ed to himself.

"More, more!" cried Miss Pratt, clapping her hands. "Do it again, ickle
boy Baxter!"

"Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp!"

"WORD!" muttered Mr. Parcher.

Miss Pratt's voice became surcharged with honeyed wonder. "How did he
learn such marv'lous, MARV'LOUS imitations of darlin' Flopit? He ought
to go on the big, big stage and be a really actor, oughtn't he, darlin'
Flopit? He could make milyums and milyums of dollardies, couldn't he,
darlin' Flopit?"

William's modest laugh disclaimed any great ambition for himself in this
line. "Oh, I always could think up imitations of animals; things like
that--but I hardly would care to--to adop' the stage for a career.
Would--you?" (There was a thrill in his voice when he pronounced the
ineffably significant word "you.")

Miss Pratt became intensely serious.

"It's my DREAM!" she said.

William, seated upon a stool at her feet, gazed up at the amber head,
divinely splashed by the rain of moonlight. The fire with which she
spoke stirred him as few things had ever stirred him. He knew she had
just revealed a side of herself which she reserved for only the chosen
few who were capable of understanding her, and he fell into a hushed
rapture. It seemed to him that there was a sacredness about this moment,
and he sought vaguely for something to say that would live up to it and
not be out of keeping. Then, like an inspiration, there came into his
head some words he had read that day and thought beautiful. He had found
them beneath an illustration in a magazine, and he spoke them almost
instinctively.

"It was wonderful of you to say that to me," he said. "I shall never
forget it!"

"It's my DREAM!" Miss Pratt exclaimed, again, with the same enthusiasm.
"It's my DREAM."

"You would make a glorious actress!" he said.

At that her mood changed. She laughed a laugh like a sweet little girl's
laugh (not Jane's) and, setting her rocking-chair in motion, cuddled the
fuzzy white doglet in her arms. "Ickle boy Baxter t'yin' flatterbox us,
tunnin' Flopit! No'ty, no'ty flatterbox!"

"No, no!" William insisted, earnestly. "I mean it. But--but--"

"But whatcums?"

"What do you think about actors and actresses making love to each other
on the stage? Do you think they have to really feel it, or do they just
pretend?"

"Well," said Miss Pratt, weightily, "sometimes one way, sometimes the
other."

William's gravity became more and more profound. "Yes, but how can they
prete