e of Lovely Dreams had
been contributed by herself and Emily for Red Cross purposes. There
were rows and rows of the fantastic creatures behind glass doors on the
shelves, and for Valentine's Day Jean had carved and painted pale doves
which carried in their beaks rosy hearts and golden arrows and whose
wings were outspread--.

There were also on the shelves the white plush elephants which Franz
Stoelle and his friends had made, and which were, too, being sold to
swell the Red Cross fund.

Thus had the Toy Shop come into its own. "I have enough to live on,"
Emily had said, "at least for a while, and I am taking no more chances
for future living, than the men who give up everything to fight."

So enlisted in this cause of mercy as men had enlisted in the cause of
war, Miss Emily led where others followed, and the old patriarch of all
the white elephants, who had been born in a country of blood and iron,
looked down on women working to heal the wounds which his country had
made.

"Let your little Jean look after things," Ulrich repeated.

"Do you mind, my dear?"

"Mind what, Emily--?"

"If I go with Mr. Stoelle--to see his father about the--toys."

"Darling--no;" Jean kissed her. "I don't mind in the least, and the
ride will do you good."

"But you are not going to see my father about toys," Ulrich told her,
twinkling, as he followed her to the back of the shop.

"Do you think I was going to tell her that?"

She put on her coat and hat and off she went with Ulrich, leaving still
unread in the pocket of the big apron the letter which Bruce McKenzie
had written her.

All the way out Ulrich was rather silent. It was not, however, the
silence of moodiness or dullness, it was rather as if he wanted to hear
her speak. It was, indeed, a responsive, stimulating silence, and she
glowed under his glance.

It seemed to her, as she talked, that these adventures with Ulrich
Stoelle were in every way the most splendid thing that had happened to
her. They were always unexpected, and they were packed to the brim
with pleasure of a rare quality.

When they reached their destination, Ulrich took her at once to the
hothouses. As they passed down the fragrant aisles, she found that all
the men and gone, their day's work over; only she and Ulrich were under
the great glass roof.

"Anton comes back later," Ulrich explained, "but at this hour the
houses are empty, and dinner will not be ready for as hour. We have it