oats and to play tennis, Peter Erwin came to his own.
Nearly every evening after dinner, while the light was still lingering
under the shade trees of the street, and Aunt Mary still placidly
sewing in the wicker chair on the lawn, and Uncle Tom making the tour
of flowers with his watering pot, the gate would slam, and Peter's tall
form appear.

It never occurred to Honora that had it not been for Peter those
evenings would have been even less bearable than they were. To sit
indoors with a light and read in a St. Louis midsummer was not to be
thought of. Peter played backgammon with her on the front steps, and
later on--chess. Sometimes they went for a walk as far as Grand Avenue.
And sometimes when Honora grew older--she was permitted to go with him
to Uhrig's Cave. Those were memorable occasions indeed!

What Saint Louisan of the last generation does not remember Uhrig's
Cave? nor look without regret upon the thing which has replaced it,
called a Coliseum? The very name, Uhrig's Cave, sent a shiver of delight
down one's spine, and many were the conjectures one made as to what
might be enclosed in that half a block of impassible brick wall, over
which the great trees stretched their branches. Honora, from comparative
infancy, had her own theory, which so possessed the mind of Edith
Hanbury that she would not look at the wall when they passed in the
carriage. It was a still and sombre place by day; and sometimes, if you
listened, you could hear the whisperings of the forty thieves on the
other side of the wall. But no one had ever dared to cry "Open, Sesame!"
at the great wooden gates.

At night, in the warm season, when well brought up children were at home
or at the seashore, strange things were said to happen at Uhrig's Cave.

Honora was a tall slip of a girl of sixteen before it was given her to
know these mysteries, and the Ali Baba theory a thing of the past. Other
theories had replaced it. Nevertheless she clung tightly to Peter's arm
as they walked down Locust Street and came in sight of the wall. Above
it, and under the big trees, shone a thousand glittering lights: there
was a crowd at the gate, and instead of saying, "Open, Sesame," Peter
slipped two bright fifty-cent pieces to the red-faced German ticketman,
and in they went.

First and most astounding of disillusions of passing childhood, it was
not a cave at all! And yet the word "disillusion" does not apply. It
was, after all, the most enchanting and