parents have only one-fourth the chance of reaching their twentieth year that the children of parents who accept their responsibilities have! I've been endangered, in body and even more in mind, as thousands, and tens of thousands of other illegitimate children are being endangered-"

"Really, Clo'-for the Lord's sake, let's have a cigarette! Here!"

Clotilde pushed aside the offered humidor. She was aroused, poignantly determined. "I've been under a handicap-even though I've been luckier than most fatherless children: I've had to miss the joy and sweetness of having a father, of having the counsel and masculine guidance of a father on which a daughter is especially dependent, just as a son is especially dependent on his mother. If I'm unbalanced-which I don't admit -my lonely childhood may have had a good deal to do with it. I wish to Heaven my mother had married a good and Modernistic man, instead of that smooth, lying, sanctimonious, archaic hypocrite, the Reverend Percy Westbrook-a man whom I could have loved, and honored, and called father-for, to tell the truth, this afternoon has made me afraid that old Mr. Hooghtyling isn't in a position to be a good father to me. And yet he's got such a lot I expected him to have-and a lot moresuch good old wisdom of experience, that I haven't got, and sadly need. I won't give that old farmer up yet— even if he does object-"

1

"I'll bet-" Mrs. Kling stifled a hysterical little laugh. "-you won't!"

"No, I won't! Am I anything he has a right to be ashamed of? Why, I could make his life broader, richer

-just as he could mine. Only knowing about him has -I always wondered, for instance, why I loved pine groves, why the sound of the wind in tall pines at night made me thrill and quiver all over-now I know! It was one glorious midnight, down in Morseley's pine grove-think of it, Edna!-right down in Morseley's grove when it was younger, and more beautiful, and larger than it is now-with only one little brown bungalow in it instead of half a dozen-it was in that little brown bungalow that they-that I—”

Mrs. Kling gasped: "Here, dear-do have a cigarette! This is an occasion that demands the soothing influence of cigarettes! You're all excited-and I confess this is getting almost too much for my nerves!"

Clotilde declined, with some petulance: "I don't care for a cigarette, thanks. I smoke cigarettes as Sherlock Holmes took his cocaine-when I'm bored with life. I'm not bored now. I've always wanted a father-it has been one of the crying needs of my life-and now that I've found one, I'm not going to let him hang back, neglecting both his duty and his privilege-"

"I won't give him up for any beastly old-fashioned ideas of morality-nor for anybody else! I don't think he'd object so much for himself-he's an awfully sane old rube-but, Edna, he's got a wife! She weighs two hundred and fifty pounds-or more-has cold, belligerent blue eyes, a hand like a ham-is accustomed to build stone walls in her spare time-"

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Clo-tilde! Ha-ha-ha-Ha-ha-ha! For pity's sake-" "This Amazon-she rushed up to me, and pushed me, Edna-why, I thought a Kansas cyclone had struck me!

I was looking after him in precisely the proper way, too -giving him first aid-you see, he, my father, fainted— he's a poor little withered man, a broken-down farmer, and he has a weak heart-and I'd been talking to himrather excitedly, perhaps,—not thinking—

"Hee-ee-ee!

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He'd need some heart if you really

open up on him-Ha-eeh! Oo-eeh! And the lady stonemason- Uh, uh, eeh! Clo-tilde! I'm having hys

terics! I am! Hee-ee-ee! Clotilde!"

"Don't be foolish, Edna; I'm telling you nothing to get excited about. I'm telling you nothing but the plain, simple, unadorned truth. It was sickening; I think I have every right to feel aggrieved. I told the woman, Ethel is her name, that I was his daughter, that he was my father—and I had a right to help him-but she disregarded me—after pushing me aside like so much alley dirt-I don't think she even heard me-she just picked him up-imagine it, Edna,—she picked him up as if she had been the Strong Lady in a circus, and he the Living Skeleton—”

But Edna, who had ill-advisedly tried to restrain herself in order to imbibe more pure, unadulterated truth, quite suddenly went to pieces. She screamed horrifically, waved her arms in the air, babbled, "Water!" and Hysterics-I tell you I've got 'em-don't sit thereget me some water!" and so checked the supply of truth at its source.

With admirable celerity, in view of the unfortunate effects of an attempt to apply first aid to another victim of her pure truth earlier that same day, Clotilde fetched water from the kitchen and brought Mrs. Kling around. Woodbridge's cleverest gossip emerged a damp, di

sheveled, wabbly, pallid wreck, from successive fits of laughing, crying, and chattering, all interspersed by considerable screams.

"Damnation!" she gasped; "and I haven't a weak heart, either! I don't know when I've given way like that-but, merciful Heavens-" She shuddered, sighed, pressed her head against Clotilde's ministering shoulder. "I suppose it's partly because the beastly war has put my nerves on the blink," she surmised feebly.

Clotilde apologized: "Well, I'm sorry if my little troubles were the last straw." She added: "I rather thought I'd escape the war, up here in rustic Woodbridge."

"Well, you won't," sighed Edna; although one reason I was so glad to see you was because I thought we might be able to stir up some counter-excitement to take everybody's mind off that beastly topic-thank God for your lady stone-mason, and reluctant pa-they may do poor Artie as much good as they have me-even though I may seem, just at present—” She paused, raised her head, listened a moment, and subsided. "How appropriate they're coming!" she announced, with a weak, semi-hysterical chuckle. "Arthur, the dear Talbots, Helen Hope, who has nerves-and no wonder, with her appurtenance—and sprightly Carey-I hear the car! How beautiful-your début-holding a trophy of your prowess-" She raised her voice, shuddered convulsively with unsuppressible joy: "But, dear, trust me -whatever happens I won't permit-ha-ee!-I won't permit anybody to push you! Hee-ah!"

She screamed frightfully into Clotilde's ear, and returned to the depths of hysterics. Stimulated feet

resounded on the front porch; Mr. Arthur Kling rushed into view, all eyes and mouth, gathered the salient feature of the situation at a glance, pushed Clotilde violently out of the way, picked up his wife bodily. "Edna-Edna, dearest!" he besought her, carrying her over to a convenient divan.

But Edna, having preserved consciousness long enough to see Clotilde pushed, sent a peal of maniacal laughter into his face, and relaxed in a dead faint.

Then there was much hurrying to and fro, more water, knocking over of chairs, subdued exclamations, and half a glass of brandy. Through it all, standing with outraged dignity in a corner of the room, Clotilde looked on, quite as she had looked on at a somewhat similar proceeding in a corner of Henry Hooghtyling's orchard, a few hours before. Being in possession of more truth about the trouble than the others, she knew that matters were not serious, and Edna's speedy return to consciousness vindicated her.

"Where's Clotilde-where's that blessed girl?" were Edna's first words.

Thus summoned, Clotilde did not emulate her dignified, unnoticed escape of the orchard escapade. She walked, with some austerity, over to the sofa where Edna was lying in state, surrounded by Talbots, Miss Helen Hope, Carey Beemis, and especially by Mr. Kling.

"My dear it was more than worth it!" said Edna, holding out her hand. "Artie?"

Mr. Kling, immediately stirred in his hostly instincts, stammered: "Why-Miss Westbrook-Clotilde-pardon me, really-in the excitement of the moment-" and