“Miss Vickers,” said Mrs. Fielding, as she turned Marjorie over to her, “you must never, _never_ allow any one to give Marjorie candy. It would not be good for her.” Thus she tried to secure a monopoly of Marjorie's love, and forestall any ill effects, but she did not know the depths to which Chiswick had sunk. Concealed in her loose shirt waist was something that rustled suspiciously like paper and that made her once care-free conscience cringe at every rustle. Naturally, Marjorie got too much candy. Whenever she was alone with one of her family she found candy appearing from unsuspected places about their persons, and she began to like confidential little parties of two. It was truly joyful to see Marjorie eat candy. She was not greedy. At least, she did not look greedy. She looked surprised and pleased. She never seemed so soulful and sinless as at the moment when her pink lips closed over a bonbon. At such a moment she seemed to forget the world and to live in a more blessed sphere. The committee was particularly strict about candy. It made the most positive rules against candy and had them pasted on the walls of the nursery, and then during its calls, each of its members skirmished to be the last to leave. The last out of the room usually dropped a piece of candy into Marjorie's mouth. Her indisposition was a glorious opportunity for the candy givers. Everybody had a good excuse for going to the nursery as often as possible, and she was in a constant glow of cherubic bliss, until the day of reckoning came. She lay on her cot and was crudely, simply sick. Her eyes were sunken and her cheeks varied from pale yellow to feverish red. For the first time in her life she refused candy. Her family and attendants and her governing committee wandered about the nursery, each with one closed fist hiding a candy, seeking opportunities to bend over the crib, and offer the candy to Marjorie, unseen by the others. They made quite a procession. Someone was bending over the crib every moment. Finally the doctor came and bent over the crib, too, and then all the others joined him. “That child is sick,” said the doctor, taking her from the crib and concocting a potion. “We knew that, doctor,” said Miss Vickers. “We knew she was quite ill.” “Ill!” he said. “Ill! I said sick. Dog sick. She's overfed. Too much candy.” “Oh!” they all exclaimed. “Candy! Impossible!” “The rules of the committee--” began the chairman. “Did she eat 'em?” asked the doctor savagely. “If she did she ought to be sick. It makes me sick to look at 'em.” He glared at the assembly. “Which of you gave her candy?” he asked. There was no reply. He turned to Marjorie. “Like candy?” he asked. “Yeth,” said Marjorie. “Who gives you candy?” he inquired. Marjorie looked at the faces above her. She selected Chiswick. “Chithy,” she declared. Chiswick blushed. The others looked at her in pained surprise. “Who else gives you candy?” demanded the doctor. “Papa,” said Marjorie.