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The metamorphosis of the spinsterly Madame Schneider into the fetching Edna Eldridge restored tranquillity to the fluttered bosom of the family Loamford. Dorothy acquired a canoe and became an expert solo paddler, not so much from love of this diversion as from the lack of any romantic assistance in her athletic ventures. Mr. Loamford continued to weed his potatoes and to comment flatteringly on the radishes which came from his garden. His wife continued to patronize the itinerant farmers, and there was no complaint about the vegetables served at the Loamford table.

Music, for a space, had lost its charms. The infrequent visitors to Poole’s Orchard learned that Dorothy was said to have an unusually beautiful natural voice but that she had not studied long enough to sing in public. No; not even for a few friends. Why, her own mother and father hadn’t heard her sing for months. In a year or so—ah, that would be different.

Madame Schneider’s successor was not discussed. Now and then Mrs. Loamford would suggest that it might be worth while to consider the question. She had heard good things of a Mrs. Woodworth, who had been a famous church contralto in her time. Then there was Miss Rachauser, who announced herself the sole teacher of a young tenor who recently had caused an uproar at an open-air concert in New York. Mr. Loamford