een
pulled too high, slipping down into tune when you turn the peg. But
I didn't _want_ to feel it. I _wanted_ to hate Cousin Parnelia. I
thought it was awfully hard in Mother not to want us to have even the
satisfaction of hating Cousin Parnelia! I tried to go on doing it.
I remember I cried a little. But Mother never said a word--just
sat there in that quiet autumn sunshine, watching the leaves
falling--falling--and I had to do as she did. And by and by I felt,
just as she did, that Cousin Parnelia was only a very small part of
something very big.

"When we went in, Mother's face was just as it always was, and we got
Cousin Parnelia a cup of tea and gave her part of a boiled ham to
take home and a dozen eggs and a loaf of graham bread, just as though
nothing had happened."

She stopped speaking. There was no sound at all but the delicate,
forlorn whisper of the leaves.

"That is a very fine story!" said Page finally. He spoke with a
measured, emphatic, almost solemn accent.

"Yes, it's a very fine story," murmured Sylvia a little wistfully.
"It's finer as a story than it was as real life. It was years before I
could look at blue corduroy without feeling stirred up. I really cared
more about my clothes than I did about that stupid, ignorant old
woman. If it's only a cheerful giver the Lord loves, He didn't feel
much affection for me."

They began to retrace their steps. "You gave up the blue corduroy,"
he commented as they walked on, "and you didn't scold your silly old
kinswoman."

"That's only because Mother hypnotized me. _She_ has character. I did
it as Louis signed the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, because
Madame de Maintenon thought he ought to."

"But she couldn't hypnotize your brother Lawrence, althought he was so
much younger. He didn't give up his thirty-seven cents. I think you're
bragging without cause if you claim any engaging and picturesque
absence of character."

"Oh, Lawrence--he's different! He's extraordinary! Sometimes I think
he is a genius. And it's Judith who hypnotizes him. _She_ supplies his
character."

They emerged into an opening and walked in silence for some moments
towards the Grand Trianon.

"You're lucky, very lucky," commented Page, "to have such an ample
supply of character in the family. I'm an only child. There's nobody
to give me the necessary hypodermic supply of it at the crucial
moments." He went on, turning his head to look at the Great Trianon,
very mello