s,
the infant with its woodenly obstinate face and body tense with dogged
resistance, and the boy limp and already nearly dead with a terror that
almost stifled his screams; and over them the long gala streamers
flapping gaily in the sunshine. She never forgot the scene; but then,
it was the last she ever saw.

Lady Barbara carries her scarred face with its sightless eyes as
bravely as ever in the world, but at Eastertide her friends are careful
to keep from her ears any mention of the children's Easter symbol.

FILBOID STUDGE, THE STORY OF A MOUSE THAT HELPED

"I want to marry your daughter," said Mark Spayley with faltering
eagerness. "I am only an artist with an income of two hundred a year,
and she is the daughter of an enormously wealthy man, so I suppose you
will think my offer a piece of presumption."

Duncan Dullamy, the great company inflator, showed no outward sign of
displeasure. As a matter of fact, he was secretly relieved at the
prospect of finding even a two-hundred-a-year husband for his daughter
Leonore. A crisis was rapidly rushing upon him, from which he knew he
would emerge with neither money nor credit; all his recent ventures had
fallen flat, and flattest of all had gone the wonderful new breakfast
food, Pipenta, on the advertisement of which he had sunk such huge
sums. It could scarcely be called a drug in the market; people bought
drugs, but no one bought Pipenta.

"Would you marry Leonore if she were a poor man's daughter?" asked the
man of phantom wealth.

"Yes," said Mark, wisely avoiding the error of over-protestation. And
to his astonishment Leonore's father not only gave his consent, but
suggested a fairly early date for the wedding.

"I wish I could show my gratitude in some way," said Mark with genuine
emotion. "I'm afraid it's rather like the mouse proposing to help the
lion."

"Get people to buy that beastly muck," said Dullamy, nodding savagely
at a poster of the despised Pipenta, "and you'll have done more than
any of my agents have been able to accomplish."

"It wants a better name," said Mark reflectively, "and something
distinctive in the poster line. Anyway, I'll have a shot at it."

Three weeks later the world was advised of the coming of a new
breakfast food, heralded under the resounding name of "Filboid Studge."
Spayley put forth no pictures of massive babies springing up with
fungus-like rapidity under its forcing influence, or of representatives
o