sson of this sort what spoiled children of
our civilization you are. It ought to make you grateful for your
privileges."

"There is something in that," Mrs. Adding joyfully consented.

"Oh, there is no civilization but ours," said Mrs. March, in a burst of
vindictive patriotism. "I am more and more convinced of it the longer I
stay in Europe."

"Perhaps that's why we like to stay so long in Europe; it strengthens
us in the conviction that America is the only civilized country in the
world," said March.

The shower passed as quickly as it had gathered, and the band which it
had silenced for a moment burst forth again in the music which fills
the Carlsbad day from dawn till dusk. Just now, it began to play a pot
pourri of American airs; at the end some unseen Americans under the
trees below clapped and cheered.

"That was opportune of the band," said March. "It must have been a
telepathic impulse from our patriotism in the director. But a pot pourri
of American airs is like that tablet dedicating the American Park up
here on the Schlossberg, which is signed by six Jews and one Irishman.
The only thing in this medley that's the least characteristic or
original is Dixie; and I'm glad the South has brought us back into the
Union."

"You don't know one note from another, my dear," said his wife.

"I know the 'Washington Post.'"

"And don't you call that American?"

"Yes, if Sousa is an American name; I should have thought it was
Portuguese."

"Now that sounds a little too much like General Triscoe's pessimism,"
said Mrs. March; and she added: "But whether we have any national
melodies or not, we don't poke women out in the rain and keep them
soaking!"

"No, we certainly don't," he assented, with such a well-studied effect
of yielding to superior logic that Mrs. Adding screamed for joy.

The boy had stolen out of the room, and he said, "I hope Rose isn't
acting on my suggestion?"

"I hate to have you tease him, dearest," his wife interposed.

"Oh, no," the mother said, laughing still, but with a note of tenderness
in her laugh, which dropped at last to a sigh. "He's too much afraid of
lese-majesty, for that. But I dare say he couldn't stand the sight. He's
queer."

"He's beautiful!" said Mrs. March.

"He's good," the mother admitted. "As good as the day's long. He's never
given me a moment's trouble--but he troubles me. If you can understand!"

"Oh, I do understand!" Mrs. March returned. "By his innocenc