lived in the circle of the Barnes family.

But one unfortunate day, Isabelle strayed into her mother's room,
determined upon experiment.

"Max, will you take me to market with you?" she inquired.

"I don't go to market, silly; the housekeeper markets."

"Why don't you tuck me in, and kiss me good-night?" the child continued,
her eyes fixed on her mother's startled face.

"I'm never here when you go to bed," defended Mrs. Bryce. "What is all
this? I thought you didn't like to be kissed."

"I wish you'd have six children," Isabelle sighed.

"Good heavens! Isabelle, don't be silly!"

So Isabelle gave it up. She realized that something was lacking. She
sought out Miss Barnes with the problem.

"Why don't Max and Wally do like father and mother Barnes?"

"Well," Ann evaded, "it is different, you see. Your father and mother
are rich, and mine are poor. Your parents have lots to do--golf and
bridge and parties--and father and mother Barnes have only their
children to interest them. They're just regular parents," she added,
lamely.

"But I want some regular parents," replied Isabelle.

Ann was nonplussed.

"We can't all have them, honey," she said. "Jinny would like lots of
things you have--a pony, and toys, and pretty clothes."

"She can have mine."

"She has to do many things you would not like to do."

"I don't care. I'd do them."

"But you can't change your parents. God gives them to you, and you have
to keep them," she laughed.

"Then why didn't God give me regular parents?"

Ann hastily diverted the youngster's thoughts into other channels, but
she came back to it again and yet again--her desire for "regular
parents."

One of the habits acquired from Jinny was a daily nap. She religiously
put herself to bed, after luncheon, and each day upon rising she
inspected herself in the glass to see if she was growing prettier.

"I don't see that it helps much," she said frequently.

But Ann encouraged her to persevere, partly because she felt that the
highly strung child needed the rest, and partly because it was Ann's
only breathing space in the twenty-four hours. Usually she went for a
walk, carrying a book under her arm.

One day as she started off on such a ramble Mrs. Bryce sent for her.

"Miss Barnes, would you do me a favour? The dry-cleaner in Rockville has
a lace gown of mine which I want to wear this afternoon, when some
people are coming to tea. Would you motor over and get it? You could