FullReads

By this time it was too dark to see. Mother lit the lamp and started supper. And of course they ate it–they seldom skipped that of their own free will–but after it was over, the Toyman kneeled down on the floor, and Father got down on the floor, too, and they played marbles on the rag rug.

That was pretty nice and interesting, but they looked forward to the real game in the morning, for the real game must be played, not on a rug, but on the good brown earth.

Again the Toyman took a little, oh, just a little time from his work–that is, he meant to, but it turned out a longer “spell” than he had intended.

First they sorted the marbles. And when the sorting was over, each had nine of the little gray ones, which the Toyman told them were called “Migs”; two of the dappled brown ones which he said were “Croakers”; and two of the blue; three “Chineys”; three “Glasseys” with the pink and blue streaks; and one each of the most beautiful of all,–the agates. The blue and cream-colored agate Marmaduke took to match the blue M on his bag; Jehosophat the reddest one to match his letter J; and Hepzebiah the agate that looked most like a strawberry–almost pink it was, like her letter H.

These last beautiful ones, their old friend informed them, were agates, but had other names.

“They called them ‘Pures’ when I was a boy,” he remarked, “but in some places they called ’em ‘Reals,’ just as in some cities they say pink is for boys and blue for girls, and in some the other way round.”

And don’t let any one tell you this question of “Reals” and “Pures” isn’t important, for it is, surely as much so as “hazards” and “simple honors” which the grownups are forever discussing. In fact this matter of “Reals” and “Pures” was one that had to be settled at once. And Jehosophat settled it.

“I guess,” he said, after grave deliberation, “if you called them ‘Pures’ when you were a boy, we’ll call ’em that too.”

Now this suggested a question to Marmaduke.

“Say, Toyman, when did you stop being a boy?”

And the Toyman just laughed his hearty laugh and slapped his knees with his rough brown hand. His answer was strange yet very true.

“Tomorrow,” he replied.

It was true, you see, for, as they say in school, “Tomorrow never comes,” and that is just when the Toyman will stop being a boy.

Meanwhile he was making a ring in the ground, two feet across. In the middle he scooped out a little hole with his heel.

Each put some marbles in the centre, the same number from each bag, and they began. Of course, as you know, they had to stand on the outside of the ring and shoot at the marbles in the hole, that is, they did in that year, in that particular part of the country, though wise men who have travelled much say the rules differ in other states and are changing from day to day.

When anyone put his foot over the line the Toyman would stop him sternly.

“No matter what’s the game,” he told them, “always play fair.”

He showed them the best way to shoot, not by placing the marble in the hollow of the first finger and shooting it out with the thumb, but on the tip of the first finger and letting it fly with the thumb.

Now this is of the greatest importance, so always remember it.

However, Hepzebiah couldn’t follow that style, so they let her roll her marbles. But the boys were patient and tried again and again until they had learned the right way. They did finely, too–though naturally not as well as the Toyman. They had lent him some of their marbles, and my! wasn’t he a fine shot! He would send those marbles flying from their hole like little smithereens in all directions. However, he said the boys were learning fast and would soon catch up with him.