overcoat, drew out a book. "That's the one you wanted, isn't it?"

"Yes, thank you."

"I didn't give it to you before because I wanted to talk, but we'll
read, sometimes, when we can. Don't forget to put the light in the
window when it's all right for me to come. If I don't, you'll
understand. And please don't work so hard."

Barbara smiled. "I have to earn a living for three healthy people," she
said, "and everybody is trying, by moral suasion, to prevent me from
doing it. Do you want us all piled up in the front yard in a nice little
heap of bones before the Tower of Cologne is rebuilt?"

Roger took both her hands and attempted to speak, but his face suddenly
crimsoned, and he floundered out into the darkness like an awkward
school-boy instead of a self-possessed young man of almost twenty-four.
It had occurred to him that it might be very nice to kiss Barbara.

[Sidenote: Back to Childhood]

But Barbara, magically taken back to childhood, did not notice his
confusion. The Tower of Cologne had been a fancy of hers ever since she
could remember, though it had been temporarily eclipsed by the hard work
which circumstances had thrust upon her. As she grew from childhood to
womanhood, it had changed very little--the dream, always, was
practically the same.

[Sidenote: A Day Dream]

The Tower itself was made of cologne bottles neatly piled together, and
the brightly-tinted labels gave it a bizarre but beautiful effect. It
was square in shape and very high, with a splendid cupola of clear
glass arches--the labels probably would not show, up so high. It stood
in an enchanted land with the sea behind it--nobody had ever thought of
taking Barbara down to the sea, though it was so near. The sea was
always blue, of course, like the sky, or the larkspur--she was never
quite sure of the colour.

The air all around the Tower smelled sweet, just like cologne. There was
a flight of steps, also made of cologne bottles, but they did not break
when you walked on them, and the door was always ajar. Inside was a
great, winding staircase which led to the cupola. You could climb and
climb and climb, and when you were tired, you could stop to rest in any
of the rooms that were on the different floors.

Strangely enough, in the Tower of Cologne, Barbara was never lame. She
always left her crutches leaning up against the steps outside. She could
walk and run like anyone else and never even think of crutches. There
were many charmi