ily. As he made his
exit Flamby carefully closed the door, and--"Oh," she cried, "what a
funny old man! Whatever did he mean by _hahsma_?"

"I have been struggling with the same problem," declared Don, "and I
have come to the conclusion that he referred to asthma."

"Oh," said Flamby breathlessly. "I hope he won't mind me laughing at
him."

"I am sure he won't. He is a genial soul and generally liked in spite of
his spirituous aroma. Now for the Aunt."

They walked around two angles of the gallery and entered a large room
the windows of which overlooked the front lawn. It was furnished cosily
as a library, and a cheerful fire burned in the big open grate. From the
centre window an excellent view might be obtained of Reuben struggling
with the cabin-trunk, which the placid taxi-driver had unstrapped and
lowered on to the janitor's shoulders without vacating his seat.

"I hope he won't break the clock," said Flamby, _sotto voce_. She turned
as Don went up to a little table at which a round old lady, the only
occupant of the room, was seated writing. This old lady had a very round
red face and very round wide-open surprised blue eyes. Her figure was
round, too; she was quite remarkably circular.

"Ha, the Aunt!" cried Don, placing his hands affectionately upon her
plump shoulders. "Here is our country squirrel come to town."

Mrs. Chumley laid down her pen and turned the surprised eyes upon Don.
Being met with a smile, she smiled in response--and her smile was oddly
like that of her nephew. Flamby knew in a moment that Mrs. Chumley was a
sweet old lady, and that hers was one of those rare natures whose
possessors see ill in no one, but good in all.

"Dear me," said Mrs. Chumley, in a surprised silvery voice, a voice
peculiarly restful and soothing, "it is Don." She stood up. "Yes, it is
Don, and this is Flamby. Come here, dear, and let me look at you."

Flamby advanced swiftly, holding out her hand, which Mrs. Chumley took,
and the other as well, drawing her close and kissing her on the cheek in
the simple, natural manner of a mother. Then Mrs. Chumley held her at
arms' length, surveying her, and began to muse aloud.

"She is very pretty, Don," she said. "You told me she was pretty, I
remember. She is a sweet little girl, but I don't think black suits her.
Do you think black suits her?"

"Any old thing suits her," replied Don, "but she looks a picture in
white."

"Quite agree, Don, she would. Couldn't you dre