'For I was thinking it would be so nice if you would come with me to-morrow and help me to choose the materials; and then, you see, Nan, you might sketch me some design, out of your own head, for you are so clever at those things, and that would be better than a shop pattern. And then,' added Madge, 'I should tell him it was your design.' Nan paused for a second. 'I will do whatever you want, Madge--but you must not say that I made the design for you. It won't be worth much at the best. I would rather have nothing said about it, dear.' 'Very well, Nan; that's just like you.' CHAPTER XVIII. A WHITE WORLD. Next morning it still snowed and blew hard; no one could go out; it was clearly a day to be devoted to indoor amusements. And then Frank King, despite the state of the streets and the absence of cabs, made his way along, and was eagerly welcomed. As Mr. Tom's companion he was to spend the whole day there. Billiards, music, lunch, painting--they would pass the time somehow. And meanwhile the gusts of wind rattled the windows; and the whirling snow blurred out the sea; and Mr. Tom kept on big fires. Nan remained in her own room. When Madge went up to bring her down she found her reading Thomas a Kempis. 'Frank has asked twice where you were,' Madge remonstrated. 'But that is not a command,' said Nan, with a smile. 'I should have thought, judging by the sound, that you were being very well amused below.' Madge went away, and in about an hour after came back. She found that her sister had put away _De Imitatione Christi_, and was at her desk. 'Writing! To whom?' 'To the Editor of the _Times_', said Nan, laughing at her sister's instantaneous dismay. 'The _Times_? Are you going to turn a blue-stocking, Nan?' 'Oh no; it's only about blankets. You can read the letter; do you think he will print it?' This was the letter which Madge read, and which was written in a sort of handwriting that some editors would be glad to see oftener:-- 'Dear Sir--The Government interfere to punish a milkman who adulterates milk with water; and I wish to put the question in your columns why they should not also punish the manufacturers who dress blankets with arsenic? Surely it is a matter of equal importance. Poor people can get along without milk, unless there are very small children in the house; but when they have insufficient food, and insufficient fire, and scant clothes, and perhaps also a leaky roof, a good warm pair of blankets is almost a necessity. You cannot imagine what a compensation it is, especially in weather like the present; but how are the charitably disposed to take such a gift to a poor household when it may become the instrument of death or serious illness? Dear Sir, I hope you will call upon the Government to put down this wicked practice; and I am, yours respectfully, AN ENGLISH GIRL.'