“This is the second thing I wanted to consult you about. It's a book-length story for children, called 'The House in the Wood.' I've written the first third, and outlined the rest. Here's the list of chapters. It is supposed to be for children between eight and fourteen, and was first suggested to me by this house. There is a family of four children, and a regulation father and mother, nurse, governess, and grandmother. They live in the country, and the children find a little deserted cottage which they adopt to play in. The book is full of their adventures in it. My idea is--” she sat beside him, her eyes brightening with interest--“to suggest all kinds of games to the children who read the story, which seem thrilling, but are really educational. It's quite a moral little book, I'm afraid,” she laughed, “but I think story books should describe adventures which may be within the scope of the ordinary child's life, don't you? I'm afraid it isn't a work of art, but I hope--if I can work out the scheme--it may give some practical ideas to mothers who don't know how to amuse their children.... There, Mr. Editor, what is your verdict?” Farraday was turning the pages in his rapid, absorbed way. He nodded and smiled as he looked. “I think it's a good idea, Mrs. Byrd; just the sort of thing we are always on the lookout for. The subject might be trite enough, but I suspect you of having lent it charm and freshness. Of course the family is English, which is a disadvantage, but I see you've mixed in a small American visitor, and that he's beginning to teach the others a thing or two! Where did you learn such serpent wisdom, young lady?” She laughed, amazed as she had been a year ago at his lightning-like apprehension. “It isn't humbug. I do think an American child could teach ours at home a lot about inventiveness, independence, and democracy--just as I think ours might teach him something about manners,” she added, smiling. “Admitted,” said he, laying down the manuscript, “and thank you for letting me see this. I claim the first refusal. Finish it, have it typed, and send it in, and if I can run it as a serial in The Child at Home, I shall be tremendously pleased to do so. If it goes, it ought to come out in book form, illustrated.” “You really think the idea has something in it?” “I certainly do, and you know how much I believe in your work.” “Oh, I'm _so_ glad,” she exclaimed, looking far more cheerful than he had seen her that evening. He rose to go, and held her hand a moment in his friendly grasp. “Good night, dear Mrs. Byrd; give my love to Elliston, and remember that in him and your work you have two priceless treasures which, even alone, will give you happiness.” “Oh, I know,” she said, her eyes shining; “good night, and thank you for the house.” “Good night, and in the house's name, thank you,” he answered from the door. As she closed it, the brightness slowly faded from Mary's face. She looked at the clock--it was past ten.