ch a
mischievous trick. Good-by. I have to go down town for mine."

Dr. Helen from her window watched them separate, and smiled. A few
minutes later Bert appeared, looking for some one to amuse him.

The doctor told him of the malady that had seized her maidens, and of
their quest for healing.

"It's an epidemic," said Bert solemnly. "I've got it bad, and I saw Arch
an hour ago, and he was so low he couldn't even smile. Said he was going
to cut out paper dolls or string buttons, if this kept up. Can't you
prescribe for us, Doctor?"

"Why, yes. Get Archie and bring him up here to supper this evening. Tell
him he needn't smile. Perhaps my ladies-errant may have stories to tell
that will ease your pain a little!"

Bert joyfully undertook to bring Archie, and set off at once while Dr.
Helen gave Inga instructions for an especially festive supper, and with
her own hands prepared a frozen dessert.

The four girls, who had barely slept apart in the week since Alice's
arrival, were now walking along widely separate paths, each one feeling
oddly alone, and yet not wholly disliking the sensation. Catherine,
well-used to her mother's ways and beliefs, smiled to herself as she
went off to tell stories and play cat's cradle with the washerwoman's
little girl, who had a "spine" and had to be "kep' quiet with high
epidemics somethin' fierce."

"It's just like Mother," she thought. "She knew I was peevish and really
needed to be alone. Just as she used to send me to my 'boudoir' to pout
by myself when I was little. The hours with the girls seem so precious
that I can't bear to lose one, but I suppose I did need to be alone. You
know, Mr. Squirrel, or Mr. Oakkitten, as Frieda would call you, what
George Herbert said:

'By all means use sometimes to be alone.
Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear.'

"You needn't scamper away up the tree so fast. I'm not going to stay
round here long enough to interfere with your looking over your
spiritual wardrobe. I wonder if your soul wears soft gray fur?" And the
story-teller walked quickly on through the woods, chanting to herself:
"Old world, how beautiful thou art!" and planning for an unusually
effective denouement for the tale of the Three Little Pigs.

Hannah, traversing the blistering length of Main Street, had arrived at
the gloomy brick building labelled Hotel, and had inquired for Mrs.
Tracy of whom her prescription told her this much: "Travelling man's
wife, conv