in
separate corners, void of conversation or criticism, oppressed by the
lowering tidiness of the universe, till bedtime came, and disrobement,
and prayers even more mechanical than usual, and lastly bed itself
without so much as a giraffe under the pillow. Harold had grunted
himself between the sheets with an ostentatious pretence of overpowering
fatigue; but I noticed that he pulled his pillow forward and propped his
head against the brass bars of his crib, and, as I was acquainted with
most of his tricks and subterfuges, it was easy for me to gather that a
painful wakefulness was his aim that night.

I had dozed off, however, and Harold was out and on his feet, poking
under the bed for his shoes, when I sat up and grimly regarded him. Just
as he said I could come if I liked, Charlotte slipped in, her face rigid
and set. And then it was borne in upon me that I was not on in this
scene. These youngsters had planned it all out, the piece was their
own, and the mounting, and the cast. My sceptre had fallen, my rule had
ceased. In this magic hour of the summer night laws went for nothing,
codes were cancelled, and those who were most in touch with the
moonlight and the warm June spirit and the topsy-turvydom that reigns
when the clock strikes ten, were the true lords and lawmakers.

Humbly, almost timidly, I followed without a protest in the wake of
these two remorseless, purposeful young persons, who were marching
straight for the schoolroom. Here in the moonlight the grim big box
stood visible--the box in which so large a portion of our past and our
personality lay entombed, cold, swathed in paper, awaiting the carrier
of the morning who should speed them forth to the strange, cold,
distant Children s Hospital, where their little failings would all be
misunderstood and no one would make allowances. A dreamy spectator, I
stood idly by while Harold propped up the lid and the two plunged in
their arms and probed and felt and grappled.

"Here's Rosa," said Harold, suddenly. "I know the feel of her hair. Will
you have Rosa out?"

"Oh, give me Rosa!" cried Charlotte with a sort of gasp. And when Rosa
had been dragged forth, quite unmoved apparently, placid as ever in her
moonfaced contemplation of this comedy-world with its ups and downs,
Charlotte retired with her to the window-seat, and there in the
moonlight the two exchanged their private confidences, leaving Harold to
his exploration alone.

"Here's something with