I was annoyed to see in how friendly a spirit Wigglesworth received the condescending medical hand upon his quivering ears. Father is anything but slow. And I have long since let him into the secret of my romantic correspondence. "So that's it," he began. And heaven alone knows what he might have added had I not held up an imploring hand. Father, well-trained, subsided. But I didn't quite like the little crease between his brows. It was Mr. Denton, bless him, who saved the situation. "Take me up to the house, Carroll," he said. "I have half an acre of Connecticut soil on my person." And off they went, arm in arm, with Mr. Denton casting a reassuring look at me over his shoulder. Alone with Dr. Bill and the frantic Wigglesworth, "Well," I said, "isn't he wonderful?" "Who?" asked the obtuse creature. I pointed to the puppy, chasing his tail with verve. "Very," he answered drily. "Do you realize, Miss Carroll, that you almost sat up?" "When?" I shouted, very rudely, and quite disbelieving. "About five minutes ago, when the dog jumped into your hammock." "But," I insisted childishly, "I haven't been able to sit up all by myself since...." "I know," he interrupted, "It's what you _have_ done, not what you haven't, that is the point. Try again." Half crying from excitement, I tried. But it was no use, and I sank back, helpless and hysterical. "You see," I said sorrowfully. "Yes." He was looking at me out of those steel-blue eyes. "We're not going to give up," he said. "But now you must be taken back into the house again. You're tired." And no amount of pleading or denial could bend his inflexible will. Wigglesworth came prancing into my room, just as the Doctor was leaving. "You haven't said how adorable he is," I said, coaxing my new toy to the bed. "Adorable!" he repeated, emphatically. But, Diary-dear, the Doctor wasn't looking at the _dog_! QUITE AT HOME August 30th Dear Poet: