if you'll only take a dose of chamomilla. It is
so soothing, that instead of tiring yourself with all manner of fancies,
you'll drop into a quiet sleep, and by noon be ready to get up like a
civilized being. Do take it, dear; just four sugar-plums, and I'm
satisfied."

Sylvia received the bottle with a docile expression; but the next minute
it flew out of the window, to be shivered on the walk below, while she
said, laughing like a wilful creature as she was--

"I have taken it in the only way I ever shall, and the sparrows can try
its soothing effects with me; so be satisfied."

"Very well. I shall send for Dr. Baum, for I'm convinced that you are
going to be ill. I shall say no more, but act as I think proper, because
it's like talking to the wind to reason with you in one of these
perverse fits."

As Prue turned away, Sylvia frowned and called after her--

"Spare yourself the trouble, for Dr. Baum will follow the chamomilla, if
you bring him here. What does he know about health, a fat German,
looking lager beer and talking sauer-kraut? Bring me _bona fide_
sugar-plums and I'll take them; but arsenic, mercury, and nightshade are
not to my taste."

"Would you feel insulted if I ask whether your breakfast is to be sent
up, or kept waiting till you choose to come down?"

Prue looked rigidly calm, but Sylvia knew that she felt hurt, and with
one of the sudden impulses which ruled her the frown melted to a smile,
as drawing her sister down she kissed her in her most loving manner.

"Dear old soul, I'll be good by-and-by, but now I'm tired and cross, so
let me keep out of every one's way and drowse myself into a cheerier
frame of mind. I want nothing but solitude, a draught of water, and a
kiss."

Prue was mollified at once, and after stirring fussily about for several
minutes gave her sister all she asked, and departed to the myriad small
cares that made her happiness. As the door closed, Sylvia sighed a long
sigh of relief, and folding her arms under her head drifted away into
the land of dreams, where ennui is unknown.

All the long summer morning she lay wrapt in sleeping and waking dreams,
forgetful of the world about her, till her brother played the Wedding
March upon her door on his way to lunch. The desire to avenge the sudden
downfall of a lovely castle in the air roused Sylvia, and sent her down
to skirmish with Mark. Before she could say a word, however, Prue began
to talk in a steady stream, for the