rew." She laughed aloud in the suddenly empty
room, and then lifted her head to find Miss Black, the night-duty girl
that week, standing in the doorway ready to relieve guard.

"Oh, Anna, see what I've done!" she laughed. Somehow everything seemed
merely light-hearted and laughable since Mr. De Guenther's most
fairy-tale visit, with its wild hints of Lines of Work. Anna Black came,
looked, laughed.

"In the 640's!" she said. "Well, you're liable to do nearly everything
by the time it's Saturday. Last Saturday, Dolly Graham up in the
Circulation was telling me, an old colored mammy said she'd lost her
mittens in the reading-room; and the first they knew Dolly was hunting
through the Woollen Goods classification, and Mary Gayley pawing the
dictionary wildly for m-i-t!"

"And they found the mittens hung around her neck by the cord," finished
the Liberry Teacher. "I know--it was a thrilling story. Well, good-by
till Monday, Anna Black. I'm going home now, to have some lovely prunes
and some real dried beef, and maybe a glass of almost-milk if I can
persuade the landlady I need it."

"Mine prefers dried apricots," responded Miss Black cheerfully, "but she
never has anything but canned milk in the house, thus sparing us the
embarrassment of asking for real. Good-by--good luck!"

But as the Liberry Teacher pinned her serviceable hat close, and
fastened her still good raincoat over her elderly sweater, neither
prunes nor mittens nor next week's work worried her at all. After all,
living among the fairy-stories with the Little People makes that
pleasant land where wanting is having, and all the impossibilities can
come true, very easy of access. Phyllis Braithwaite's mind, as she
picked her way down the bedraggled street, wandered innocently off in a
dream-place full of roses, till the muddy marble steps of her
boarding-place gleamed sloppily before her through the foggy rain.

She sat up late that night, doing improving things to the white net
waist that went with her best suit, which was black. As her needle
nibbled busily down the seams she continued happily to wonder about that
Entirely Different Line. It sounded to her more like a reportership on
a yellow journal than anything else imaginable. Or, perhaps, could she
be wanted to join the Secret Service?

"At any rate," she concluded light-heartedly, as she stitched the last
clean ruching into the last wrist-covering, sedate sleeve, "at any rate
I'll have a chance to