Sue Birdsey lay on the davenport by the fire. She was covered by an afghan and her face was propped up on a hot-water-bag. On the table near her was a huge packet of absorbent cotton and several bottles of medicine. Near her hand lay a book, unheeded. Unheeded, also, was the brilliant mid-January sun streaming in at the west windows. Of what use are books and sunlight, indeed, in the face of a raging toothache! On the opposite side of the hearth sat Carol, disconsolately urging a renewal of some one of the medicines. "It's no earthly use!" moaned Sue. "I've tried it a dozen times. Wait till the Imp gets back with that stuff your Aunt Agatha recommended. I'll try that, and if it doesn't stop it, I'll walk straight down to the dentist and have it out." "I believe it's going to ulcerate," remarked Carol, like the "Job's Comforter" she was always inclined to be. Sue's only reply was to hurl a sofa-cushion at her and subside again on the hot-water-bag. No further remarks were exchanged. The sun sank in a few moments and the room grew dark. Carol turned on the light and muttered something about how long the Imp was. After a few more gloomy moments, punctuated by groans from Sue, the door was flung open and the Imp rushed in, bringing a blast of chilly air with her. "Here it is!" she cried. "I had to wait an awful while for him to get it ready. You fix her up, Cad." While Carol administered the remedy according to directions, the Imp straightened out the rumpled afghan and refilled the hot-water-bag. She could be singularly helpful in case of sickness or an emergency, and seemed actually to delight in being of use,--a change of demeanor that never failed to astonish the other two girls. So accustomed were they to regard the Imp as their sworn enemy that this angelic demeanor quite disarmed them. Five minutes after the remedy had been applied Sue sat up with a jerk. "Hurrah! The pain's all gone. It went like magic. I feel like a new creature. No more of this for me!" She rose from the couch, pushing away the signs of her temporary invalidism. "Imp, you certainly are a trump. Come, Carol, let's get at our work for to-morrow." Ten minutes later they were busy at the long table, and the Imp again settled on the couch, apparently deep in a book. It was Sue who looked up after a while, to find her eyeing them with the pleased, quiet, provoking smile whose meaning they had come to know so well. The desire to investigate its cause proved, as usual, irresistible. "What are you grinning at, Bobs?" Sue demanded. "You look as pleased as Punch. Anything happened?" It was well always to placate her by appearing agreeable.