leasant-faced but rather prim old lady, of whom it had been said by
some one competent to judge, that her inquisitiveness was so
overwhelming and so important that it took the shape of pity in one
direction, patriotism in another, and benevolence in another, giving to
her life not the semblance but the very essence of usefulness and
activity.

"Do you hear that, Dr. Buxton?" cried the pleasant-faced old lady
somewhat sharply. "Do you hear her wheeze when she laughs? Do you
remember that she was threatened with pneumonia last winter? and now she
is wheezing before the winter begins!"

"This is the trouble I was trying to think of," exclaimed Helen, sinking
back in her chair with a gesture of mock despair.

"Don't make yourself ridiculous, dear," said the aunt, giving the little
clusters of gray curls that hung about her ears an emphatic shake.
"Serious matters should be taken seriously." Whereat Helen pressed her
cheek gently against the thin white hand that had been laid caressingly
on her shoulder.

"Aunt Harriet has probably heard me say that there is still some hope
for the country, even though it is governed entirely by men," said
Helen, with an air of apology. "The men can not deprive us of the winter
climate of Boston, and I enjoy that above all things."

Aunt Harriet smiled reproachfully at her niece, and pulled her ear
gently.

"But indeed, Dr. Buxton," Helen went on more seriously, "the winter
climate of Boston, fine as it is, is beginning to pinch us harder than
it used to do. The air is thinner, and the cold is keener. When I was
younger--very much younger--than I am now, I remember that I used to run
in and out, and fall and roll in the snow with perfect impunity. But now
I try to profit by Aunt Harriet's example. When I go out, I go bundled
up to the point of suffocation; and if the wind is from the east, as it
usually is, I wear wraps and shawls indoors."

Helen smiled brightly at her aunt and at Dr. Buxton; but her aunt seemed
to be distressed, and the physician shook his head dubiously.

"You will have to take great care of yourself," said Dr. Buxton. "You
must be prudent. The slightest change in the temperature may send you
to bed for the rest of the winter."

"Dr. Buxton is complimenting you, Aunt Harriet," said Helen. "You should
drop him a courtesy."

Whereupon the amiable physician, seeing that there was no remedy for the
humorous view which Miss Eustis took of her condition, went furthe