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 day. Your haughty sisters are calling even now—they suspect the flesh-pots!"

And indeed, Thoreau Channing Parker Dilts feared that they had lost the car, and explained his fears to his brother in disapproving tones.

"To-morrow, next day—any day!" called the old gentleman. "Whenever you care to come!"

And Cynthia, remembering his words, "When it gets too cold, we'll move the summer-house in, won't we, Louis?" felt her heart grow lighter still as she hurried on the despised uniform.

What of it? It was only a disguise, after all. It went with the work of life that everyone must have, her father said, and to the girl's happy fancy the work was the dream and this harmless, graceful game the reality of her days. Even when she could not come she would know it was all there—the pictures and the cushions and the white ruffled gown; and in her earnest, girlish way she hoped that she might be good enough to deserve it. It was a romance, a picture-book adventure, and