s and wept a little when she heard
of the death of the little boy who had been her father's patient for
many months. In the present state of literary criticism, one must be
very careful not to permit women and children to display their
sensitive and tender natures. Only the other day, a very good book was
damned because one of the female characters had wept 393 times during
the course of the story. Out upon tears and human nature! Let us go out
and reform some one, and leave tears to the kindergarten, where steps
are taking even now to dry up the fountains of youth.

Nevertheless, Nan cried a little, and so did Eugenia Claiborne, when she
heard the story of the little boy who had suffered so long and so
patiently. The news of his death tended to quiet Nan's excitement, but
she told her story, and, though the child's death took the edge off
Nan's excitement, the story of her adventure attracted as much attention
as she thought it would. She said nothing about Gabriel, and it was
supposed that only she and Tasma Tid were in the closet; but the next
morning, when Dr. Dorrington drove over to Clopton's to carry the
information, he was met by the statement that Gabriel had told of it the
night before. A little inquiry developed the fact that Gabriel had
concealed himself in the closet in order to discover the mysteries of
the Union League.

Dorrington decided that the matter was either very serious or very
amusing, and he took occasion to question Nan about it. "You didn't tell
us that Gabriel was in the closet with you," he said to Nan.

"Well, popsy, so far as I was concerned he was not there. He certainly
has no idea that I was there, and if he ever finds it out, I'll never
speak to him again. He never will find it out unless he is told by some
one who dislikes me. Outside of this family," Nan went on with dignity,
"not a soul knows that I was there except Eugenia Claiborne, and I'm
perfectly certain she'll never tell any one."

Dorrington thought his daughter should have a little lecture, and he
gave her one, but not of the conventional kind. He simply drew her to
him and kissed her, saying, "My precious child, you must never forget
the message the little boy sent you. About the last thing he said was,
'Tell my Miss Nan to be dood.' And you know, my dear, that it is neither
proper nor good for my little girl to be wandering about at night. She
is now a young lady, and she must begin to act like one--not too much,
you