operly repentant child. "How long
can I stand it?" she cried inwardly. "How long before I smash things
and make a dash for freedom?"

"Now go back and finish reading to your grand father."

And once more, trembling with anger and mortification, the girl picked
her way over the limp and indifferent skins, took up the paper and sat
down. Once more her clear, fresh voice, this time with a little quiver
in it, fitted in to the regular tick of the querulous clock, the
near-by chatter of birds' tongues and the hiss of burning logs.

The prim old lady, who had in her time borne a wonderful resemblance to
the girl whom she watched so closely,--even to the chestnut-brown hair
and the tip-tilted nose, the full lips, the round chin and the spirit
that at any moment might urge her to break away from
discipline,--retired to carry on her daily tour of inspection; and the
old man stood again with his back to the fire to listen impatiently and
with a futile jealousy to the deeds and misdeeds of an ever-young and
ever-active world.

II

Joan was thankful when lunch was over, and murmured "Amen" to grace
with a fervor that would have surprised an unimaginative and
unobservant person. Like all the meals in that pompous dining-room, it
was a form of torture to a young thing bubbling with health and high
spirits, who was not supposed to speak unless directly addressed and
was obliged to hold herself in check while her grandparents progressed
slowly and deliberately through a menu of medically thought-out dishes.
Both the old people were on a rigid diet, and mostly the conversation
between them consisted of grumbles at having to dally with baby-food
and reminiscences of the admirable dinners of the past. An aged butler
and a footman in the sere and yellow only added to the general Rip van
Winklism, and the presence of two very old dogs, one the grandfather's
Airedale and the other Mrs. Ludlow's Irish terrier, with a white nose
and rusty gray coat, did nothing to dispel the depression. The six
full-length portraits in oils that hung on the walls represented men
and women whose years, if added together, would have made a staggering
grand total. Even the furniture was Colonial.

But when Joan had put on her hat, sweater and a pair of thick-soled
country boots, and having taken care to see that no one was about, slid
down the banisters into the hall on her way out for her usual lonely
walk, she slipped into the garden with a queer