ng man had letters which I could have identified
anywhere."

Mrs. Pennington was interested. She asked questions. That absurd story
about a Candy Wagon was untrue then? But how had Margaret Elizabeth met
this person? She still referred to him as a person. And somehow the
united efforts of Margaret Elizabeth and Mr. Pennington failed to clear
up the mystery, though they did their best.

Even if the Candy Wagon episode was to be regarded as humorous, though
it did not present itself in that light to Mrs. Pennington, how could
Margaret Elizabeth have asked a Candy Man to her Christmas tree?

"But you see, by that time I knew he wasn't real, Aunt Eleanor, and
anyway--"

"Now go slow, Margaret Elizabeth," cautioned her uncle. "At heart you
are a confounded little socialist, but take my advice and keep it to
yourself." He was thinking of what she had said to him only the day
before: "You see, Uncle Gerry, you can't have everything. You have
to choose. And while I like bigness and richness, I like Little Red
Chimneys and what they stand for, best. I want to be on speaking terms
with both ends, you see."

"It is odd," Mr. Pennington went on, "the tricks heredity plays, and
that this young man and Augustus McAllister should both hark back to a
common ancestor for their general characteristics of build and feature.
I was struck with the resemblance, myself."

"It was what first attracted me," owned Margaret Elizabeth demurely.

The name of Augustus still had painful associations for Mrs. Pennington.
She rose. "Really we must be going," she said. At some future time she
felt she might be able to meet Mr. Reynolds or Waite, or whatever his
name was, with equanimity, but now she was thankful to hear he had gone
back to Chicago for some papers.

She received Margaret Elizabeth's farewell embrace languidly. "Since
there is such weight of authority in your favour, and matters have
developed so strangely, there is nothing for me to say. I dislike
mystery, and prefer to have things go on regularly and according to
precedent. It is your welfare I have at heart."

Mr. Pennington's good-by was different.

"I don't wonder you like it down here, Margaret Elizabeth--this room,
you know," he said.

As they drove homeward Mrs. Pennington was engaged in mentally
reconstructing affairs. "Of course," she heard herself saying, "it was
a disappointment to me, but romantic girls are not to be controlled by
common-sense aunts, and really