ars. She laughed a happy little laugh. She had
grown up. The doll was only a doll now. But she kissed it, because she
loved it still. And she put it carefully away in a drawer, lest the
sight of a childishness offend the lord and master.

As she passed the great double bed, with its two snow-white pillows, her
knees weakened. It was like a hint to perform a neglected duty. She
knelt, and prayed God to let her make Barstow happy forever and ever.
Then, beautiful and abashed, she joined the gentlemen.

As she seated herself with dignity, as became a good housewife presiding
at her own table, the two gentlemen lifted their glasses of champagne.
There was a full glass beside Daisy's plate. Her fingers closed lightly
about the stem; but she looked to Barstow for orders. "Ought I?" she
said.

"Sure," said he, "a little champagne--won't hurt you."

No, Daisy; only what was in the champagne. She had her little moment of
exhilaration, of self-delighting ease and vivacity--then dizziness,
then awful nausea, and awful fear, and oblivion.

The great Mr. Cullinan--Bull Cullinan--caught her as she was falling. He
regarded the bridegroom with eyes in which there was no expression
whatever.

"Get out!" he said.

And then he was alone with her, and safe, in the dark shadow of the
wings.

GROWING UP

The children were all down in the salt-marsh playing at
marriage-by-capture. It was a very good play. You ran just as fast after
the ugly girls as the pretty ones, and you didn't have to abide by the
result. One little girl got so excited that she fell into the river, and
it was Andramark who pulled her out, and beat her on the back till she
stopped choking. It may be well to remember that she was named Tassel
Top, a figure taken from the Indian-corn ear when it is in silk.

Andramark was the name of the boy. He was the seventh son of Squirrel
Eyes, and all his six brothers were dead, because they had been born in
hard times, or had fallen out of trees, or had been drowned. To grow up
in an Indian village, especially when it is travelling, is very
difficult. Sometimes a boy's mother has to work so hard that she runs
plumb out of milk; and sometimes he gets playing too roughly with the
other boys, and gets wounded, and blood-poisoning sets in; or he finds a
dead fish and cooks it and eats it, and ptomaine poisoning sets in; or
he catches too much cold on a full stomach, or too much malaria on an
empty one. Or he tries to