“Now, see here!” began Benedicta in a coaxing tone, “you just be a good girl and stop crying, and pretty soon we’ll have a regular superbondonjical time.” “I don’t know what kind of a time that is--I guess I never had one.” The mite was interested at once. “Oh, it’s lovely, amazin’ly lovely, a superbondonjical time is!” The voice was inspiring. Rosalind smiled. “Will we have it now?” she asked. “Just as soon as I can get it ready; I guess about the time you’ll sit up to your little table in your little chair.” This was a wonderfully satisfying answer, and Rosalind closed her eyes with a breath of content. She was constantly looking forward to ten o’clock in the morning and six o’clock in the afternoon, those being the hours when she was taken up for a short time and allowed to sit in the small chair that “daddy” had made for her and to eat her luncheon or supper upon the pretty table which Grandpa Wheatley had fashioned to match the chair. Benedicta held her a moment longer and then laid her tenderly upon her pillow. The child opened her eyes and gazed up into the kind, homely face. “You look like daddy,” she said thoughtfully. The housekeeper drew back with a start. “I--I must go see to--” Nobody found out just what she was going to “see to,” for she was gone. Soon a sweet, spicy odor floated into the ward, which caused the little folks to sniff delightedly and to wonder among themselves what was in store for them. It was not long before Benedicta and the “superbondonjical” luncheon came in. On the tray were freshly baked oatmeal macaroons, little cooky girls with wide skirts, and glasses of creamy milk. Rosalind smiled up at the housekeeper, and said again, “You do look like daddy!” This time, however, Benedicta did not run away. Instead, she responded, “Do I?” and went on to tell of a little girl that was lost and who was finally restored to her friends because of her likeness to one of her sisters. Polly, musing over this, wondered what relation Benedicta bore to the Wheatley family. Perhaps in time the truth would come out. It did come--and sooner than she had expected. She awoke early one morning and went downstairs to find Benedicta in the midst of a big baking. “Teeters and tongs!” ejaculated the housekeeper, “what in the universe are you up at five o’clock for? I calculated on havin’ the kitchen to myself for two hours longer.” She stood and viewed Polly dejectedly. The girl laughed. “I’m going right away,” she said. “I won’t hinder you a minute. If I can help,” she added, “I’ll stay.”