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he looked, and they all looked, and five angry exclamations sounded as they saw only the ruins of the beloved Sandringham Palace.

      Somebody had utterly demolished it. The low walls were broken and scattered, the sand tables and chairs were torn down, and the throne was entirely upset.

      "Who did this?" roared Tom.

      But as nobody knew the answer, there was no reply.

      "It couldn't have been any of your servants, could it?" asked King of the Craigs. "I know it wasn't any of ours."

      "No; it wasn't ours, either," said Tom. "Could it have been your little sister?"

      "Mercy, no!" cried Marjorie. "Rosy Posy isn't that sort of a child. Oh, I do think it's awful!" and forgetting her royal dignity, Queen Sandy began to cry.

      "Why, Mops," said King, kindly; "brace up, old girl. Don't cry."

      "I'm not a cry baby," said Midget, smiling through her tears. "I'm just crying 'cause I'm so mad! I'm mad clear through! How could anybody be so ugly?"

      "I'm mad, too," declared Tom, slowly, "but I know who did it, and it's partly my fault, I s'pose."

      "Your fault!" exclaimed Midget. "Why, Tom, how can it be?"

      "Well, you see it was this way. Yesterday afternoon Mrs. Corey came to call on my mother, and she brought Hester with her."

      "That red-headed girl?"

      "Yes; and she has a temper to match her hair! Mother made me talk to her, and, as I didn't know what else to talk about, I told her about our Sand Club, and about the Court to-day and everything. And she wanted to belong to the club, and I told her she couldn't, because it was just the Maynards and the Craigs. And she was madder'n hops, and she coaxed me, and I still said no, and then she said she'd get even with us somehow."

      "But, Tom," said King, "we don't know that girl to speak to. We hardly know her by sight."

      "But we do. We knew her when we were here last summer, but, you see, this year we've had you two to play with, so we've sort of neglected her,—and she doesn't like it."

      "But that's no reason she should spoil our palace," and Marjorie looked sadly at the scene of ruin and destruction.

      "No; and of course I'm not sure that she did do it. But she said she'd do something to get even with you."

      "With me? Why, she doesn't know me at all."

      "That's what she's mad about. She says you're stuck up, and you put on airs and never look at her."

      "Why, how silly! I don't know her, but somehow, from her looks, I know I shouldn't like her."

      "No, you wouldn't, Marjorie. She's selfish, and she's ill-tempered. She flies into a rage at any little thing, and,—well, she isn't a bit like you Maynards."

      "No! and I'm glad of it! I wouldn't want to be like such a stuck-up thing!"

      These last words were spoken by a strange voice, and Marjorie looked round quickly to see a shock of red hair surmounting a very angry little face just appearing from behind the small hill, beneath whose overhanging shadow they had built their palace.

      "Why, Hester Corey!" shouted Tom. "What are you doing here?"

      "I came to see how you like your old sand-house!" she jeered, mockingly, and making faces at Marjorie between her words. Marjorie was utterly astonished. It was her first experience with a child of this type, and she didn't know just how to take her.

      The newcomer was a little termagant. Her big blue eyes seemed to flash with anger, and as she danced about, shaking her fist at Marjorie and pointing her forefinger at her, she cried, tauntingly, "Stuck up! Proudy!"

      Marjorie grew indignant. She had done nothing knowingly to provoke this wrath, so she faced the visitor squarely, and glared back at her.

      "I'd rather be stuck up than to be such a spiteful thing as you are!" she declared. "Did you tear down this palace that we took such trouble to build?"

      "Yes, I did!" said Hester. "And if you build it again, I'll tear it down again,—so, there, now!"

      "You'll do no such thing!" shouted Tom.

      "Huh, Smarty! What have you got to say about it?"

      The crazy little Hester flew at Tom and pounded him vigorously on the back.

      "I hate you!" she cried. "I hate you!"

      As a matter of fact, her little fists couldn't hurt the big, sturdy boy, but her intense anger made him angry too.

      "You, Hester Corey!" he cried. "You leave me alone!"

      King stood a little apart, with his hands in his pockets, looking at the combatants.

      "Say, we've had about enough of this," he said, speaking quietly, and without excitement. "We Maynards are not accustomed to this sort of thing. We squabble sometimes, but we never get really angry."

      "Goody-goody boy!" said Hester, sneeringly, and making one of her worst faces at him. For some reason this performance struck King as funny.

      "Do it again," he said. "How do you ever squink up your nose like that! Bet you can't do it three times in succession."

      The audacious Hester tried it, and the result was so ludicrous they all laughed.

      "Now look here," went on King, "we're not acquainted with you, but we know you're Hester Corey. We know you spoiled our Sand Palace, just out of angry spite. Now, Hester Corey, you've got to be punished for that. We're peaceable people ourselves, but we're just, also. We were about to have a nice celebration, but you've put an end to that before it began. So, instead, we're going to have a trial. You're the prisoner, and you've pleaded guilty,—at least, you've confessed your crime. Queen Sandy, get into that throne,—never mind if it is upset,—set it up again. Grand Sandjandrum, take your place on that mussed up sand heap. You two other chaps,—stand one each side of the prisoner as sentinels. I'll conduct this case, and Queen Sandy will pronounce the sentence. It's us Maynards that Hester Corey seems to have a grudge against, so it's up to us Maynards to take charge of the case. Prisoner, stand on that board there."

      "I won't do it!" snapped Hester, and the red locks shook vigorously.

      "You will do it," said King, quietly, and for some reason or other Hester quailed before his glance, and then meekly stood where he told her to.

      "Have you anything to say for yourself?" King went on. "Any excuse to offer for such a mean, hateful piece of work?"

      Hester sulked a minute, then she said:

      "Yes, I was mad at you, because you all have such good times, and wouldn't let me in them."

      "What do you mean by that? You never asked to come in."

      "I did. I asked Tom Craig yesterday, and he wouldn't ask you."

      "Then why are you mad at us?"

      "Because you're so proud and exclusive. You think yourselves so great; you think nobody's as good as you are!"

      "That isn't true, Hester," said King, quite gently; "and even if it were, are you proving yourself better than we are by cutting up this mean, babyish trick? If you want us to like you, why not make yourself likeable, instead of horrid and hateful?"

      This was a new idea to Hester, and she stared at King as if greatly interested.

      "That's right," he went on. "If people want people to like them, they must be likeable. They must be obliging and kind and pleasant, and not small and spiteful."

      "You haven't been very nice to me," muttered Hester.

      "We haven't had a chance. And before we get a chance you upset everything by making us dislike you! What kind of common sense is that?"

      "Maybe you could forgive me," suggested Hester, hopefully.

      "Maybe we could, later on. But we're for fair play, and you treated us unfairly. So now, you've got to be punished. Queen Sandy, Grand Sandjandrum, which of you can suggest proper punishment for this prisoner of ours?"

      Tom

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