ng kiss on her panting mouth, (just to
let her know there was no hard feeling,) and Judy, remembering she had
in her shirtwaist in lieu of a missing button, a tiny enamelled American
flag, went forward and pinned it on the lapel of the old man's coat, and
making a low curtsey, said:

"A tribute from America to France!"

There was much applause. Judy was urged by all present to stay with them
all day, but she had decided to take a train at the nearby station for
Versailles and get her luncheon there, so she bade them good-by.
Gathering up her sketches and sliding them into the grooves in the back
of her kit, she left the gay throng and soon got a local to Versailles.

On reaching Versailles, she did not go into the palace but wandered in
the park, stopping to feed the carp in the pond with some gingerbread
she had bought from a red-cheeked old woman. These carp are large and
fat and lazy, lying at the bottom of the pool, moving their tails almost
imperceptibly and opening and shutting their eyes with such a bored
expression that Judy had to laugh. There is a rumor that they are the
same carp that Marie Antoinette used to feed; certainly they are very
old and very tired. Judy remembering this legend of the carp, began to
think of poor Marie Antoinette and decided to go over to the Trianon.
The poor misunderstood queen had always been one of Judy's favorites.
She walked along under the trees in a brown study musing on the fortunes
of that royal lady.

Suddenly she rubbed her eyes. Was she dreaming or was she crazy? The
Trianon was before her and on the terrace was Marie Antoinette herself
dressed as a shepherdess and leading a beautiful woolly lamb by a blue
ribbon. Accompanying her was a pretty maid of honor dressed as a milk
maid with a pail in her hand and a three-legged stool under her arm. The
Count d'Artois, gay, handsome, debonair, met them and held them in
conversation, then the grave, sedate Monsieur, as the elder of the two
brothers of King Louis XVI was styled, approached, and with him was our
own Benjamin Franklin, dressed in sober brown.

"Where am I? What can it mean? I am wide awake, and that is as certainly
Benjamin Franklin as that I ate Quaker Oats every morning for breakfast
at Wellington. But who is this madman?"

A furious person in shirt sleeves came tearing across the terrace. In
plain American he berated Marie Antoinette, the grave Monsieur, d'Artois
and even the dignified Franklin, and, stran