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Rh so on. But we can arrange that. Madrina is so happy over it, Mr. Moulton! She isn’t a bit lonely now.”

“Own up, my Mary! You are not doing this for a charity in the first place, but for your mother’s sake—or perhaps you think charity should begin at home?” Mr. Moulton accused Mary, a hand on her shoulder.

“Madrina must not dwell on her lost voice, dear Guardian,” said Mary, with a deprecating look. “Do you think Mrs. Moulton could be persuaded to represent Cinderella’s godmother? We could have a dear Cinderella group if she would.”

“I think nothing short of chloroforming her and setting her up, unconscious, to fill a lay figure’s rôle could get my wife into anything distantly resembling tableaux, or amateur theatricals!” laughed Mr. Moulton.

“I suppose I knew that,” sighed Mary, then smiled, dismissing her regret. “We’re terribly rushed rehearsing; madrina is training some one every minute. I’ve got to go now, Mr. Moulton. I need practice as Pippa.”

It was perfectly true that the Garden girls were “terribly rushed rehearsing.” The Garden of Dreams took on nightmare aspects at