big snow-man. He was laughing and shouting,
and had evidently forgotten all about her.

A lump seemed to have suddenly risen in her throat, and as she crept
back to the table two big tears fell splashing down upon the poem she
had been trying to write and blotted out some of the words; then down
went her head upon the paper, and in another moment she was sobbing
pitifully.

It was almost dark when Harold came running up to the school-room,
and, bursting open the door, cried cheerily: "Such a lark, Dulcie;
just listen. Hullo," he added, "what's the matter?"

In another moment his arm was round his sister's neck and she was
rubbing her tear-stained cheek against his cold rosy one.

[Illustration:]

"O, Harold," she sobbed, "I've been so miserable. I'm sorry I was so
disagreeable."

"Never mind; is _that_ all you're crying about? Well, I was horrid
too: I teased you when you were writing, and I daresay your poetry
_is_ clever."

"No, it isn't," said Dulcie; "it's as stupid as stupid can be, and