e loan of the precious book till noon. But there was only time for
aggravating peeps in the short hour filled with recitations. So she
coaxed Sary to let her take it home that night. Sary was easily
persuaded. Reading was a painful process to her and she had been
secretly hoping that one of the children would read the book and tell
her the story.

Chicken Little slipped it home guiltily hidden in her school bag. She
found it a weighty responsibility. No sooner had she ensconced herself
snugly in one of the dormer windows to read, than she heard someone
coming upstairs. It was only Olga. She thought possibly she would be
safer in Ernest's room, but Ernest and Carol were doing their algebra
there. At last she settled down in the front parlor and by tea time was
deep in the adventures of Rosamond Clifford, romantic and unreal enough
to satisfy the most exacting child.

For days the book was her constant companion outside of school hours.
She read snatches of it to Sary and a chosen few in a corner of the
schoolyard at recesses and noons. She hid it under her pillow ready for
her devouring eyes at an early hour in the morning. To be sure Chicken
Little never could wake up at an early hour, her mother having to call
long and lustily before she could rouse her at all. Still the book was
there if she should happen to want it.

After Chicken Little finished it, the story was passed from hand to hand
among the children. Gertie being the only one with sufficient firmness
of character to decline to read it without asking Mother. One
adventurous child discovered she could get other books by the same
author from the public library. These the children also passed round and
gloated over their lurid adventures for days. The stories were doubly
fascinating because each small sinner realized that the mushy volumes
must be carefully concealed from mothers and teachers. The craze ended
finally by Miss Brown's discovering a copy of "Cousin Maud" and
confiscating it after a sharp lecture to the school on what children
should read.

But the mischief was done. Fully a dozen young heads seethed with
romance. They imagined they were abused by unfeeling sisters or stern
parents. They looked for unhappy lovers around every corner. They even
tried to lie awake nights nursing broken hearts, but ten o'clock was the
latest hour anyone reached, though Grace Dart said she knew she heard it
strike one. Katy, indeed, walked in her sleep one night to