"Oh, hello, Ted!" she said; "Tom's not here." "Well, who is?" "No one but me." "But I heard some one whistle." "That was me too," said Miss Billy frankly and ungrammatically. "Well, I must say that your joke--I suppose you intended it for a joke--is extremely crude," replied her brother crossly. "You said last night that I couldn't get you out of bed," jeered Miss Billy. "Beside, I wanted you to see the sun rise. I have seen two myself, this morning." "Well you may now have the pleasure of seeing one go back to bed," said Theodore. He left the window abruptly, and Miss Billy heard him thump his pillow impatiently as she turned again to the garden. "Ted never has much sense of humour at six o'clock in the morning," she said, passing her loving hands under the tender green leaves. "Six blossoms! These are the most modest violets I ever saw in my life. They're afraid to show their heads above the ground. At this rate it won't take me long to prepare my floral creation for the breakfast table." There was still no sign of life about the house when she came back with the flowers, and Miss Billy wondered, as she put the purple blossoms in a clear green glass bowl, what she should do next. "I might practise half an hour," she said to herself, looking in at the piano as she stood in the hall door,-- "'Practicing's good for a good little girl, It makes her nose straight and it makes her hair curl,' "--but my hair is too curly now, and if my nose was straight, people would expect more of me. Beside, I hate to waste this lovely morning on scaly exercises. I believe I'll write a letter to Margaret. I feel in the right mood to talk to her." The same peculiar quick-step carried Miss Billy to her desk, where, dipping a battered-looking pen into the ink, she began:-- "1902 ASHURST PLACE. "_Dearly Beloved_: "I suppose you're just going to bed over in Cologne, with your hair done up in those funny little curl papers of yours. Or don't they wear curl papers in 'furrin' countries? What kind of a place is Cologne, anyway? Do they make Lundborg's Extract there, and _are_ the exports 'grain, grapes and beet sugar,' as the geography used to say? "Over here in America I am waiting for Maggie to arise and prepare our frugal repast, which, from sundry soaked articles I saw last night, I suspect will mainly consist of fish-balls. Maggie feels that she has not lived in vain when she succeeds in getting Theodore to refuse codfish-balls. It is the only article of food that he does not fall upon with fork and glee.