t of 'First Love' behind the
screen and put you into the 'Young Moon.' What"--_sotto voce_--"are
you laughing at _this_ time?"

"Nothing," said the smallest dryad meekly, though she gurgled under
her breath.

"We'd better go now, and I'll come back," hastily suggested Peter.
"Don't bother to change behind the screen for us, please. I must ask
my sister about the dress."

He got the others out, which was not difficult as far as Eileen was
concerned. She could hardly wait to try "First Love."

Rags was determined to ask Miss Rolls if he shouldn't choose a frock
for her. But she said no, she didn't want one. This would have seemed
to settle the matter, and did for Lord Raygan, who sat down beside
her, abandoning further thought of the dryads. Peter, however,
returned in due course to the room of the mirrors, because Miss Child
could not be allowed to get into the "Young Moon" in such weather for
nothing.

She was in it when he arrived. And pluck, mingled with excitement,
having had a truly bracing effect on the girls, in the absence of the
peer they were nice to the plebeian. The girl in the "Young Moon," to
be sure, had scarcely anything to say, but she had a peculiarly
fascinating way of not saying it.

By the time Mr. Rolls had bought the "Moon" for his sister, he had
become quite friendly with the other dryads, on the strength of a few
simple jokes about green cheese and blue moons and never having
dreamed he could obtain one by crying for it.

"I was wondering," he said at last, when he was about to go, "whether
you'd care for me to bring you some Balm of Gilead?"

"Balm of Gilead?" all five, even the girl in the "Moon," exclaimed.

"Yes. Stuff for seasickness. Not that you _are_ seasick of course. But
the balm's a good preventive. Did you never hear of it?"

They shook their heads.

"It's the great thing our side of the water. I don't need it myself,
but I know it's all right, because it's making my father a fortune."

"Did he invent it?" inquired Miss Carroll.

"No. But he named it and he sells it. It's the men who name things and
sell things, not the ones who invent them, that get the money. My
father is Peter Rolls, and I---"

"I hope you spell Rolls with an 'e,'" broke in Miss Vedrine. "Else it
would remind me of something I want to forget."

"Something you--But maybe I can guess! What the ship does now?"

"Don't speak of it!" they groaned.

"I won't! Or my name, either, if you'd rather not,