a sigh of relief.

"My child, your coming in was providential, nothing less. Of course, I
remember now, I pinned it there for fear I should do--what I thought I
had done. Well, well! and it is a Roman sash that the child wants,--I am
sure I should never have thought of that. Ah, dear! I do miss my girls,
Hildegarde. You see, they inherit from their father a sense of
order,--in a measure,--and they help me a great deal. Are my glasses on
my forehead, dear? Whereas Gerald and Phil are rather like me, I am
afraid. I wonder if Gerald has found his waistcoat yet? He is
wearing--ah, there he is now! Gerald, you are really an object for a
circus, my son."

[Illustration: "'CONSIDER THE BEAUTY OF YOUR OFFSPRING.'"]

Gerald looked down thoughtfully at himself. He was attired in white
corduroy knickerbockers, an ancient swallow-tail coat so large that it
hung in folds upon him, and a red velvet waistcoat reaching to his knee.

"I hesitated about coming in," he said. "Hildegarde is so susceptible, I
fear the impression I shall make upon her tender heart. The lily is
painted, the fine gold is gilded. Hilda, confess that I am the dream of
your existence."

"What does it mean?" asked Hildegarde, laughing.

"Trunks not come yet; not mine, at least. Upset a bath-tub over my only
suit this morning,--lo, the result! Wouldst not that I were ever habited
thus, mirific Mammy? Consider the beauty of your offspring."

He seated himself on his mother's desk, drawing the folds of the
dress-coat about him, and beamed upon her.

"If you would send him away, dear Mrs. Merryweather," said Hildegarde,
"I should be so glad to help you a little with the papers and books. I
have a whole hour to spare,--do let me help!"

"My dear, I should be only too thankful," said Mrs. Merryweather.
"Jerry, go away, and find something to do! You might unpack the
blankets, like a dear."

But Gerald declared that a wet blanket was the only one with which he
had any concern after this cruel treatment, and retired weeping
bitterly, wiping his eyes with a long coat-tail.

Hildegarde devoted the morning to helping her friends, and when she went
home at noon the rooms wore a very different aspect. The books were all
off the chairs and on the tables, or in the bookcases.

"Not that it makes any permanent difference," said Mrs. Merryweather,
plaintively. "They _will_ put books on the chairs, Hildegarde. It is
against the rules,--but it is their nature. I made a