esenting a table top upon which
sat a tempting-looking big salad bowl filled with fresh green leaves,
rimmed with a row of delicate white flowers, from which you could almost
scent a teasing delicate fragrance arising; and beneath, in a clear,
firm hand, she stroked in the name, Jane Meredith. She went over her
work carefully, then laid it flat on a piece of cardboard, shoved it
into an envelope, directed it to the editor of Everybody's Home, laid it
inside her geometry, and wrote her letter to Marian before going to bed.

In the morning on her way to the street car she gaily waved to a passing
automobile going down Lilac Valley, in which sat John Gilman and Peter
Morrison and his architect, and as they were driving in the direction
from which she had come, Linda very rightly surmised that they were
going to pick up Eileen and make a tour of the valley, looking for
available building locations; and she wondered why Eileen had not told
her that they were coming. Linda had been right about the destination
of the car. It turned in at the Strong driveway and stopped at the door.
John Gilman went to ring the bell and learn if Eileen were ready. Peter
followed him. Henry Anderson stepped from the car and wandered over the
lawn, looking at the astonishing array of bushes, vines, flowers, and
trees.

From one to another he went, fingering the waxy leaves, studying the
brilliant flower faces. Finally turning a corner and crossing the wild
garden, to which he paid slight attention, he started down the other
side of the house. Here an almost overpowering odor greeted his
nostrils, and he went over to a large tree covered with rough, dark
green, almost brownish, lance-shaped leaves, each branch terminating
in a heavy spray of yellowish-green flowers, whose odor was of cloying
sweetness. The bees were buzzing over it. It was not a tree with which
he was familiar, and stepping back, he looked at it carefully. Then at
its base, wind-driven into a crevice between the roots, his attention
was attracted to a crumpled sheet of paper, upon which he could see
lines that would have attracted the attention of any architect. He went
forward instantly, picked up the sheet, and straightening it out he
stood looking at it.

"Holy smoke!" he breathed softly. "What a find!"

He looked at the reverse of the sheet, his face becoming more intent
every minute. When he heard Peter Morrison's voice calling him he
hastily thrust the paper into his coa