Miss Mason, extracting several parcels from her carrier, flopped gratefully into a rocker, and drew off her gloves. “One or two,” she said. “Here, Lily; here's your marmalade, and here's the soap, and a letter for you. There are a few bills, Mary, and a couple of notes--” she passed them across--“and here's an afternoon paper one of the Haven youngsters handed me as I passed him on the road. He called out something about another atrocity. I haven't looked at it. I hate to open the things these days.” “I know,” nodded Mary, busy with her letters, “so do I. This is from Mr. Gunther, from California. He's been there all the winter, you know. Oh, how nice; he's coming back! Says we are to expect a visit from him soon,” Mary exclaimed, with a pleased smile. “Here's a line from Constance,” she went on. “Everything is doing splendidly in her garden, she says. She wants us all to go up in June, before she begins her auto speaking trip. Don't you think it would be nice!” “Perfectly elegant,” said the Sparrow. “I'm glad she's taking a little rest. I thought she looked real tired this spring.” “She works so frightfully hard.” “Land sakes, work agrees with _you_, Mary! You look simply great. If your new book does as well as the old one I suppose porches won't satisfy you--you'll be wanting to build an ell on the house?” “That's just what I do want,” said Mary, smiling. “I want to have a spare room, and proper place for the babies. We're awfully crowded. Did I tell you Mr. Farraday had some lovely plans that he had made years ago, for a wing?” “You don't say!” “Yes, but I'm afraid we'll have to wait another year for that, till I can increase my short story output.” “My, it seems to me you write them like a streak.” Mary shook her head. “No, after Baby is weaned I expect to work faster, and ever so much better.” “Well, if you do any better than you are doing, Frances Hodgson Burnett won't be in it; that's all I can say.” “Oh, Sparrow!” smiled Mary, “she writes real grown-up novels, too, and I can only do silly little children's things.” “They're not silly, Mary Byrd, I can tell you that,” sniffed Miss Mason, shaking out her paper. “My gracious!” She turned a shocked face to Mary. “What do you suppose those Germans have done now? Sunk the Lusitania!” “The Lusitania?” exclaimed Mary, incredulously. “Yes, my dear; torpedoed her without warning. My, ain't that terrible? It says they hope most of the passengers are saved--but they don't know yet.” “Let me see!” Mary bent over her shoulder. “The Lusitania gone!” she whispered, awed. “No, no!” exclaimed the Sparrow suddenly, hurrying off the porch. “Ellie not pour sand over his head! No, naughty!”