r we'll get
out of here."

Eleanor's sickness was of the spirit, but at the moment she was
incapable of telling him so, incapable of any sort of speech. A great
wave of faintness encompassed her. She had broken her pledge. She had
lightly encouraged a departure from the blessings and principles of
total abstinence.

That night in her bed she made a long and impassioned apology to her
Maker for the sin of intemperance into which she had been so
unwittingly betrayed. She promised Him that she would never drink
anything that came out of a bottle again. She reviewed sorrowfully her
many arguments with Albertina--Albertina in the flesh that is--on the
subject of bottled drinks in general, and decided that again that
virtuous child was right in her condemnation of any drink, however
harmless in appearance or nomenclature, that bore the stigma of a
bottled label.

She knew, however, that something more than a prayer for forgiveness
was required of her. She was pledged to protest against the evil that
she had seemingly countenanced. She could not seek the sleep of the
innocent until that reparation was made. Through the crack of her
sagging door she saw the light from Jimmie's reading lamp and knew
that he was still dressed, or clothed at least, with a sufficient
regard for the conventionalities to permit her intrusion. She rose and
rebraided her hair and tied a daytime ribbon on it. Then she put on
her stockings and her blue Japanese kimono--real Japanese, as Aunt
Beulah explained, made for a Japanese lady of quality--and made her
way into the studio.

Jimmie was not sitting in the one comfortable studio chair with his
book under the light and his feet on the bamboo tea table as usual. He
was not sitting up at all. He was flung on the couch with his face
buried in the cushions, and his shoulders were shaking. Eleanor seeing
him thus, forgot her righteous purpose, forgot her pledge to
disseminate the principles and blessings of abstinence, forgot
everything but the pitiful spectacle of her gallant Uncle Jimmie in
grief. She stood looking down at him without quite the courage to
kneel at his side to give him comfort.

"Uncle Jimmie," she said, "Uncle Jimmie."

At the sound of her voice he put out his hand to her, gropingly, but
he did not uncover his face or shift his position. She found herself
smoothing his hair, gingerly at first, but with more and more
conviction as he snuggled his boyish head closer.

"I'm awfull