?"

"Oh, Francis!" exclaimed his mother. "I said," looking at Pen, "that I
feared you were anemic, and then I had to describe the word minutely."

"Are they ever that, Miss Lamont?" insisted the boy.

"I never thought of it before," answered Pen after a moment's reflection,
"but I don't see why they couldn't be so, same as white people."

"Then how could they tell they had it. They wouldn't look white, would
they?"

"Suppose," interceded Kingdon, "we try to find a less colorful topic. I
move we adjourn to the library for coffee."

"We stay up an hour after dinner," said Billy, when they were gathered
about the welcome open fire, "but when we have company, it's an hour and a
half."

"I should think that rule would be reversed," replied Kingdon humorously.

"Then, aren't you glad I'm here?" Pen asked Billy.

"Sure!" came in hearty assurance. "You can stay up a long time, can't you,
because you slept all day?"

"Play with us," besought Betty.

"Yes; play rough," demanded Billy.

Mrs. Kingdon interposed. "She's too tired to do that," she admonished the
children.

Betty came forward with a box of paper and a pair of scissors.

"You can cut me some paper dolls. That won't tire you."

"I don't want dolls!" scoffed Francis.

Pen was already using the articles Betty had furnished.

"Not if we call them circus ladies and I cut horses for them to ride on?"
she asked him.

"Can you do that?" he inquired unbelievingly.

"Certainly. Dashing horses that will stand up," she boasted, and in
another moment a perfectly correct horse was laid before the delighted
boys.

A few more rapid snips and a short-skirted lady was handed to Betty.

"Now, make a clown, a lion, a tiger, an elephant," came in quick, short
orders which were readily filled.

"My dear young lady," exclaimed Kingdon. "You are really talented. It is
so seldom an artist can do anything but draw."

"I can't draw. I am just a cutter," she corrected. "I can't do anything
with a pencil."

They were all so absorbed in the paper products that Kurt's entrance
passed unnoted.

"Betty," he said imploringly, after waiting a moment without recognition,
"you can't guess what's in my pocket?"

Pen looked up unbelievingly. The caressing, winning note had utterly
disguised his voice. As he handed the delighted Betty a satisfactorily
shaped parcel, his glance rested upon his prisoner, bringing a quick gleam
of surprise to his eyes.

"I am taking out my fi