feet, and with
Connie, big and bright, sitting back and watching quietly, and telling
them startling and imaginary tales of the horrors she had encountered
on the train. David was entranced, and Carol was enchanted. This was
their baby, this brilliant, talented, beautiful little fairy,--and
Carol alternately nudged David's arm and tapped his shoulder to remind
him of the dignity of his fatherhood.

But in one little hour, she remembered that after all, David was her
job, and even crowy, charming little Julia must not crowd him aside,
and she hastened to prepare the endless egg-nog. Then from the kitchen
window she saw the auto, still standing before their door.

"Oh, my gracious!" she gasped. "We forgot that driver."

She got her purse and hurried outside, but the driver was gone, and
only the car remained. Carol was too ignorant of motor-cars to observe
that it was a Harmer Six, she only wondered how on earth he could go
off and forget his car. She carried the puzzle to David, and he could
not solve it.

"Are you able to walk at all, David?" asked Connie.

"Yes, indeed," he said, sitting up proudly, "I can walk half a block if
there are no steps to climb."

"Come out in front and we'll investigate," she suggested.

When they reached the car, and it took time for David walked but
slowly, he promptly looked at the name plate.

"Harmer Six," he read. "Why this is Jerry's kind of car."

"Yes, it is his kind," explained Connie. "He and Prudence sent this
one out for you and Carol and Julia. They have just established an
agency here, and he has made arrangements with the dealer to take
entire care of it for you, sending it up when you want it, calling for
it when you are through, keeping it in repair, and providing gas and
oil,--and the bill goes to Jerry in Des Moines."

One would have thought enough happiness had come to the health seekers
for one day. Carol would have sworn she could not possibly be one
little bit gladder than she had been before, with David sick, of
course. And now came this! How David would love it. She looked at
her husband, happily pottering around the engine, turning bolts and
buttons as men will do, and she looked at Julia, proudly viewing her
own physical beauties in the shining body of the car, and she looked at
Connie with the charm and glory of the parsonage life clinging about
her like a halo. Then she turned and walked into the house without a
word. Understandingly,