ard him do every summer morning since she could remember. It
was pleasant to waken up in that bed, in that room, and to feel the
brightness of the morning, while light quivered about the low, papered
ceiling in golden spots, refracted by the broken mirror and the glass of
water that held the pinks. "IM LEUCHTENDEN SOMMERMORGEN"; those lines,
and the face of her old teacher, came back to Thea, floated to her out
of sleep, perhaps. She had been dreaming something pleasant, but she
could not remember what. She would go to call upon Mrs. Kohler to-day,
and see the pigeons washing their pink feet in the drip under the water
tank, and flying about their house that was sure to have a fresh coat of
white paint on it for summer. On the way home she would stop to see Mrs.
Tellamantez. On Sunday she would coax Gunner to take her out to the sand
hills. She had missed them in Chicago; had been homesick for their
brilliant morning gold and for their soft colors at evening. The Lake,
somehow, had never taken their place.

While she lay planning, relaxed in warm drowsiness, she heard a knock at
her door. She supposed it was Tillie, who sometimes fluttered in on her
before she was out of bed to offer some service which the family would
have ridiculed. But instead, Mrs. Kronborg herself came in, carrying a
tray with Thea's breakfast set out on one of the best white napkins.
Thea sat up with some embarrassment and pulled her nightgown together
across her chest. Mrs. Kronborg was always busy downstairs in the
morning, and Thea could not remember when her mother had come to her
room before.

"I thought you'd be tired, after traveling, and might like to take it
easy for once." Mrs. Kronborg put the tray on the edge of the bed. "I
took some thick cream for you before the boys got at it. They raised a
howl." She chuckled and sat down in the big wooden rocking chair. Her
visit made Thea feel grown-up, and, somehow, important.

Mrs. Kronborg asked her about Bowers and the Harsanyis. She felt a great
change in Thea, in her face and in her manner. Mr. Kronborg had noticed
it, too, and had spoken of it to his wife with great satisfaction while
they were undressing last night. Mrs. Kronborg sat looking at her
daughter, who lay on her side, supporting herself on her elbow and
lazily drinking her coffee from the tray before her. Her short-sleeved
nightgown had come open at the throat again, and Mrs. Kronborg noticed
how white her arms and shoulders