g their
weights and measures, photographing them, counting their degraded
internal organs--oh, it is too vexing! Because, if you should ask me, I
may say that I've been a mother to them, too, and it enrages me to find
out that all those wretched, squirming, thankless creatures have been
petted and studied and have had their legs counted and their Bertillon
measurements taken years before either Scott or I came into this old
fraud of a scientific world!"

Duane's unrestrained laughter excited her merriment; the star-lit
woodlands rang with it and the treble chiming of the sleigh-bells.

"What on earth will he find to do now?" asked Duane.

"He's going to see it through, he says. Isn't it fine of him? There is
just a bare chance that he may discover something that those prying
entomological people overlooked. Anyway, we are going to devote next
summer to studying the parasites of the Rose-beetle, and try to find out
what sort of creatures prey upon them. And I want to tell you something
exciting, Duane. Promise you won't breathe one word!"

"Not a word!"

"Well, then--Scott was going to tell you, anyway!--we _think_--but, of
course, we are not sure by any means!--but we venture to think that we
have discovered a disease which kills Rose-beetles. We don't know
exactly what it is yet, or how they get it, but we are practically
convinced that it is a sort of fungus."

She was very serious, very earnest, charming in her conscientious
imitation of that scientific caution which abhors speculation and never
dares assert anything except dry and proven facts.

"What are you and Scott aiming at? Are you going to try to start an
epidemic among the Rose-beetles?" he inquired.

"Oh, it's far too early to even outline our ideas----"

"That's right; don't tell anything Scott wants to keep quiet about! I'll
never say a word, Kathleen, only if you'll take my advice, feed 'em
fungus! Stuff 'em with it three times a day--give it to them boiled,
fried, au gratin, a la Newburg! That'll fetch 'em!... How is old Scott,
anyway?"

"Perfectly well," she said demurely. "He informs us daily that he weighs
one hundred and ninety pounds, and stands six feet two in his
snow-shoes. He always mentions it when he tells us that he is going to
scrub your face in a snow-drift, and Geraldine invariably insists that
he isn't man enough. You know, as a matter of fact, we're all behaving
like very silly children up here. Goodness knows what the serva