oom.

After a while I managed to work the slit of a drawer open, and to
this hiding-place I returned Freeman's diary, and with it the
faintly scented bit of paper that The Author mourned.

* * * * *

The failure of her matrimonial plans for me did not occasion Miss
Alicia Gaines overmuch grief. She seemed to have dismissed the whole
matter from her mind. Restored to her old time gaiety, she sang like
a thrush as she worked. She bubbled over with the sheer joy of
living, until the very sight of her gladdened one. And she simply
couldn't make her feet behave! She danced with the broom one
morning, to the great amusement of our scholarly old Englishman.

"I'm supposed to be somewhat of an old stick myself: why not try me,
instead of the broom?" he suggested slyly. Instantly she took him at
his word, and danced him up and down the hall until he was
breathless.

"This," panted the scholar, "is a fair sample of what the Irish do
to the English."

"We do lead you a pretty dance, don't we, dear John Bull?" dimpled
Alicia.

"You do, you engaging baggage!" he admitted. "But," he added, in a
tone of satisfaction, "we manage to keep step, my dear! Oh, yes, we
manage to keep step!" And he trotted off, chuckling.

"There are times," said The Author to me, darkly, "when the
terrifying tirelessness of youth gives me a vertigo. Come away, Miss
Smith. Leave that kitten to chase her own shadow up the wall."

"Cross-patch, draw the latch,
Sit by the fire and spin--yarns!"

chanted Alicia.

"Go away, you pink-and-white delusion!" said The Author, severely.
"You have made Scholarship and Wisdom put on cap and bells and
prance like a morris-dancer. Isn't that mischief enough for one
day?"

Alicia has a round, snow-white chin, and when she tilts it the curve
of her throat is distracting.

"On second thoughts," said The Author, critically, "I discover that
I do not wholly disapprove of you. Come outside. I wish to talk
about the venerable, and yet common design that tops every outside
window and door of this house.--What do you call that design, may I
ask?"

"Why, everybody knows the Greek fret!" said Alicia, staring at it.
"It's as old as the hills."

"Exactly," agreed The Author. "The Greek fret is as old as the hill.
And, with the single exception of the swastika, it is the design
most universally known to man. You may find it on a bit of ancient
Greek pottery, or on