ter even for a moment
to-day--"

"Oh, yes, Madam."

"And that we're leaving for the country _very_ soon."

Rosa bobbed her dark head as she backed away.

"And, Rosa--"

"Yes, Madam?"

"You know what I need in the country--where we were before."

A bow.

"Pack, Rosa. And you will go, of course."

"And Potter, Madam?"

"Potter, too. You'll have to pack a few things up here also." A white
hand indicated the wardrobe door.

"Very well, Madam."

As the door closed, the telephone rang. Gwendolyn's father rose to
answer it. "I think it's the office, dear," he explained; and into the
transmitter--"Yes?... Hello?... Yes. Good-morning!... Oh, thanks! She's
better.... And by the way, just close out that line of stocks. Yes.... I
shan't be back in the office for some time. I'm leaving for the country
as soon as Gwendolyn can stand the trip. To-morrow, maybe, or the next
day.... No; don't go into the market until I come back. I intend to
reconstruct my policy a good deal. Yes.... Oh, yes.... Good-by."

He went to the front window. And as he stood in the light, Gwendolyn lay
and looked at him. He had worn green the night before. But now there was
not a vestige of paper money showing anywhere in his dress. In fact, he
was wearing the suit--a dark blue--he had worn that night she penetrated
to the library.

"Fath-er."

"Well, little daughter?"

"I was wondering has anybody scribbled on the General's horse?--with
chalk?"

Her father looked down at the Drive. "The General's there!" he
announced, glancing back at her over a shoulder. "And his horse seems in
_fine_ fettle this morning, prancing, and arching his neck. And nobody's
scribbled on him, which seems to please the General very much, for he's
got his hat off--"

Gwendolyn sat up, her eyes rounding. "To hundreds and hundreds of
soldiers!" she told her mother. "Only everybody can't see the soldiers."

Her father came back to her. "_I_ can," he declared proudly. "Do you
want to see 'em, too?--just a glimpse, mother! Come! We'll play the game
together!" And the next moment, silk coverlet and all, Gwendolyn was
swung up in his arms and borne to the window-seat.

"And, oh, there's the P'liceman!" she cried out.

"His name is Flynn," informed her father. "And _twice_ this morning he's
asked after you."

"Oh!" she stood up among the cushions to get a better view. "He takes
lost little boys and girls to their fath-ers and moth-ers, daddy, and he
takes care of