“Yes, and she doesn't hesitate to sit down in those dreadful hovels, and take those unclean babies in her arms. It has made me frightfully nervous since we came here. Gerald is so sensitive to germs.” “What is this latest tomfoolery about a kindergarten?” “Why, she has actually gotten Mrs. Bartrum and Mrs. Horton, and some of those other society women, to rent the hall over the grocery where the Cant-Pass-It Saloon used to be. They are going to open a kindergarten and Margery Sequin is coming home from Europe to take charge of it. I am afraid the project is built upon the sands. There is not a church member on the board!” “Well, they needn't come to me for a contribution,” said Mr. Gooch. “I don't believe in kindergartens.” While this conversation was taking place, quite a different one was in progress, on the up-stairs side porch which had been converted into a summer bedroom for Miss Lady and Bertie. “Do you 'spose,” Bert was saying sleepily, “that God 'ud give me a horn 'stead of a harp when I get to heaven, if I ask him to?” “I know He will, Bert. Take off your other shoe.” “Why didn't He give Chick something to say?” “He did, but Chick's throat won't let the words come through. Step out of your clothes now, hurry up, Buddikin!” But Bert's feet were firmly planted, and his sleepy eyes fixed in philosophic musings: “If He had all kinds of throats I don't see why He didn't give Chick a good one.” This required elucidation, and Miss Lady attempted to make the matter clear while extricating the small boy from his clothes. “Ain't you going to tell me a story?” “Not to-night, Bert. I'm so tired; all the stories have run out.” Bert crawled into his bed silently, and lay watching the shadows in the big tree outside. “I wish Cousin Don was here,” he sighed. “He never does run out of stories. When is he coming back?” “I don't know, dear. Shut your eyes now, and go to sleep.” He shut his eyes obediently, but continued the conversation drowsily, “He knows all about whales and tigers, and big ships and elephants. He's--been--clear--around--the--earth--” But the Sandman had conquered, and Miss Lady, having slipped on a dressing-gown and loosened her hair, tiptoed to the far end of the porch and sitting on the railing gazed fixedly out into the gathering darkness. For half an hour the dim enchantments of twilight had been abroad, transforming hill and valley, and merging heaven and earth in a tender, elusive atmosphere of dreams. But her absorbed, white face, and tense hands locked about her knees, showed that she was not concerned with the beauty of the evening. Mrs. Ivy's words had kindled a bonfire, by the light of which recent events leapt into view. Connie had been secretive, not only about her letters but about her engagements as well. She was growing daily more indifferent to Gerald Ivy, and developing a taste for reading that had been the cause of much surmising and teasing on the part of the household.