he angel?"

Caroline moved firmly to the front. "I am the Queen," she explained,
"but I let Miss Honey take the crown and the wand, or she wouldn't
be anything. Brother isn't her brother--that's just his name.
Brother Washburn. The General's her brother. I'll take that
strawberry one. We're much obliged, thank you."

The cakes vanished unostentatiously and the young gentleman filled
his cup and disposed of it before anyone spoke.

"We were such a big family, you see," he explained to the pursed red
mouth beside him, "and I know just how it is. You never get enough
cake, and never that dressy kind. It's molasses cake and cookies,
mostly."

Brother moved nearer and nodded.

"Well, but you can have all the cake you want, now, thank goodness,"
said the lady, glancing contentedly at the tea basket, complete with
its polished fittings, at the big box of bonbons beside her, and the
handsome silk motor coat that was spread as a carpet under her
light dress.

"Oh, yes, but now I don't want it," he assured her, "I want--other
things." He flashed a daring glance from two masterful brown eyes,
and she smiled indulgently at him for a handsome, spoiled boy.

"Am I going to get them?" he persisted.

She laughed the light little laugh of the triumphant woman.

"My dear Bob," she said, "anybody who can buy all the cake he wants
can usually get the--other things!"

His face clouded slightly.

"I hate to hear you talk like that, Christine," he began, "it's not
fair to yourself--"

"How'd you know I was Puck?" Brother inquired genially. He made no
pretense of including the lady in the conversation; for him she was
simply not there.

"Oh, I'm not so ignorant as I look," the young man replied. "I don't
believe you could stump me on anything you'd be likely to be--I've
probably been 'em all myself. We were always rigging up at home.
Didn't you use to do that, Tina?"

The lady shook her head decidedly.

"If I'd ever got hold of a--well, if I'd had a chance of things as
nice as that biggest one's dragging through the dirt there, I'd have
been doing something very different with it, I can assure you, Mr.
Armstrong! I'd have been saving it."

"But at that age--" he protested.

"Oh, I knew real lace from imitation at that age, all right," she
insisted.

"But you don't think of those things--you go in for the fun," he
urged.

"It wasn't exactly my idea of fun."

"No?" he queried, "why, I thought all children did this so