ara's eyes, and asked:

"Why look at me, little one, in that way? There are eyes!
curious, anxious, and as frightened as those of a hunted deer.
Why so curious? What do you fear?"

Cara hid her face in her mother's dress, quickly.

"But how would it please you, mamma, to make a trip with me to
America?" called Irene from before the mirror.

She put up the last of her hair, fastened it with a fantastic
pin, and said, turning toward her mother:

"I have such Tom Thumb boots that when I put them on I shall be
beyond the sea with three great steps. How does that plan please
you?"

"You give a shower of plans to-day," jested Malvina.

"A portrait, flight from the rod, America."

"A ball!" exclaimed Cara, raising her head. "Do you know of it,
Maryan? In a few weeks we shall have a real ball--a grand one."

"Your tale is curious, little one, tell on," answered Maryan.
"When talk is the question, there is never need to beg Cara
twice."

She sprang up from her knees and told of the hour which she had
spent in her father's study a few days before. She had told her
mother and sister of the plan of the ball, but how it rose she
had not told. Something had prevented. Now she would tell them
all. Three gentlemen had visited her father: Prince Zeno, Count
Charski, and a third person whose name she did not remember, but
he was a large man, tall and broad; his breast glittered with
stars and crosses. She, Cara, wished to hide from the guests
behind the bookshelves--there were shelves behind which she sat
often, invisible herself, she saw and heard everything. It was a
wonderfully comfortable hiding-place, in which her only trouble
was Puff; for, when anyone came to the study he wanted to bark,
but she squeezed his nose with her hand tightly, and he was
silent. That day she did not go behind the book-shelves, for her
father commanded her to sit in the armchair. So she sat there
with dignity.

Now she sat on the stool, and showed them in what a posture she
had sat in presence of her father's guests, her hands on her
knees, bolt upright, with dignity on her rosy face. Puffie alone
interrupted this dignity, she said; he crawled up behind her, put
his paws on her shoulder, and touched her with his moist nose.
One of the gentlemen turned then to her, and said:

"You have a beautiful dog, young lady."

"He is very nice," answered she.

"And what is his name?" asked the man.

"Puffie," explained she.

She did not laugh,