"Why, dear?—Wouldn’t you like to have her go away?" she returned, smiling uncertainly. "No! We wouldn’t!" replied all the children actually in one voice, with little Jimmie loudest, whereat we both laughed. "Who," demanded Randolph sternly, "will sew our buttons on?" "And who’ll give me my baf?" cried Jimmie. "Or help us with our lessons?" put in Laura. "Well, we’ll see!" Miss Smith came back brightly. I believe that young woman is genuinely fond of children. "What are you playing just now?" They all began to explain at once. "Shall I leave you with them?" I murmured. "Yes—I’ll stay a minute or two," she nodded—and I tiptoed out to await doom. When I returned a few minutes later, I heard to my surprise Griselda’s voice, just before I opened the door, rising to the full height of her indignation: "If this is no fitting, then nothing is fitting—" whereupon I opened the door. The children had disappeared. Griselda with flashing eyes was literally towering over poor Miss Smith. Evidently Griselda had been bearing testimony. Most excellent witness, Griselda! What chance had any Miss Smith against a rock of sheer personality like Griselda? "It’s all right," Miss Smith announced, smiling faintly as I entered. "I called up the matron this noon and she left it in my hands. This is an exception—the first of its kind in our institution—but I mean to let Alicia stay. She—she seems so happy here," she added, faltering. "That’s very gracious of you," I bowed. "I thank you. Shall we—tell them your decision?" Griselda opened the door of the bedroom where they all had been cooped up like so many frightened little hares, and Randolph, unable to contain himself, demanded eagerly: "Can she stay?" "Yes," nodded Miss Smith, and wild shouts must have shattered the nerves of the other tenants. Jimmie, as a mark of highest favor, ran to Miss Smith and held forth his arms to be taken up into hers. He could not bestow a greater confidence. Alicia dabbed some happy tears from her cheeks. I begged Miss Smith to stay to tea with them, and unobtrusively escaped. Now my mind is agog with triumphant imaginings. If ever I become President, Griselda of a certainty shall be my Secretary of State. *CHAPTER VII* Now that the Christmas holidays have passed and I have been casting up accounts, the uneasy knowledge has come to me that I am no longer living on my income. The freshet of bills is surging about me yet. Perhaps I have been improvident, but I have not bought a book in ages. Andrews, the bookseller, informed me the other day, with an expression more of sorrow than of anger, that though he couldn’t comprehend my unaccountable refusal of the Boswell, he had not the heart to offer it to any one else. He was holding it still, he declared, in order to spare a friend regrets. "Sell it, Andrews, for God’s sake—sell it," I told him.