ing her--_her_, that everything else was
forgotten.

"Of course I don't. It's horrid and stupid for you to lie here all day
long. Shall I read?"

"Oh, _no_--after that dreadful tutor goes I don't want to see a book!"

"Let's think of something jolly--and different. Would you like to play
travel? It's a game my mother and Little-Dad and I made up. It's lots of
fun. We pick out a certain place and we say we're going there. We get
time-tables for trains and boats and we decide just what we'll pack--all
pretend, of course. Then we look up in the travel books all 'bout the
place and we have the grandest time--most as good as though we really
went. Last winter we traveled through Scotland. It made the long
evenings when we were shut in at Sunnyside pass like magic. Little-Dad
has a perfect passion for time-tables and he never really goes anywhere
in his life--except in the game."

"What fun," cried Isobel, sitting up against her pillows. A few weeks
before Isobel would have scorned such a "babyish" suggestion from
anyone. "Where shall we go?"

"I've always wanted to go to Venice. We got as far as Naples and then
'Liza Sloane's grandson got scarlet fever and Little-Dad went down and
stayed with him. I'd love to live in a palace and go everywhere in
little boats."

"Then we'll go to Venice and we'll travel by way of Milan and Florence.
Jerry, down in father's desk there are a whole lot of time-tables and
folders he collected the spring he planned to go abroad. And you can get
one of Stoddart's books in the library--and a Baedeker, too. We ought to
have a whole lot of clothes--it's warm in Italy. Bring that catalogue
from Altman's that's on mother's sewing table and we'll pick out some
new dresses. What fun!"

Jerry went eagerly after all they needed for their "game." She sat on
the other side of Isobel's bed and spread the books out around her.
First, they had to select from the colored catalogue suitable dresses
and warm wraps for shipboard; then they had to fuss over sailing dates
and cabin reservations. In the atlas Jerry traced from town to town
their route of travel, reading slowly from Baedeker just what they must
see in each town. She had a way of reading the guidebook, too, that made
Isobel see the things. It was delightful to linger in Florence; Jerry
had just suggested that they postpone going on to Venice for a few days,
and Isobel had decided to send back to America for that pale blue dotted
swiss, because