nsiderate to our host, and the others?" he
asked. "They're sure to notice it!"

Silence.

"I didn't mean to offend you;--I was just bowled over, that's the simple
truth!"

He might have been talking to an empty room.

"You've been so much like a sister to me," he ventured again, "that I
didn't stop to think; and only--only acted on the very same impulse I
would if you actually were my sister!" (Oh, Brent, you unconscionable
liar!)

Still there was silence.

"Let's count," he suggested. "It won't be talking, and, at least, will
deceive the table."

Silence.

"We might say the Lord's Prayer! That's certainly proper, and you can
leave out 'as we forgive others.'"

In spite of herself the faintest shadow of a smile touched her lips, but
their silence was absolute.

"Or we might try Mother Goose," again came the pleading voice. "We
needn't speak after tonight--rather after this dinner. We can't, in
fact, if I'm going home tomorrow! Shouldn't we make some effort to keep
from spoiling the others' good time?"

Going home tomorrow? She had not heard of that! What would become of the
railroad? What would become--but nothing mattered except the railroad!
Was he acute enough to reason that he could move her by this threat, she
wondered? And if he were, and if she yielded, would he not use it as a
weapon for future forgivenesses, when he might again be taking her for
his sister--something which he did not possess? This idea sealed her
determination. Yet, on second thought she relented--oh, it could
scarcely be called relenting--just a wee bit and, still looking
steadfastly down at her plate, in a monotonous voice, said:

"Old Mother Hubbard went to the cupboard."

"Fine!" he laughed, but she quietly interrupted him:

"Nothing but Mother Goose--and, after this evening, nothing, ever!"

He drew a wry face, murmuring:

"Little Jack Sprite is very contrite, and wants to make up with his
lady!"

She puzzled a moment over Little Jack Sprite. It did not seem quite
relevant to the nursery classic which, only a few years back, she had
read many times to Bip.

"That isn't Mother Goose," she finally stated. "I shan't do this any
more."

"But it is," he protested, "and I'll show it to you in the book! They
were reading Mother Goose to me long after you lost interest in it."

There was no rise to this, and he cautiously added:

"My poor brain, while ages older, has never developed up to yours. Do
you know any rhymes