It was Mr. Tinneray, dexterous in all such matters, that caught at a drooping cerulean form as it toppled over. "I know'd she'd faint," the pale-eyed gentleman chuckled. He manfully held his burden until Mrs. Tinneray and Mrs. Bean relieved him. These ladies, practised in all smelling-bottle and cologne soothings, supplied also verbal comfort. "Them young fellows," they explained to Mrs. Tuttle, "is full of their devilment and you can't never tell what they'll do next. But ain't it _lucky_, Mis' Tuttle, that it's your own sister has charge of that bird?" When at last a pale and interesting lady in blue appeared feebly on deck, wiping away recurrent tears, she was received with the most perfect sympathy tempered with congratulations. There may have been a few winks and one or two nods of understanding which she did not see, but Mrs. Tuttle herself was petted and soothed like a queen of the realm, only, to her mind was brought a something of obligation--the eternal obligation of those who greatly possess--for every excursionist said, "My, yes! No need to worry--your sister will take care of that bird like he was one of her own, and then you can go over in yer ottermobile to git him--and when you fetch him you can take her home with yer--fer a visit." ONNIE[3] [Note 3: Copyright, 1917, by The Century Company. Copyright, 1918, by Thomas Beer.] BY THOMAS BEER From _The Century Magazine_ Mrs. Rawling ordered Sanford to take a bath, and with the clear vision of seven years Sanford noted that no distinct place for this process had been recommended. So he retired to a sun-warmed tub of rain-water behind the stables, and sat comfortably armpit deep therein, whirring a rattle lately worn by a snake, and presented to him by one of the Varian tribe, sons of his father's foreman. Soaking happily, Sanford admired his mother's garden, spread up along the slope toward the thick cedar forest, and thought of the mountain strawberries ripening in this hot Pennsylvania June. His infant brother Peter yelled viciously in the big gray-stone house, and the great sawmill snarled half a mile away, while he waited patiently for the soapless water to remove all plantain stains from his brown legs, the cause of this immersion. A shadow came between him and the sun, and Sanford abandoned the rattles to behold a monstrous female, unknown, white-skinned, moving on majestic feet to his seclusion. He sat deeper in the tub, but she seemed unabashed, and stood with a red hand on each hip, a grin rippling the length of her mouth. "Herself says you'll be comin' to herself now, if it's you that's Master San," she said. Sanford speculated. He knew that all things have an office in this world, and tried to locate this preposterous, lofty creature while she beamed upon him. "I'm San. Are you the new cook?" he asked. "I am the same," she admitted. "Are you a _good_ cook?" he continued. "Aggie wasn't. She drank."