tell me
your troubles--"

Rosemary threw her arms around his neck.

"I'm not afraid of you, I'm only ashamed of myself," she whispered.
"And I love you more than any one in the world, next to Mother!"

The doctor heard of the shoe incident the next morning, indeed the
story was known about Eastshore within a few hours, and he was able
to piece together from what he heard a fair understanding of Nina
Edmonds' part in the incident. He succeeded in impressing on Sarah
and Shirley, and even Winnie and Aunt Trudy, that they were not to
mention Nina's name, or anything they might hear about that
unfortunate afternoon, to Rosemary, on pain of his severest
displeasure. Nina nodded, rather shamefacedly, to Rosemary in school
the next Monday morning and Rosemary spoke pleasantly; but she never
voluntarily sought the society of the other girl again and there was
something about her that effectually discouraged Nina from
attempting any overtures.

A week or two later, Winnie walked into Doctor Hugh's office one
night a few minutes before ten o'clock, ostensibly to bring him a
glass of milk and a sponge cake before he went to bed.

"Out with it, Winnie," he said good-naturedly. "I can see that you
are fairly bristling with the necessity of making an important
communication."

"It's Sarah, then," announced Winnie, putting down the glass of
milk. "Something has got to be done about her, Hughie."

"Sarah?" inquired the doctor meditatively. "Why I thought she was
conducting herself in an exemplary manner these last few weeks."

Winnie sniffed.

"I'm always the one that has to tell you," she complained. "I'm
after asking Miss Trudy these three nights running to speak to you,
but does she? She does not. She speaks to Sarah who minds her about
as well as the wind does. And Rosemary won't be doing her duty,
either; she says 'twould be telling tales and she's got Shirley
around to the same way of thinking."

"A conspiracy, eh?" smiled Doctor Hugh.

"Well, Winnie, what should I know that I don't know about my small
sister Sarah?"

Winnie was not to be hurried. She dearly loved a chat with her idol,
the doctor, and she had the born story-teller's art of prolonging
the climax.

"I'm not one to be going out of my way to find something to babble,"
she declared now. "There's plenty of things goes on I could be
running to you with every day in the week, did I so mind; but I
believe in letting folks have their own heads, as long