sirens. Dorothea's silly pink feet
dangled in the pool. Surreptitiously I slipped my hand under water and felt
them. They were getting spongy and seemed likely to come off. Truly there
were compensations for such slavery.

My companion returned and sat down with her slim body close to mine.

"What is your name?" she cooed.

"John."

"Oh. Mine is Jane. You may call me Jenny. I'm visiting Aunt Margery. The
Bishop is my great-uncle. What are your brothers' names?"

"Angel and The Seraph. _They don't_ like girls." Instantly I wondered why I
had said that. Did I like girls? _Not much._ But I didn't want Angel
interfering in this. He had better keep away.

"My father is a judge. He sends bad men to prison."

"My father"--I was very proud of him--"is a civil engineer. He's in South
America building a railroad, so that's why we live with Mrs. Handsomebody.
But some day he's coming back to make a home for us. When I grow up I shall
be an engineer too, and build bridges over canyons."

"What's canyons? Hold Dorothea tighter."

I explained canyons at length.

"P'raps I'll take you with me," I added weakly.

She clapped her hands rapturously.

"Oh, what fun!" she gurgled. "I can keep house and hang my washing 'cross
the canyon to dry!"

Frankly I did not relish the thought of my canyon's being thus desecrated.
I determined never to allow her to do any such thing, but, at the moment I
was willing to indulge her fancy.

"Yes," she prattled on, "I'll wheel Dorothea up and down the bridge and
watch you work."

Now there was some sense in that. What man does not enjoy being admired
while he does things? In fact Jane had hit upon a great elemental truth
when she suggested this. From that moment I was hers.

Laying Dorothea, toes up, on the grass I proceeded to lead Jane into the
most cherished realms of my fancy. Together we sailed those "perilous seas
in faery lands forlorn," dabbling our hands in the fountain, while the
golden August sunshine kissed our necks.

I said not a word of this at tea. I munched my bread and butter in a sort
of haze, scarcely conscious of the subdued conversation led by Mrs.
Handsomebody, until I heard her say,

"A little great-niece of Bishop Torrance is visiting next door. You are
therefore invited to take tea with her tomorrow afternoon. I trust you will
conduct yourselves with decency at table, and remember that a frail little
girl is not to be played with as a headlong boy."

I fe