t
this hour. But Mrs. Brown, who wore a black China silk wrapper and was
always presentable, went to the door where a small boy in a long white
linen apron and a baker's cap stood with a huge flat basket on his head.

"_Un gateau pour Madame Brune._"

"But we have not ordered a cake."

But the small boy was sure it was a cake for Mrs. Brown, and when the
great flat basket was lifted from his head, there, in verity, was
reposing a beautiful mocha cake with Mrs. Brown's name and address
distinctly written on a card, but nothing else.

"An anonymous cake for Mumsy," laughed Molly. "Oh, you chaperone!"

There was another knock at the door, which this time turned out to be a
bunch of violets apiece for the four ladies from Mr. Kinsella and a box
of chocolates from Pierce.

"Why, this is a house warming, girls! What next? I wonder who sent the
cake."

Mrs. Brown cut generous slices of that _specialite_ of Paris, with its
luscious, soft coffee-flavored covering, hardly an icing, as it is too
soft and creamy to be called that.

"_Ah, j'en ai jusque a la_," said Judy, disposing of the last crumb of
cake and making a motion of cutting her throat with her hand, "which in
plain English means 'stuffed'. I am glad we can't eat the violets. Maybe
after we move around a little we can hold some chocolates, but not yet,
not yet!"

Mrs. Brown and Molly began to clear off the table, but they were
forcibly held by Elise and Judy who insisted that the scullions' part
was theirs.

"Mamma tried to make me promise to stand twenty minutes after meals for
form's sake, I mean my own form," said Elise. "And what could be better
than washing dishes for the complexion? A good steaming is what Mamma
has said I need, as she declares I am so sallow, so I shall steam over
the dishpan. Let's make a rule never to leave the dishes, no matter how
tired we are. Mr. Kinsella says that when he and my father were sharing
a studio here in Paris, when they were boys, they used to leave the
dishes until they had used up all their supply; and then they would turn
them over and eat off the bottoms of the plates. He says those careless
ways are what disgust one finally with Bohemia."

"It was certainly kind of Mr. Kinsella to remember me, too, and send me
a bunch of violets," said Judy as she wiped the cups Elise was washing.

"Mr. Kinsella is always kind," said Elise. "There never was such a
thoughtful man. I feel so grateful to him, and I am going to