wnstone front on West Tenth Street,
wherever that was. She herself had lived in New York when she was a
baby, though she had been born in her grandfather's house in
Colhassett. She had lived in Cincinnati, Ohio, too, until she was four
years old, and her father and mother had died there, both in the same
week, of pneumonia. She wished this morning, that she could remember
the house where they lived in New York, and the things that were in
it.

There was a knock on the door. Ought she to go and open the door in
her nightdress? Ought she to call out "Come in?" It might be a
gentleman, and her Aunt Beulah's nightdress was not very thick. She
decided to cough, so that whoever was outside might understand she was
in there, and had heard them.

"May I come in, Eleanor?" Beulah's voice called.

"Yes, ma'am." She started to get into bed, but Miss--Miss--the nearer
she was to her, the harder it was to call her aunt,--Aunt Beulah might
think it was time she was up. She compromised by sitting down in a
chair.

Beulah had passed a practically sleepless night working out the theory
of Eleanor's development. The six had agreed on a certain sketchily
defined method of procedure. That is, they were to read certain books
indicated by Beulah, and to follow the general schedule that she was
to work out and adapt to the individual needs of the child herself,
during the first phase of the experiment. She felt that she had
managed the reception badly, that she had not done or said the right
thing. Peter's attitude had shown that he felt the situation had been
clumsily handled, and it was she who was responsible for it. Peter was
too kind to criticize her, but she had vowed in the muffled depths of
a feverish pillow that there should be no more flagrant flaws in the
conduct of the campaign.

"Did you sleep well, Eleanor?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Are you hungry?"

"No, ma'am."

The conversation languished at this.

"Have you had your bath?"

"I didn't know I was to have one."

"Nice little girls have a bath every day."

"Do they?" Eleanor asked. Her Aunt Beulah seemed to expect her to say
something more, but she couldn't think of anything.

"I'll draw your bath for you this morning. After this you will be
expected to take it yourself."

Eleanor had seen bathrooms before, but she had never been in a
bath-tub. At her grandfather's, she had taken her Saturday night baths
in an old wooden wash-tub, which had water poured