two upspringing wings. The young men gazed at her with the
most unconcealed delight. As she skated very well, better than any
of the other girls, she felt, sweeping about the pond in long, swift
curves, that she was repaid for her ignorance of billiards.

Jerry and the young man he called Stub were openly in competition
for her attention, highly jocose on Stub's part and not at all so on
Jerry's, whose brow did not clear at the constant crackling of the
other's witticisms. On the shore burned a big fire, tended by a
man-servant in livery, who was occupied in setting out on a long table
a variety of sandwiches and cups of steaming bouillon. Sylvia had
never encountered before a real man-servant in livery. She looked at
him with the curiosity she might have shown at seeing a mediaeval
knight in full armor. Jerry brought her a cup of the bouillon, which
was deliciously hot and strong. Experienced as she was in the prudent
provisioning of the Marshall kitchen she was staggered to think how
many chickens had gone into filling with that clear liquor the big
silver tureen which steamed over the glittering alcohol lamp. The
table was set, for that casual outdoor picnic lunch, as she could
hardly have imagined a royal board.

"What beautiful things your people have!" she exclaimed to Jerry,
looking at a pile of small silver forks with delicately carved ivory
handles. "The rugs in the house are superb."

Jerry waved them aside as phenomena of no importance. "All of 'em
tributes from Dad's loving constituents," he said, repeating what was
evidently an old joke in the family. "You'd better believe Dad doesn't
vote to get the tariff raised on anything unless he sees to it that
the manufacturers know who they have to thank. It works something
fine! Talk about the presents a doctor gets from his grateful
patients! Nothing to it!"

This picturesque statement of practical politics meant so little to
Sylvia's mind that she dismissed it unheard, admiring, in spite of her
effort to take things for granted, the fabulous fineness of the
little fringed napkin set under the bouillon cup. Jerry followed
the direction of her eyes. "Yep--tariff on linen," he commented
pregnantly.

The young man called Stub now sped up to them, skating very fast, and
swept Sylvia off. "_Here's_ where we show 'em how to do it!" he cried
cheerfully, skating backward with crazy rapidity, and pulling Sylvia
after him. There was a clang of swift steel on ice, an