erest. "Did you ever send 'em off?"

Lark flushed a little. "Yes, I did, and always got 'em back, too--worse
luck. That's why I gave it up."

"What did you do with them when they came back?"

"Burned them. They always burn them. Connie'll get hers back, and she'll
burn it, too," was the laconic answer.

"An author," mused Carol. "Do you think she'll ever make it?"

"Well, honestly, I shouldn't be surprised if she did. Connie's smart,
and she never gives up. Then she has a way of saying things that--well,
it takes. I really believe she'll make it, if she doesn't get off on
suffrage or some other queer thing before she gets to it."

"I'll have to keep an eye on her," said Carol.

"You wait until she can't eat a meal, and then you'll know she's got it
back. Many's the time Prudence made me take medicine, just because I
got a story back. Prudence thought it was tummy-ache. The symptoms are a
good bit the same."

So Carol watched, and sure enough, there came a day when the bright
light of hope in Connie's eyes gave way to the sober sadness of
certainty. Her light had failed. And she couldn't eat her dinner.

Lark kicked Carol's foot under the table, and the two exchanged amused
glances.

"Connie's not well," said Lark with a worried air. "She isn't eating a
thing. You'd better give her a dose of that tonic, Aunt Grace. Prudence
says the first sign of decay is the time for a tonic. Give her a dose."

Lark solemnly rose and fetched the bottle. Aunt Grace looked at Connie
inquiringly. Connie's face was certainly pale, and her eyes were weary.
And she was not eating her dinner.

"I'm not sick," the crushed young author protested. "I'm just not
hungry. You trot that bottle back to the cupboard, Lark, and don't get
gay."

"You can see for yourself," insisted Lark. "Look at her. Isn't she sick?
Many's the long illness Prudence staved off for me by a dose of this
magic tonic. You'd better make her take it, father. You can see she's
sick." The lust of a sweeping family revenge showed in Lark's clear
eyes.

"You'd better take a little, Connie," her father decided. "You don't
look very well to-day."

"But, father," pleaded Connie.

"A dose in time saves a doctor bill," quoted Carol sententiously.
"Prudence says so."

And the aspiring young genius was obliged to swallow the bitter dose.
Then, with the air of one who has rendered a boon to mankind, Lark
returned to her chair.

After the meal was over, Carol shadow