e precision of experience; next she hooked the
new skirt round the waist and held the little coat for her sister to
put on.

"Where is your hat?" she demanded.

Deena fetched a plain black straw, rusty from the sun and dust of two
summers, and shook her head as she tried to pinch the bows into shape.

"I shall be like a peacock turned topsy-turvy," she laughed--"ashamed
of my head instead of my feet!"

Polly took it out of her hand.

"Of course, you cannot wear _that_ with your hair done in the new
way--besides, it spoils your whole costume. I saw quite a decent hat
in a shop window in the next street. I'll get it for you!" and she was
out of the room like a flash of lightning.

Deena ran to the window and caught her mercurial sister issuing from
the door below.

"Stop, Polly!" she called. "I cannot afford a new hat, and I cannot
accept anything more--please come back."

Polly made a little grimace and walked steadily down the path; at the
gate she condescended to remark:

"Have all your last words said to your cook by the time I get back,
for Ben will not want to wait."

In ten minutes she returned with a smart little hat, and in answer to
Deena's remonstrances, she tossed the condemned one into the wood
fire that was burning on the dining-room hearth; at the same instant
the automobile arrived at the gate. Deena, nearly in tears, pinned the
unwelcome purchase on her head, and followed her sister to the street.
The hat set lightly enough on her curls, but it weighed heavily on her
conscience.

After the manner of the amateur chauffeur, Ben was doubled up under
the front wheels of his motor, offering a stirrup-cup of machine oil
to the god of the car, but Stephen French stood at the gate, his grave
face lighted up with the fun of a stolen holiday.

"You see a truant professor!" he exclaimed. "Simeon doesn't approve;
we couldn't induce him to come. He said a day off meant a night on for
him--he is so wise, is Simeon--but I positively had to do something in
the way of sport; I am in a reckless mood to-day."

"I'll do the wrecking for you, if that's all you want," came from
under the auto's wheels.

Stephen conveyed his thanks.

"I dare say you will, with no effort on your part," he said, opening
the back door of the great, puffing monster. "Get in here, Mrs.
Ponsonby. Ben likes his wife beside him in front, he says, because she
understands how to run the machine when he blows his nose, but I think
it