A GARRET ADVENTURE

bo
He
Cr

sure not to be naughty.” But she would almost as soon
have said: “Be sure not to cut off your heads,” as to have
said that. She knew her children too well to think they
did not wish to be good. As for telling them “not to
take cold,” that only meant they must be sure to dress
warmly if they played out of doors. The garret was never
very chilly, because the heat from the furnace always
crept up there whenever it had a chance.

It was a lovely old garret, light, yet mysterious, with
plenty of stored-away things in it to make it interesting,
and a great cleared space to play in. Just now it was
even more delightful than usual, for in one corner of it
was a very big heap of “ potter’s clay.”

“Oh, what ’s that ?” cried the visitors, the moment they
reached the garret door.

“That ’s potters clay,” said Ruth. “It’s splendid for
lots of things. Father ’s going to make some kind of
what-you-call’ems out of it.”

Thereupon the six visitors all stood in a row and gazed
at the heap. It was gray, dusty and lumpy, and looked
something like faded-out garden soil.

“ What’s he going to make?” said Tommy.

“T don’t know, exactly,” said Ruth, “it only came
yesterday.”

“Was it a Christmas present to your papa?” asked little
Dickie, innocently.

“No, indeed,” replied Ned, with lofty scorn. “We had
slippers. What ’d your father get?”

“Slippers, too,” said Dickie.

“So did my papa,” remarked Wilbur, laughing.