uld be responsible for any definite information in the
matter unless, perhaps, Maria. On consultation, Maria had said to Mr.
Temple that in New York Mr. Goward had imparted to her that Elizabeth
had told him many weeks ago that she was irrevocably betrothed to
Dr. Denbigh. Mr. Temple had finally referred unsuccessfully to me for
Elizabeth's address in order to ask her to send a complete announcement
in the full form she wished printed.

("Whoa, Douglas. Well--mother, you had a nice little nap, didn't you.
No, no; I won't be late. It's not more than five minutes to the station.
Thanks, Lena. Yes, Billy dear, you can get in. Why, I don't know why you
shouldn't drive.")

The train is just pulling in. Charles is there and Maria, each standing
on one side of the car-steps. Now I see them. That looks like Peggy's
suit-case the porter's carrying down. Yes, it is. There--there they are,
coming down the steps behind him, Cyrus and my dear girl--how well they
look! Oh, how I hope everything will come right for them!

X. THE SCHOOL-BOY, By Mary Raymond Shipman Andrews

Rabbits.

Automobile. (Painted red, with yellow lines.)

Automatic reel. (The 3-dollar kind.)

New stamp-book. (The puppy chewed my other.)

Golly, I forgot. I suppose I mustn't use this, but it's my birthday next
month, and I want 'steen things, and I thought I'd better make a list to
pin on the dining-room door, where the family could take their pick what
to give me. Lorraine gave me this blank-book, and told me that if I'd
write down everything that I knew about Peggy and Harry Goward and all
that stuff, she'd have Sally make me three pounds of crumbly cookies
with currants on top, in a box, to keep in my room just to eat myself,
and she wouldn't tell Alice, so I won't be selfish not to offer her any
as she won't know about it and so won't suffer. I'm going to keep them
in the extra bureau drawer where Peg puts her best party dress, so I
guess they'll be et up before anybody goes there.

Peggy's feeling pretty sick now to dress up for parties, but I know a
thing or two that the rest don't know. Wouldn't Alice be hopping! She
always thinks she's wise to everything, and to have a thick-headed
boy-person know a whacking secret that they'd all be excited about would
make her mad enough to burst. She thinks she can read my ingrown soul
too--but I rather think I have my own interior thoughts that Miss Alice
doesn't tumble to. For instance, Dr. Denbigh.