wn-ups you _can_ make things come true."

"Where you belong?" Raymond gripped his hands close. "Just where do you
belong? _Are_ you Miss Jones or are you the sweet nameless thing that I
am looking at?"

"Oh! I'm Miss Jones!" Joan sat up promptly, "and I'm going to make sure
that Miss Jones doesn't get hurt while I play with her."

And as she spoke Joan was thinking of the ugly interpretation of this
beautiful play which Patricia would give. Patricia couldn't make things
come true because she never tried hard enough.

"I wonder"--and the fountain made Joan dizzy as she listened to
Raymond--"I wonder, now since I'm to stay in town, if you'd let me bring
my car in? We'd have some great old rides. We'd cool off and have
picnics by roadsides and--and get the best of this blasted heat."

"I think it would be heavenly!" Joan saw, already, cool woods and felt
the refreshing air on her face.

Raymond was taken aback. He had expected protest.

But the car materialized and so did the picnics and the cool breezes on
young, unafraid faces.

At each new venture reassurance waxed stronger--things could be made
true in the world; it was only children who failed, in spite of
tradition.

Just at this time Sylvia came to town radiating success and happiness.

The result was disastrous. There are times when one cannot endure the
prosperity of his friends! Had Sylvia come back with her banners
trailing, Joan and Patricia would have rallied to her standard, but she
was cool, crisp, and her eyes were fixed upon a successful future.

She was going to do, not only the frieze, but a dozen other things.
People whom she had met had been impressed. Things were coming her way
with a vengeance. One order was in the Far West--a glorified cabin in a
canyon.

"I'm to do all the interior decorating," Sylvia bubbled; "a little out
of my line, but they feel I can do it. And"--here the girl looked
blissful--"it will be near enough for my John to come and take a
vacation."

Patricia and Joan, at that moment, knew the resentment of the unattached
woman for the protected one. Sylvia appeared the child of the gods while
they were merely permitted to sit at the gates and envy her triumphs.

"I suppose," Patricia burst in, "that this means the end?"

"End?" Sylvia looked puzzled.

"Yes. Plain John will gobble you, Art and all. But your duties here----"
Patricia with a tragic gesture pointed to Joan. "What of Miss Lamb, not
to mention me?"

S