“In each house there shall be particular equipment for particular occupations. Children’s theaters—and fine weaving—carving of wood and ivory and copying brocades. Just see the work to be done, the joy of it—and the pity, too! There must be a bee farm and a poultry annex and I’ve a regular bag of tricks up my sleeve. I’ve Ali Baba as overseer—Betsey and Hopeful as managers—and myself (grin mark) to demonstrate the practical worth of your vision. “For you are the dreamer and I the doer. We are, in our relations, the same as that of science towards theology: ‘Nous nous saluons mais nous ne parlons pas.’ Is it not so? (Wee grin mark.) You speak but you are afraid to do and I am afraid to speak but I must do. There, write me you will come to my Fincherie and see my children and give us your blessing, “THURLEY.” She received her answer via wire the night she returned to New York unwillingly to sing her first concert. “Not a gray angel but white. Wait until I can say not write it. “B. H.” All New York whispered that “the Precore voice” was more ravishing than ever, particularly when it sang love songs! * * * * * While Thurley bustled about between her season and her remodelling of the lake colony and assembling her new family, the original family underwent some thrilling events. Hobart was taken unawares with a fresh budget of duties which kept him West without respite, although he went so far as to send Thurley numerous flowergrams and offer donations towards her Fincherie, writing notes in which he demanded more details as to the work and advice as to her career. Polly Harris had a mysterious surprise which resolved itself into a great success. It was not the grand opera that Polly stubbornly dreamed of during the lean years of struggle; without warning, she composed and had published camp songs which roused the country to topnotch enthusiasm. They were jingles, really, but with sincere sentiments, a tinge of humor and a vigorous little melody—they sprang from the depths of Polly’s loyal heart, bravely relinquishing opera ambitions because “a song fights as well as an army,” she decided, locking her attic door and preparing to drudge. “I feel light-headed,” she informed Thurley when she came to the latter’s apartment to tell all about it. “As if I were going to open my eyes to find myself in a dentist’s chair, following the taking of old fashioned laughing gas while I lost a wisdom tooth! That it would be the same ‘’ammer, ’ammer, ’ammer on the broad ’ighway’ for yours truly! Oh, don’t ask how I wrote them—how do you sing or Bliss direct—or Collin paint?” she added softly.