ears of my life to be able to sing one song as you sing
Beethoven's '_Adelaide_.'"

"Of course I can't refuse, after that," said Azalea modestly, though
more happily, I thought, and the Philosopher went away with her into the
half-lit living room.

"May I say anything?" asked the Skeptic, looking up into the Gay Lady's
face, in the way he has when he wants to say things very much but is
doubtful how she will take them--a condition he is frequently in.

She shook her head--I think she must have been smiling. It was so
evident--that which he wanted to say. He wanted to assure her that her
own accomplishments----

But the Gay Lady shook her head. "Let's just listen," she said.

So we listened. It was worth it. But, after all, I doubt if the Skeptic
heard.

VI

HEPATICA

Here's metal more attractive.
--_Hamlet._

The Gay Lady had gone away for a week and a day. Although four of us
remained, the gap in our number appeared prodigious. The first dinner
without her seemed as slow and dull as a dance without music, in spite
of the fact that we did our best, each one of us, not to act as if
anything were wrong.

When we had escaped from the dining-room to the porch, Lad was the first
to voice his sentiments upon the subject of our drooping spirits. "I
didn't know her being here made such a lot of difference--till she got
away," he said dismally. "There's nobody to laugh, now, when I make a
joke."

"Don't the rest of us laugh at your jokes, son?" inquired the
Philosopher, laying a friendly hand upon the Lad's arm as the boy stood
on the porch step below him.

"You do--if she does," replied Lad. "Lots of times you'd never notice
what I say if she didn't look at you and laugh. Then you burst out and
laugh too--to please her, I suppose," he added.

The Philosopher glanced at me over the boy's head. "Here's a pretty
sharp observer," said he, "with a gift at analysis. I didn't know before
that I take my cue from the Gay Lady--or from any one else--when it
comes to laughing at jokes. Try me with one now, Lad, and see if I don't
laugh--all by myself."

Lad shook his head. "That wouldn't be any good. I'd know you didn't mean
it. She always means it. Besides--she thinks things are funny that you
don't. She's 'most as good as a boy--and I don't see how she can be,
either," he reflected, "because she isn't the least bit like one."

"You're right enough about that," observed the Philosopher. "She's
essent