'Let's pretend!' cried Jean. They were enjoying a romp after tea; but the game had been suddenly interrupted. 'How can we drown him when there's no water?' asked Ernest, looking wonderfully wise. 'Oh, let's pretend the lawn's the water!' replied Jean, brushing aside with impatience so trifling a difficulty. Let's pretend! I used to wonder why Bonnie Prince Charlie was called the Pretender, as though he enjoyed some monopoly in that regard. We are all pretenders. Some, perhaps, are more skilful than others. Jean was especially clever. One day a lady called and gave her a beautiful bunch of flowers. Ernest was particularly fond of flowers, and thought that he could capture them by guile. 'I say, Jean,' he cried, 'let's have a game! We'll 'tend the flowers are mine!' 'All right,' Jean replied, with a sly twinkle, 'and you 'tend you've got 'em!' Precisely! There is no end to the possibilities of pretending. It is the one game of which we never grow tired. We learn to play it as soon as we are It was an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy who was half-past three; And the way that they played together Was beautiful to see. She couldn't go running and jumping, And the boy no more could he, For he was a pale little fellow, With a thin, little twisted knee. They sat in the yellow sunlight, Out under the maple tree; And the game that they played I'll tell you, Just as it was told to me. It was Hide-and-Seek they were playing, Though you'd never have known it to be— With an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy with a twisted knee. The boy would bend down his face, close his eyes, and guess where she was hiding. He was allowed three guesses. She was in the china-closet! Wrong! Well, she was in the chest in Papa's bedroom—the chest with the queer old key! Wrong again; but warmer! Well, then, she was in the clothes-press! It was his third guess, and it was right. In the clothes-press she was! It was his turn to hide and Granny's turn to guess! Then she covered her face with her fingers, Which were wrinkled and white and wee; And she guessed where the boy was hiding, With a one and a two and a three. And they never had stirred from their places Right under the maple tree, This old, old, old, old lady And the boy with the lame little knee. This dear, dear, dear, old lady And the boy who was half-past three. It is the oldest game in the world; it was played—just as it is played to-day—before any other game was dreamed of, and the children of to-morrow will be playing it when the games of to-day are all forgotten. It is the most universal game in the world; it is played in Pekin just as it is played in London; it is played in Mysore just as it is played in New York; it is played in Timbuctoo just as we play it here in Melbourne. The rules of the game never alter with the period or change with the place. It is equally popular in all grades of society. The royal children play it in the palace-grounds and the street urchins play it in the alleys and the slums. For the beauty of it is, that it needs no paraphernalia or tackle or gear; you have not to buy a bat or a ball, a racket or a net; you do not require special grounds or courts or links. The 'old, old, old, old lady,' and 'the boy with the twisted knee' take it into their heads to have a game; and, then and there, without moving an inch or getting a 'Let's pretend!' cried Jean. There was nothing original in the suggestion. If the words are not actually a quotation from Shakespeare, it is perfectly certain that Shakespeare uttered them. They voice the very spirit of the drama. The play and the pantomime are all a matter of pretending. It happened last evening that I had an appointment in the city. I had promised to meet a friend on the Town Hall steps at half-past seven. I was early; it was a delicious summer's evening, and I enjoyed watching the crowd. The crowd is always worth watching, but at that hour the crowd is at its best. The strain of the day is over and the weariness of night has not yet come. The crowd is fresh, vivacious, light-hearted. As I stood upon the steps, I saw young men and maidens keeping their trysts with each other; they were making no effort to conceal their joy in each other's society; as they tripped off together, they were laughingly anticipating the entertainment to which they were hastening. Gentlemen in evening dress, accompanied by handsome women, beautifully gowned, swept by in sumptuous cars that were brightly lit and daintily adorned with choicest flowers. Here and there, in this unbroken tide of traffic, I caught a glimpse of features more quaint and of garments more fantastic. I saw a troubadour, a viking, a |