Sometimes they were cheerful little letters that peeped under the tight crack. Evangeline wrote the news to Elly Precious. That Stefana's washes came easier now and Carruthers was good all the time, only they never let him be steam whistles, of course. That they all missed Elly Precious and hoped that they'd be short measles and, mercy gracious, yes, they loved him, and Aunt Sarah was knitting again. As the baby began to convalesce (they were short measles) and could sit up on Miss Theodosia's lap in front of the window, Evangeline's most important assistance began. For Elly Precious had very restless occasions and even Miss Theodosia's new skill failed always to "distrack" him. Evangeline established a stage of action outside the biggest-paned, lowest-silled window, where vision was least obscured from within. On that stage she danced wild, long dances, varying with each performance. It was amazing how she varied them--sometimes bending and bowing tirelessly, sometimes evolving remarkable skirt dances from legs and toes and whirling petticoats. She grimaced unweariedly as long as Elly Precious would laugh at her faces. When he tired of those, she impersonated a cow--a horse--and made cow-noises and horse-noises at the top of her voice, to carry to Elly Precious. Day after day she came, and they watched her from the big-paned window--the baby and Miss Theodosia. It was a great help to the measles. "I never saw such a child!" Miss Theodosia said to the Reformed Doctor. "She never gets tired of doing it." "Never was but one Evangeline--but she gets tired all right. Needn't tell me!" "Then it's--love," Miss Theodosia said gently. "It is," nodded he. They had proceeded far in their acquaintance. Elly Precious had been so tiny a thing between them, as they ministered to him! It was not to be wondered at that they had drawn closer. After his professional "call," John Bradford fell into the way of lingering till she brought him tea. "Talk about women loving tea!" she gibed gayly. "Talk about it being the men that want three lumps!" "That is queer, isn't it? We're the wrong way about; I like mine sweet and you don't want any sugar. We're the exceptions that prove the rule. If you'll hold Elly Precious a minute, I'll fill your cup." "That will make three." "'And I'll do it again, if you like--and again if you like!'" she quoted. "Are you making stories now?" she asked him that day. And he nodded gravely, "One--a love-story." "Tell me about it! We want to hear it, don't we, Elly Precious? We love love-stories." "Not yet. Not till it is a little farther along." He set the third cup down untasted. His face, as Miss Theodosia looked smilingly at it across the baby's head, had grown grave. She wondered simply. Miss Theodosia was not making a love-story. "Will you tell us about it when it's farther along? About the heroine and how she likes being in a love-story? Mercy gracious, it must be exciting!"