born to Lydia, wife of Methuselah, the
woman also being of goodly years. It is, isn't it."

"The fattest, finest, most 'scrumpshus' son of all the ages that ever--"

Kitty laughed happily and very whimsically. "Like none since Moses was
found among the bulrushes! Where was this one found, and what do you
intend to call him--Jesse, after his 'pa'?"

"No--nothing so common. He's to be called Shiel--Shiel Crozier Bulrush,
that's to be his name."

The face of the girl became a shade pensive now. "Oh! And do you think
you can guarantee that he will be worth the name? Do you never think
what his father is?"

"I'm starting him right with that name. I can do so much, anyway,"
laughed the imperturbable one. "And Mrs. Bulrush, after her great
effort--how is she?

"Flying--simply flying. Earth not good enough for her. Simply flying.
But here--here is more news. Guess what--it's for you. I've just come
from the post office, and they said there was an English letter for you,
so I brought it."

He handed it over. She laid it in her lap and waited as though for him
to go.

"Can't I hear how he is? He's the best man that ever crossed my path,"
he said.

"It happens to be in his wife's, not his, handwriting--did ever such a
scrap of a woman write so sprawling a hand!" she replied, holding the
letter up.

"But she'll let us know in the letter how Crozier is, won't she?"

Kitty had now recovered herself, and slowly she opened the envelope and
took out the letter. As she did so something fluttered to the ground.

Jesse Bulrush picked it up. "That looks nice," he said, and he whistled
in surprise. "It's a money-draft on a bank."

Kitty, whose eyes were fixed on the big, important handwriting, answered
calmly and without apparently looking, as she took the paper from his
hand: "Yes, it's a wedding present--five hundred dollars to buy what I
like best for my home. So she says."

"Mrs. Crozier, of course."

"Of course."

"Well, that's magnificent. What will you do with it?"

Kitty rose and held out her hand. "Go back to your flying partner, happy
man, and ask her what she would do with five hundred dollars if she had
it."

"She'd buy her lord and master a present with it, of course," he
answered.

"Good-bye, Mr. Rolypoly," she responded, laughing. "You always could
think of things for other people to do; and have never done anything
yourself until now. Good-bye, father."

When he was gone and out of sight her face c