go to sleep, and perhaps--I only say perhaps--I may be used to
my beautiful clothes in a week or two, so that I shall be my usual
modest self again."

"Good-night, Polly," said the boys; "we will see you to-morrow."

"'Pauline,' if you please, not 'Polly.' I ceased to be Polly this
morning when the circulars were posted. I am now Miss Pauline Oliver,
story-teller by profession."

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE CHILDREN'S HOUR: REPORTED IN A LETTER BY AN EYE-WITNESS.

It was the last Monday in March, and I had come in from my country home
to see if I could find my old school friend, Margaret Crosby, who is
now Mrs. Donald Bird, and who is spending a few years in California.

The directory gave me her address, and I soon found myself on the
corner of two beautiful streets and before a very large and elegant
house. This did not surprise me, as I knew her husband to be a very
wealthy man. There seemed to be various entrances, for the house stood
with its side to the main street; but when I had at last selected a
bell to ring, I became convinced that I had not, after all, gone to the
front door. It was too late to retreat, however, and very soon the
door was opened by a pretty maid-servant in a white cap and apron.

"You need n't have rung, 'm; they goes right in without ringing
to-day," she said pleasantly.

"Can I see Mrs. Bird?" I asked.

"Well, 'm," she said hesitatingly, "she 's in Paradise."

"Lovely Margaret Crosby dead! How sudden it must have been," I
thought, growing pale with the shock of the surprise; but the pretty
maid, noticing that something had ruffled my equanimity, went on
hastily:--

"Excuse me, 'm. I forgot you might be a stranger, but the nurses and
mothers always comes to this door, and we 're all a bit flustered on
account of its bein' Miss Pauline's last 'afternoon,' and the mothers
call the music-room 'Paradise,' 'm, and Mr. John and the rest of us
have took it up without thinkin' very much how it might sound to
strangers."

"Oh, I see," I said mechanically, though I did n't see in the least;
but although the complicated explanation threw very little light on
general topics, it did have the saving grace of assuring me that
Margaret Bird was living.

"Could you call her out for a few minutes?" I asked. "I am an old
friend, and shall be disappointed not to see her."

"I 'm sorry, 'm, but I could n't possibly call her out; it would be as
much as my place is worth. Her strict orde