As members of “The Industrial Expansion Commission” nine manufacturers were named, one for each of the leading industries of the State, chosen independent of known or presumed political affiliations; Mr. Collingwood's name was not among them. A vigorous veto of the bill giving a private corporation control of public property was sent to the Senate. The “peaceful picketing” bill was signed. The door opened, and a pretty face looked in. “Come in, Maude--I've just finished.” As the secretary withdrew, keeping his eyes fixed on the governor's youngest sister, she advanced slowly into the room. The door closed automatically and Maude tip-toed to her brother's side, returning his welcoming kiss. “What's his name?” she asked, pointing towards the self-closing door. “My secretary? Harry Merry,” said Quincy, “but the press boys all call him Sober Harry.” “I think he's just splendid,” said the impulsive Maude--“such beautiful eyes! But that isn't what I came for. I went up to your house and just brought Alice down to ours, and she told me all about the fine time you had and your speech. Will it be printed?” “Mr. Sylvester Chisholm, editor of the Fernborough Gazette was there and a faithful transcript of my feeble remarks will, no doubt, appear in his paper.” “Feeble!” said Maude contemptuously. “Have you been doing feeble things since you came back?” “No, Maude, I have done some very strenuous things, and I shall be glad to get home to my family.” Maude repeated, seriously, “To make a happy fireside clime For weans and wife Is the true pathos, and sublime, Of human life. “But you are not going home,” she continued,--“you are invited to dinner with your respected pa and ma and your two young--” “And beautiful sisters,” added Quincy with a laugh. “I'll come, but you must play the latest popular songs for me, and Alice will sing 'Sweet, Sweet Home,' and perhaps I can forget the cares of State--until to-morrow, anyway.” Maude flounced out of the door tossing a kiss from the tips of her fingers, to the astonishment of Sober Harry who had just entered, and who wished, from the bottom of his heart, that the flying salutation had been for him. CHAPTER III A VACATION AT FERNBOROUGH The Hon. Nathaniel Adams Sawyer did not dine at home that evening. Quincy's mother said that he had gone to Salem but would return later. After dinner the little company of five repaired to the parlour. Maude sang negro melodies despite the protests of her mother, and her sister Florence's assertion that they were only sung at cheap variety shows. “How do you know that?” cried Maude. “Did Reginald tell you?” “Who is Reginald?” asked Quincy. “Oh,” said Maude, tossing her head, “he's Florence's latest. She met him night before last--” “Maude!” Her sister's voice was full of angry protest. “Don't say another word.”