lips to say one word
that might put any idea into the head of her beloved child, but she saw
no reason why she herself should not harbor all the ideas she pleased.

Whereupon, actuated by a combination of family pride, love, ambition in
her chosen profession, Katy made ready to see that on the morrow the
son of Frederick Whiting should be properly nourished on his outing with
Linda.

At six o'clock Saturday morning Linda ran the Bear Cat to the back door,
where she and Katy packed it. Before they had finished, Donald Whiting
came down the sidewalk, his cheeks flushed with the exercise of walking,
his eyes bright with anticipation, his cause forever won--in case he had
a cause--with Katy, because she liked the wholesome, hearty manner in
which he greeted Linda, and she was dumbfounded when he held out his
hand to her and said laughingly: "Blessed among women, did you put in a
fine large consignment of orange punch?"

"No," said Katy, "I'll just tell ye flat-footed there ain't going to be
any punch, but, young sir, you're eshcortin' a very capable young lady,
and don't ye bewail the punch, because ye might be complimenting your
face with something ye would like a hape better."

"Can't be done, Katy," cried Donald.

"Ye must have a poor opinion of us," laughed Katy, "if ye are thinking
ye can get to the end of our limitations in one lunch. Fourteen years me
and Miss Linda's been on this lunch-box stunt. Don't ye be thinkin' ye
can exhaust us in any wan trip, or in any wan dozen."

So they said good-bye to Katy and rolled past Eileen's room on the way
to the desert. Eileen stood at the window watching them, and never had
her heart been so full of discontent and her soul the abiding place of
such envy or her mind so busy. Just when she had thought life was going
to yield her what she craved, she could not understand how or why things
should begin to go wrong.

As the Bear Cat traversed Lilac Valley, Linda was pointing out Peter
Morrison's location. She was telling Donald Whiting where to find
Peter's articles, and what a fine man he was, and that he had promised
to think how he could help with their plan to make of Donald a better
scholar than was Oka Sayye.

"Well, I call that mighty decent of a stranger," said Donald.

"But he is scarcely more of a stranger than I am," answered Linda. "He
is a writer. He is interested in humanity. It's the business of every
man in this world to reach out and help every boy with