scarcely that," expostulated Horace; "she doesn't
understand. I'll try to correct her sometime."

But he felt the blood come up to his hair as he promised; for it seemed
almost impossible to approach the girl with a matter so personal. For
the present, he dismissed the thought.

"What about the names, Ann?" he asked.

"As you wish, Dear; Fledra doesn't care."

From that moment, the boy, struggling with fever, and the gray-eyed
girl, so like him, were called Floyd and Fledra Cronk.

* * * * *

One morning in January, the day before Flea was to begin her school
work, she was passing through the hall that led to the front door. Her
face was grave with timidity; although for hours Ann had been trying to
fortify the young spirit against the ordeal that was to confront her the
following day. Only once had Flea faltered a request that she be allowed
to stay at home; but Horace had melted her objections without expelling
her fear. To Ann's instructions concerning conduct she had listened with
a heavy heart.

Everett Brimbecomb opened the front door as Flea approached it. She
stopped short before him, and he drew in a sharp, quick breath. Flea was
uncertain just what to do. She knew that he was going to marry Ann, and
was also aware that he hated her brother and herself. Ann, however, had
taught her to bow, and she now came forward with hesitant grace, and
inclined her head slightly. The beauty of Flea made Everett regret that
his objections to the twins had been so strenuous; but he would
immediately establish a friendship with her that would please both Ann
and Horace. He vowed that at the same time he would get some amusement
out of it.

"Well! You've blossomed into a girl at last," he said banteringly, "and
a mighty pretty one, too! I swear I shouldn't have known that you were
one of those boys!"

Flea threw her peculiar eyes over him; but did not speak.

"You're going to school tomorrow, I hear. How do you like that?"

Flea shook her head.

"I don't want to go," she admitted; "but my Prince says as how I have
to."

"Your what?"

"My Prince!"

"Your Prince! Who's your Prince?" demanded Brimbecomb.

"Him, back in there," replied Flea, casting her head backward in the
direction of the library.

"You mean Mr. Shellington?"

"Yep!"

Everett burst into a loud laugh. At the sound, Horace stepped to his
study-door and looked out. His face darkened as he discerned Flea
standi