found a cozy little nook almost entirely concealed behind a curtain of green foliage, an ideal little love nest requiring no alterations except the clearing away from its sandy floor of an accumulation of rubbish and dead leaves. We set to work and quickly cleaned out this refuse until nothing remained but clean sand. Satisfied with the results of our labors, we sat down to rest for a moment. The position in which Flora was sitting afforded a generous glimpse of her tight little panties and between this and other anticipated revelations my nerves were tingling with excitement. After a short silence, during which she eyed me expectantly, she suddenly arose and exclaimed:

"Well, if we're going to play married, you have to take your pants off! I'll take mine off!"

And suiting action to word, with perfect sangfroid' and without the least embarrassment she raised her dress and unfastened the garment to which she had referred. It slid down her legs and was kicked off to one side. I got tip and began fumbling with my own buttons. My fingers were numb and torpid and it was an interminable length of time before I got my trousers and underwear off. And now I became aware of an embarrassing condition which further contributed to my confusion. One which on two or three subsequent occasions in my life made

itself apparent much to my mortification and disgust.

Something which* on countless occasions had risen valiantly at the mere thought of seeing Flora naked and which had been standing up manfully while we were arranging the nest, now failed me treacherously and was hanging with its head down in the most listless and dejected attitude possible to imagine. Flora gazed at it a moment and exclaimed:

"Why, your dickie isn't stiff yet!"