alescent after long severe illness."

Mrs. Tracy would receive her in her room, and Hannah followed the
proprietor, who was also bell-boy and head waiter, up the shabby stairs,
feeling decidedly foolish, but determined not to give up.

Once inside the room, she forgot her own feelings. It was a most doleful
place, with ugly walls, cheap stained furniture and huge figured
curtains; but she was met by a sweet-faced young woman in a soft blue
negligee.

"Dr. Helen telephoned me that you were coming," she said, taking
Hannah's hand and looking into her eyes with a bright look that made
Hannah feel interested at once.

"Will you take the place of honor?" She indicated a stiff little settee,
upholstered in magenta cotton velvet.

"It must be what the _Courier_ advertisement meant, when it spoke
of furniture, 'warranted upholstered,'" said Hannah seating herself, and
smiling her most merry smile at her attractive little hostess.

The thin face almost dimpled with pleasure.

"So you read the _Courier_, too! Mr. Tracy bought back numbers of
it to amuse me, and I've collected the most delightful clippings. You
see, I'm alone so much. The nurse wasn't very entertaining, and my
husband has to be away all the week, and I have to have some one to
laugh with, or at least, something to laugh at!"

"What fun!" said Hannah. "Do show me your clippings."

"I was just pasting in a birth notice when you came," said Mrs. Tracy,
lifting a small scrap-book from a table. "It's about as good as
anything. 'Mr. and Mrs. Ezra Kling are the proud parents of a fine baby
girl. Present indications are that the lovely lump intends to stay.'"

"O!" Hannah shrieked and leaned forward to look. Mrs. Tracy handed her
the book.

"That's why I cut them out and paste them. No one would believe them,
otherwise. Here is a gem of music criticism: 'As he stepped to the edge
of the platform, the word Artist came to every lip. His natural pathos
mingled with his baritone in such a manner that it was impossible to
tell where one left off and the other began. And in his dramatic
numbers, the writhings of his face showed the convulsive agonies of a
soul in pain.'"

"One of my friends told me about a singer coming to a little village,
and they described her appearance and her dress, and wound up the
paragraph by saying: 'The soloist wore white shoes. No other stage
decorations were necessary.'"

"Delightful--unless it was deliberate wit! As it was in a Kan