terested in the career of Wilfred. At school, the girls' conversation
was largely made up of details of this kind; but Crofts was not school,
and neither Jean nor Angela felt inspired to carry on the discussion.
Babs, however, failed to notice their want of enthusiasm. Everything was
happening exactly like the fairy story she had planned, the fairy story
that had begun in the old London house, on the day that a certain
dragon had entered it as a fairy godmother; and for the moment she was
back again in her own kingdom, where the old witch still wandered
about in her steeple-hat, in the company of Kit the prince, and where the
twice-disenchanted beast was placing a crown on the charming head of
the princess who had waited so long for him, and where a crowd of other
princesses, after breaking their heads and their legs and suffering
numerous unpleasant penalties of the kind, had at last returned from
their banishment and were hailing the child herself as their queen. But
one familiar figure was still missing from her fairy kingdom; and the
little queen came sadly back to the world under the cedar tree, with a
sigh and a murmured remark about 'America' and 'lectures' that her
listeners only half understood. They recognised the Babe's very natural
wish for her father's return, but they did not know how the wish had
grown into a longing since her accident, during the weary days in which
there had been no school to distract her, and nothing to do but to think.

'He'll be back in two months, won't he?' asked Jean, meaning to be
sympathetic, though her manner was awkward.

'Two months!' echoed Babs, dolefully, 'What's two months?'

'It's years, isn't it?' responded Angela, with her accustomed inaccuracy.

Having secured their sympathy, such as it was, Barbara allowed herself to
become more doleful still. 'He must have missed all our letters, too,'
she sighed. 'The last one he sent us was from some awful American place,
that Kit says is in the map if you've got a month to look for it, only
you haven't!--and he never told us where to write next, and he didn't say
a word about me. So he's not even heard yet that I fell off the rings!'

'Never mind, Babs dear,' said Angela, consolingly; 'think how _proud_ you
will be when you can tell him all about it yourself.'

Not appreciating the distinction of having broken her leg quite so warmly
as Angela, Babs did not respond; and the arrival of tea, and with it
every one from the house