She was working up into a frenzy which made all her earlier efforts sound like lullabies with the soft pedal on, and she was shaking herself into convulsions and crying real tears. "Behold," she sobbed, "_las lagrimas de la huerfanita_!" (The tears of the little orphan!) I counted ten. Then I turned to my new husband. "Michael Daragh," I said, meekly, "will you take Randal with you and let me take Dolores with me?" I wish you could have seen people's faces as we went off in a groaning taxi, ourselves, our luggage, Randal, white and protesting, Dolores, tearful but triumphant, Jose-Maria, snapping and snarling, Santa Catalina, strongly urging every one to shut his ugly mouth for the love of all the saints. Sally, you've read a hundred stories, haven't you, which went like this--the ceremony, the good wishes, the rice, the old shoes, then--"he jerked down the curtain of the cab window,"--"Alone at last," he murmured, "my _wife_!" "He folded her in his arms." I think Michael Daragh's feeling was that we were not _entirely_ alone, and that it was a rather large order to fold in his arms a swearing parrot, a shivering, hairless dog, a robust Mexican orphan, a bride and a dope fiend, for he made not the first gesture of the above ritual. It is after midnight. Dolores is asleep here in my stateroom, a smile of seraphic peace on her face, but in the room next door I hear the steady murmur of M.D.'s voice reading to poor Randal, who cannot sleep, who has tried to jump overboard. Michael dares not leave him for an instant, even to tell me good-night. Sally, it _is_ really funny, but I have to keep assuring and reminding myself that it is. JANE. _Morning, At Three Meadows._ SALLY, MY DEAR, Once again I crept up a river of mother-of-pearl in the gauzy dawn to this island sanctuary. The Deacon met us, amazed at our number, and led us to the silver gray house just beyond theirs on a little, lifting hill, where "Angerleek" will "do for us." Morning brought counsel. While my husband (carelessly said--just like that!) while my husband looked after luggage I talked to Randal, sane again, haggard, abased. "My dear boy," I said, "_you_ aren't going to be in the way at all! You'll look after yourself and be company for Michael when he wants good man-talk. It's this demon-child. If--_do_ you suppose you could look after her for me!" He wrung my hand. "Count on me! If there's anything I can do, to atone, to square myself--I'll be her nurse, her governess, her jailer!" Then to a meek _huerfanita_, feeding her menagerie, I made oration. "Daughter of my soul, thou knowest thy presence is a joy of purest ray serene, but this Randal creature, tagging ever at the heels of my spouse----"