er this we are to have
one a year. We'll drop everything and indulge in the heaven-given luxury
of loafing. You need it. Your eyes are too big and your face too pale. I
don't see what has ailed me not to notice before. But right after
Christmas, dear, I'm going to run away with you.... What are you
thinking about, Lyn?"

"Oh, only the blessedness of being taken care of! It's strange, but I
know now that all my life--before this--I was gazing at things through
closed windows. Alone in my cell I looked out--sometimes through
beautiful stained glass, to be sure--at trees waving and people passing.
Now and then some one paused and spoke to me, but always with the
barrier between. Now--I touch people--there is nothing to keep us apart.
I'm just like everybody else; and your love and care, Con, have set the
windows wide!"

"This will never do, Lyn. Such fancies! I may have to take you away
_before_ Christmas." Truedale spoke lightly but his look was anxious.

"In the meantime, let us go out for a walk in the snow. There's enough
wind to make it a tussle. Come, dear!"

CHAPTER XX

Two days later Lynda came down from her workshop by the back stairs, and
passed through William Truedale's bedchamber on the way to the library.
It was only ten o'clock in the morning but Truedale had a habit, if he
happened to be in the neighbourhood, of dropping in for a moment at this
hour. If he should to-day Lynda wanted to confer with him about some
details concerning the disrobing of the Saxe infants. She was
particularly light hearted and merry. A telephone call from Betty had
put her in the sunniest humour.

To her surprise, as she entered the library, she saw a small, most
peculiar-looking woman sitting quite straight on the edge of a chair in
the middle of the room.

It was a cast-iron rule that Lynda must not be disturbed at her morning
work. Thomas generally disposed of visitors without mercy.

"Good morning!" Lynda said kindly. "Can I do anything for you? I am
sorry you had to wait."

She concluded it was some one connected with the Saxe Home. That was
largely in her mind at the moment.

"I want to see"--and here the strange little figure came to Lynda and
held out a very dirty, crumpled piece of paper on which was written
Truedale's name and address.

"Mr. Truedale may not be home until evening," Lynda said. And now she
thought that this must be one of the private and pet dependents of Con's
with whom she would d