elle
makes us say so many fine sentences when we have our 'calling days' in
the French class that I get awfully twisted and never know whether I'm
masculine or feminine."

"You won't need to think about it here," said Bruce. "The waiters are
both Belgians and they speak English pretty well. You know that
English is taught in the public schools in Belgium, and even the little
children can say a few words to you. It's the old folks that don't
understand."

Judith flew back to his side, pushing Patricia ahead to Elinor.

"Oh, do tell me all about it," she pleaded, and Bruce, with his
customary good nature, launched into a very diverting account of the
habits and customs of the Flemings and the year spent among them in his
student days.

The first breath of spring was in the air, softening the chill of the
crowded streets with warming sunshine and a hint of the coming miracle
of the yearly resurrection. The shops were filled with the crisp,
fresh-tinted goods of the nearing season, and here and there among the
smartly dressed women was a modish straw hat brightening the winter
furs and velvets. Patricia's cup was full and running over. She had
no need for speech with Elinor, but she kept giving her hands quick
little squeezes in her muff, while now and again they exchanged swift
telegraphic glances of appreciation.

Bruce swung the door for them, and they passed into a little narrow
shop-like place.

Judith's eyes were wide and dismayed.

"I don't think this is very nice," she whispered as Bruce was
exchanging a few words with the smiling proprietor in the little cage
behind the tiny counter.

"Hush," cautioned Patricia, using her eyes industriously. "It must be
all right, or Bruce wouldn't have brought us. I like it. The floor is
_sanded_, Judy! And those people at the snippy little tables under the
stairs are French--just hear them gabble to the waiter."

Judith recovered sufficiently to take notice.

"There isn't any table--" she had begun, still with slight protest in
her voice, when Bruce ushered them up the narrow vertical stair to the
larger room above where more tables and windows made a cozy dining
place for about a dozen people.

The waiter, a broad-faced Belgian, rushed forward with a smile of
genuine welcome and a flourish of the spotless towel which he wore upon
his left shoulder, and, with a few murmured words in French, motioned
them to a table by the front window.

When they were b