This incident annoyed William. “Look there!” he called from the window. “You mean to eat that cake after the dog's had his face on it?” Jane remained placid. “It wasn't his face.” “Well, if it wasn't his face, I'd like to know what--” “It wasn't his face,” Jane repeated. “It was his nose. It wasn't all of his nose touched it, either. It was only a little outside piece of his nose.” “Well, are you going to eat that cake, I ask you?” Jane broke off a small bit of the wafer. She gave the bit to Clematis and slowly ate what remained, continuing to watch Genesis and apparently unconscious of the scorching gaze from the window. “I never saw anything as disgusting as long as I've lived!” William announced. “I wouldn't 'a' believed it if anybody'd told me a sister of mine would eat after--” “I didn't,” said Jane. “I like Clematis, anyway.” “Ye gods!” her brother cried. “Do you think that makes it any better? And, BY the WAY,” he continued, in a tone of even greater severity, “I'd a like to know where you got those cakes. Where'd you get 'em, I'd just like to inquire?” “In the pantry.” Jane turned and moved toward the house. “I'm goin' in for some more, now.” William uttered a cry; these little cakes were sacred. His mother, growing curious to meet a visiting lady of whom (so to speak) she had heard much and thought more, had asked May Parcher to bring her guest for iced tea, that afternoon. A few others of congenial age had been invited: there was to be a small matinee, in fact, for the honor and pleasure of the son of the house, and the cakes of Jane's onslaught were part of Mrs. Baxter's preparations. There was no telling where Jane would stop; it was conceivable that Miss Pratt herself might go waferless. William returned the cardboard box to its drawer with reverent haste; then, increasing the haste, but dropping the reverence, he hied himself to the pantry with such advantage of longer legs that within the minute he and the wafers appeared in conjunction before his mother, who was arranging fruit and flowers upon a table in the “living-room.” William entered in the stained-glass attitude of one bearing gifts. Overhead, both hands supported a tin pan, well laden with small cakes and wafers, for which Jane was silently but repeatedly and systematically jumping. Even under the stress of these efforts her expression was cool and collected; she maintained the self-possession that was characteristic of her. Not so with William; his cheeks were flushed, his eyes indignant. “You see what this child is doing?” he demanded. “Are you going to let her ruin everything?” “Ruin?” Mrs. Baxter repeated, absently, refreshing with fair water a bowl of flowers upon the table. “Ruin?” “Yes, ruin!” William was hotly emphatic, “If you don't do something with her it 'll all be ruined before Miss Pr-- before they even get here!” Mrs. Baxter laughed. “Set the pan down, Willie.”