ick."

"What we're afraid of is that he won't want to pick them," laughed Ethel
Brown. "We're thinking of binding him to do a certain amount of picking
every day."

"Anyway, the Morton-Smith families are going to have gardens and Helen
is going to write for seed catalogues this very night before she seeks
her downy couch--she has vowed she will."

"Mother has always had a successful garden, she'll be able to give you
advice," offered Margaret.

"We'll ask it from every one we know, I rather imagine," and Dorothy
beamed at the prospect of doing something that had been one of her great
desires all her life.

The little thicket of grapefruit trees served as the centrepiece of
Ethel Blue's dinner table, and every one admired all over again its
glossy leaves and sturdy stems.

"When spring comes we'll set them out in the garden and see what
happens," promised Ethel Blue.

"We have grapefruit salad to-night. You must have sent a wireless over
to the kitchen," Ethel Brown declared to Margaret.

It was a delicious salad, the cubes of the grapefruit being mixed with
cubes of apple and of celery, garnished with cherries and served on
crisp yellow-green lettuce leaves with French dressing.

Ethel Blue always liked to see her Aunt Marion make French dressing at
the table, for her white hands moved swiftly and skilfully among the
ingredients. Mary brought her a bowl that had been chilled on ice. Into
it she poured four tablespoonfuls of olive oil, added a scant half
teaspoonful of salt with a dash of red pepper which she stirred until
the salt was dissolved. To that combination she added one tablespoonful
either of lemon juice or vinegar a drop at a time and stirring
constantly so that the oil might take up its sharper neighbor.

Dorothy particularly approved her Aunt Marion's manner of putting her
salads together. To-night, for instance, she did not have the plates
brought in from the kitchen with the salad already upon them.

"That always reminds me of a church fair," she declared.

She was willing to give herself the trouble of preparing the salad for
her family and guests with her own hands. From a bowl of lettuce she
selected the choicest leaves for the plate before her; upon these she
placed the fruit and celery mixture, dotted the top with a cherry and
poured the dressing over all. It was fascinating to watch her, and
Margaret wished that her mother served salad that way.

The Club was indeed incomplete withou