Pratt--something strikingly different from that he had observed
as led by his mother and father, or their friends and relatives. In his
rapt mind he beheld Miss Pratt walking beside him "through life," with
her little parasol and her little dog--her exquisite face always lifted
playfully toward his own (with admiration underneath the playfulness),
and he heard her voice of silver always rippling "baby-talk" throughout
all the years to come. He saw her applauding his triumphs--though these
remained indefinite in his mind, and he was unable to foreshadow the
business or profession which was to provide the amazing mansion (mainly
conservatory) which he pictured as their home. Surrounded by flowers,
and maintaining a private orchestra, he saw Miss Pratt and himself
growing old together, attaining to such ages as thirty and even
thirty-five, still in perfect harmony, and always either dancing in
the evenings or strolling hand in hand in the moonlight. Sometimes they
would visit the nursery, where curly-headed, rosy cherubs played upon a
white-bear rug in the firelight. These were all boys and ready-made, the
youngest being three years old and without a past.

They would be beautiful children, happy with their luxurious toys on the
bear rug, and they would NEVER be seen in any part of the house except
the nursery. Their deportment would be flawless, and--

"WILL-EE!"

The aviator struck a hole in the air; his heart misgave him. Then he
came to earth--a sickening drop, and instantaneous.

"WILL-EE!"

There was Jane, a figurine in a plastic state and altogether
disgraceful;--she came up out of the waters and stood before them with
feet of clay, indeed; pedestaled upon the curbstone.

"Who IS that CURIOUS child?" said Miss Pratt, stopping.

William shuddered.

"Was she calling YOU?" Miss Pratt asked, incredulously.

"Willie, I told you you better take an umbereller," said Jane, "instead
of papa's cane." And she added, triumphantly, "Now you see!"

Moving forward, she seemed to have in mind a dreadful purpose; there
was something about her that made William think she intended casually to
accompany him and Miss Pratt.

"You go home!" he commanded, hoarsely.

Miss Pratt uttered a little scream of surprise and recognition. "It's
your little sister!" she exclaimed, and then, reverting to her favorite
playfulness of enunciation, "'Oor ickle sissa!" she added, gaily, as
a translation. Jane misunderstood it; she thought M