ut mentioning it, I
disposed of a few curios and with the proceeds I ransacked the shops for
things suitable for girls. My morning had been spent in arranging my
purchases. It was a very sweet moment to me when, after I had ushered in
my guest, she stood for a second taking it all in; then putting out her
hand she said, "It's like a picture and you are very kind."

Afterwards Jane Gray, looking like a trousered ghost in her outdoor
sleeping garments, crept into my study and interrupted the work I was
trying to make up.

"Oh, Miss Jenkins," she whispered mysteriously, "I've just thought it
all out--a way to make everybody happy, I mean. Wouldn't it be truly
splendid if dear Page Hanaford and Zura were to fall in love? It's a
grand idea. She has the mares and anners of a duchess and so has he."
Excitement invariably twisted Jane's tongue.

"For Heaven's sake, Jane, do you mean airs and manners?"

"Yes, that's what I said," went on Jane undisturbed. "And oh! can you
think of anything more sweetly romantic?"

I laid down my pen and asked Miss Gray to look me straight in the eyes.
Then I put the question to her: "Will you tell me what on earth romance,
sweet or otherwise, has to do with a young fellow struggling not only
with poverty, but with something that looks like mystery, and a wild,
untamed, wilful girl?"

To which my companion replied: "But just think what love would do to
them both!"

I guess the difference in Jane's sentiment and mine is the same as
between a soft-shell crab and a hard-shell one.

VII

AN INTERRUPTED DINNER

The next two days passed happily, if a little giddily, and Jane and I
commanded every resource to entertain our guest. Zura saw and responded
like a watch-spring suddenly released. She found in two simple old women
perfect subjects on which to vent her long-suppressed spirits. She
entered into the activities of the household with such amazing zest, it
seemed as if we were playing kitchen furniture. While it surprised me
how one young girl could so disturb regular working hours and get things
generally a-flutter, I could easily see that all she needed was a chance
to be herself. That was the point that Kishimoto had to understand and
would not.

"Please let me be Santa Claus this time, and give out the cod liver oil
and the milk and the bibs to the babies," Zura begged one day when these
articles were to be distributed; "and mayn't I keep the kiddies for just
a little whil