as the only boy in a large family of girls, he felt it was incumbent on him to maintain the dignity of the male sex. He had pronounced ideas on the necessity of keeping girls in their place, and Betty was something of a trial to him because she refused to be squelched.

“Of course, girls feel that way,” he said loftily. “They’re afraid of the least little thing. But men aren’t such scare-cats.”

“Men!” sniffed Betty scornfully. “You don’t call yourself a man, do you?”

“Well, I’m going to be some day,” her brother retorted, “and that’s more than you can say.”

This was undeniable, and Fred felt that he had scored a point.

Betty was reduced to the defensive.

“I wouldn’t want to be,” she rejoined rather feebly.

Fred cast a proud look around.

“Sour grapes!” he ejaculated.

Then, elated by his success, he sought rather imprudently to follow it up.

“As for me,” he declared, “I wouldn’t care how hard I was hit. I’d only laugh.”

Betty saw an opening.

“You wouldn’t dare let me throw one at you,” she challenged, her eyes dancing.

Fred went into pretended convulsions.

“You throw!” he jeered. “A girl throw! Why! you couldn’t hit the—the side of a house,” he ended lamely, his invention failing.

“I couldn’t, eh?” cried Betty, a little nettled. “Well, you just stand up against that post and see if I can’t.”

Fred was somewhat startled by her prompt answer to his taunt, but it would never do to show the white feather.

“All right,” he responded, and took up his position, while Betty stood some twenty feet away.

The laughing group of boys and girls gathered around her, and Bobby and Scat began to make snowballs for Betty.

“No, you don’t!” cried Fred. “I know you fellows. You’ll make soakers. Let Betty make her own snowballs.”

“What do you care, if you’re so sure she can’t hit you?” said Bobby slyly.

“Never you mind,” replied Fred, ignoring the thrust. “You leave all that to Betty.”

The boys desisted and Betty made her own missiles.

“How many chances do I have?” she asked. “Will you give me three shots?”

“Three hundred if you like,” replied her brother grandly. “It’s all the same to me.”

He stiffened up sternly against the post. Somewhere he had seen a picture of Ajax defying the lightning, and he hoped that he looked like that.

Betty poised herself to throw, but at the last moment her tender heart misgave her.

“I—I’m afraid I’ll hurt you,” she faltered.

“Aw, go ahead,” urged “Mouser” Pryde, one of the four lads who were leaving for school.

“Aim right at his head,” added “Pee Wee” Wise, another schoolmate who was to accompany Bobby and Fred to Rockledge.

“You can’t miss that red mop of his,” put in Scat heartlessly.

“N-no,” said Betty, dropping her hand to her side. “I guess I don’t want to.”

Fred scented an easy victory, but made a mistake by not being satisfied to let well enough alone.

“She knows she can’t hit me and she’s afraid to try,” he gibed.

The light of battle began to glow in Betty’s eyes, but still she stood irresolute.

“I’ll give you a cent if you hit me,” pursued Fred.

“My! isn’t he reckless with his money?” mocked Pee Wee.

“He talks like a millionaire,” added Mouser.

“A whole