ning of the first day was under way.

Peter was well content that morning, in spite of an undercurrent of
uneasiness. Before this Anna had shared his proprietorship with him. Now
the little household was his. His vicarious domesticity pleased him. He
strutted about, taking a new view of his domain; he tightened a doorknob
and fastened a noisy window. He inspected the coal-supply and grumbled
over its quality. He filled the copper kettle on the stove, carried
in the water for Jimmy's morning bath, cleaned the mouse cage. He even
insisted on peeling the little German potatoes, until Harmony cried
aloud at his wastefulness and took the knife from him.

And afterward, while Harmony in the sickroom read aloud and Jimmy put
the wooden sentry into the cage to keep order, he got out his books and
tried to study. But he did little work. His book lay on his knee, his
pipe died beside him. The strangeness of the situation came over him,
sitting there, and left him rather frightened. He tried to see it
from the viewpoint of an outsider, and found himself incredulous and
doubting. McLean would resent the situation. Even the Portier was a
person to reckon with. The skepticism of the American colony was a thing
to fear and avoid.

And over all hung the incessant worry about money; he could just manage
alone. He could not, by any method he knew of, stretch his resources
to cover a separate arrangement for himself. But he had undertaken to
shield a girl-woman and a child, and shield them he would and could.

Brave thoughts were Peter's that snowy morning in the great salon of
Maria Theresa, with the cat of the Portier purring before the fire;
brave thoughts, cool reason, with Harmony practicing scales very softly
while Jimmy slept, and with Anna speeding through a white world, to the
accompaniment of bitter meditation.

Peter had meant to go to Semmering that day, but even the urgency of
Marie's need faded before his own situation. He wired Stewart that he
would come as soon as he could, and immediately after lunch departed for
the club, Anna's list in his pocket, Harmony's requirements in mind. He
paused at Jimmy's door on his way out.

"What shall it be to-day?" he inquired. "A postcard or a crayon?"

"I wish I could have a dog."

"We'll have a dog when you are better and can take him walking. Wait
until spring, son."

"Some more mice?"

"You will have them--but not to-day."

"What holiday comes next?"

"New Year's Day.