But it was Uncle Peter, with whom she still played chess whenever she could steal the time, who found out in some mysterious way about the house and its difficulties and it was Uncle Peter, (who wasn't half dead, not by a long shot) who sat up and forgot his ailments and held long conferences with the young lawyer and the Portia Person. And it was Uncle Peter whose own generous gift, coupled with what he coerced from his friends, who made it possible for the burden of taxes and interests on that great house to be lifted. It was "vairee businesslike," the same sort of "businesslike" that Felice herself had been when she made the bargain with the Poetry Girl to pay double rent if she should ever be earning anything. The stockholders in the new corporation that took over the house were to sell their stock back at par whenever the house should be put on a paying basis, or whenever Miss Day should have earned enough to pay them back. She was immensely pleased with that idea. She was sure that even though it should take her as long as it had to rebuild the garden of the House in the Woods that she would some day be able to do it. The "children" revelled in her reflected glory. They all of them loved knowing that their little Miss-By-the-Day was the mysterious Mademoiselle Folly who'd set the whole town talking. The Sculptor Girl fairly chortled her glee when she came back from Manhattan after a walk down the avenue and brought an amusing census of the shops that sold "Mademoiselle Folly" novelties! "Lordy," she related to the Architect's wife, who couldn't even go into the garden these days, "When I think of it I could shout! The toy shops have battledores and shuttlecocks! They're actually selling lace mits like Louisa's and coral combs like Octavia's and the hair dressers' shops have windows full of silly wax-headed figures with their hairs all neatly coiffed in the middles and knots tucked down behind like Felice--and the darling doesn't even know it!" How could she? She never had time for walks down the avenue--it was hard enough to find time for "pretending" these busy days when the carpenters and painters and masons and plumbers descended upon the house to carry out the architect's beautiful plans--the house fairly hummed with activity. Yet there came a day when the house was still when all the workmen were sent away, when all that dwelt in the house walked restlessly in the garden; a night when Mademoiselle Folly hurried back from her audience with her little fists clinched and when she made Molly come sit and hold her hand. That was the night when in Maman's room the architect's feeble wife fought out her battle; a night that seemed interminable. But early in the morning, after all of them had gone to bed save the doctors and the nurses and Felice, Molly came running up to Mademoiselle D'Ormy's room with the honest tears coursing down her cheeks.