"Good Gracious," she said. "Are my children developing 'Second Sight'?--First it was the 'Field of Tulips' already written down as their Father's choice before he could even get the words out of his mouth!--And now, hours before the Old Doctor ever even dreamed of the Book's existence they've got his distinctly unique taste in perfumes all--" "But this isn't the Old Doctor!" I cried out. "She wrote it herself. It's the Lady down at the hotel. It's the--the Empress that the Old Doctor was talking about!" "The--Empress?" gasped the Old Doctor. "Well maybe you said 'Princess,'" I admitted. "It was some one from Austria anyway--come to fuss about the old Dun Vorlees place! You said it was! You said that's who it was!--It's the only Strange Lady in the village!" "What?" gasped the Old Doctor. "_What?_" He looked at the book. He read the Lady's writing. Anybody could have seen that it wasn't our writing. It was too dressy. He put on his glasses. He read it again. --the smell of an old tattered baseball glove--that's been lying in the damp grass--side of a brook--June Time. "Good Lord!" he cried out. "Good Lord!"--He couldn't seem to swallow through his collar. "Not anyone else!" he gasped. "In all the world!--There couldn't possibly be anyone else! It must--It _must_ be little Annie Dun Vorlees herself!" He rushed to the window. There was a grocery boy driving by. "Hi! Hi there!" he called out. "Don't mind anybody's orders just now! Take me quick to the Hotel!--It's an Emergency I tell you! She may be gone before I get there!" We sat down on the sofa and curled up our legs. Our legs felt queer. My Mother and Father sat down on the other sofa. They looked queer all over. They began to talk about the Village. It wasn't exactly the Village that we knew. It was as though they talked about the Village when it was a _child_. They talked about when the Bridge was first built. They talked about the Spring when the Big Freshet swept the meadow. They talked about the funny color of Jason the Blacksmith's first long trousers. They talked about a tiny mottled Fawn that they had caught once with their own hands at a Sunday School picnic in the Arbutus Woods. They talked about the choir rehearsals in the old white church. They talked about my Father's Graduation Essay in the High School. It was like History that was sweet instead of just true. It made you feel a little lonely in your throat. Our Tame Coon came and curled up on our legs. It made our legs feel better. The clock struck nine. Our Father and Mother forgot all about us. Pretty soon we forgot all about ourselves. When we woke up the Old Doctor had come back. He was standing by the table in the lamplight talking to my Father and my Mother. He looked just the same--only different--like a portrait in a newspaper that somebody had tried to copy. All around the inner edges of his bigness it was as though someone had sketched the outline of a slimmer man.--It looked nice.