"You might as well take it, even if you didn't work full time. Of course, I won't want you to come again." "No?" Felicia asked with a curious upward inflection. In the exasperated silence the invalid's voice quavered out to them. "Miss Whadda-you-call-it!--Call that woman back here, Miss Grant!" She stepped to his door. "I wish you'd come around sometimes," he asked her pleadingly, "I do admire a good game of chess--and it's my house, I tell you, this is my house, even Clara can't say this isn't my house!" "I'll come sometimes," she promised, "indeed I will--" she stepped back to her abashed employer. "--you aren't making him happy," she murmured passionately, "sick people and old people ought to be happy--" and walked straight down the stairs and out through the ornate gates leaving a discomfited woman behind her. There were exactly six cents left in the bottom of Louisa's reticule, --it was when Felicia was passing a bake shop and saw a child buying currant buns that she knew what to do with them. She went in and bought buns. She walked slowly up her own stairs, pausing outside Maman's door to push the bag of buns back into the niche by the stairway. And stood a moment getting her breath and then reached out her hand. "Let's pretend--" she murmured under the turmoil of noises--the house was perturbed at suppertime,--"Let's pretend you put them there, Maman--" Safe in Mademoiselle's room she addressed Babiche firmly. "That woman, that Mrs. Alden is just a WEED! A weed like the tailor's missus and the rest. Some one ought to pull her right out of Uncle Peter's house! She is worse than a weed! She ought to have to be a by- the-day! And sit in a windy hall and sew and sew. And then some one ought to bring her a tray, with messy napkins and just two pieces of dry lamb and a sad tomato--and all the while that she was eating it somebody ought to put Uncle Peter's tray on the table beside her! With chicken and custard and celery and all! Yes, that's what some one should do, Babiche!" Babiche begged gracefully for her part of the buns. They had a delightful time together. "But I do wish," she murmured, after they'd settled themselves on the narrow bed for the night, "I could remember whether Mademoiselle ever let the Wheezy have such a dreadful luncheon--I shall ask her tomorrow--" She did ask her, for she did find the Wheezy, just as she found anything she set out to find, by sheer dint of persistence. It was late afternoon when she found her. The visiting hours were almost over. The Wheezy never had visitors, she was sitting listlessly looking at nothing at all when the attendant ushered Felicia through the corridor. She was just the same old Wheezy, but more crotchety, smaller and thinner, wheezing still and she turned her dim eyes toward the doorway and called, "If you want to speak to Mrs. Sperry why under the shining canopy don't you come in? She'll be back in a second."