now; you just took her with the rest
of your dinner, and she didn't make much difference. I used to tell her
so. Well, poor V. V.! You never could guess: married, my dear!"

"Married!" echoed Peggy and Gertrude.

"Married! to a missionary; widower, with four children. Gone to China!
You need not believe it unless you like; I don't believe it myself,
though I saw them married."

"It is hard to believe, Vi!" said Gertrude. "How did it happen?"

"My dear, _the_ limit! positively, the boundary line, arctic circle, and
that sort of thing. Love at first sight, on both sides. Spectacles,
bald,--not the spectacles, but he,--snuffy to a degree! You really never
_did_! I was the first person she told. I simply screamed. 'My dear!' I
said, 'you _cannot_ mean it. You could _not_ live with that waistcoat!'

"She told me I was frivolous--which I never attempted to deny--and said
I did not understand, which was the truth. She looked really quite sweet
in her wedding-dress, and when she went away she was quite softened, she
truly was, and wept a little weep, and so did I. You see, Snowy, the
very first thing I can remember in my life is V. V.'s breaking my doll
over my head. I miss her dreadfully, I do indeed; nobody has been--well,
acidulated, to me since she went, and I need the tonic. And speaking of
tonics, where is Beef? where is the Fluffy? You know"--turning to
Margaret--"I used to call the Snowy and the Fluffy and the Horny my
triple tonic, Beef, Wine, and Iron; and the Fluffy was Beef. Steady and
square, you know, and red and brown; exactly like beef; simply _no_
difference except the clothes. How is she, Snowy?"

"The Fluffy--Bertha Haughton, you know, Margaret--is teaching in
Blankton High School; very busy, very happy, indeed, perfectly absorbed
in her work. I have a letter from her in my pocket this minute, that
came last night. Would you like to hear it?"

And amid a clamor of eager assent, she drew out the letter and read as
follows.

"'Dear Snowy: It is good to hear about all the jolly times at Camp. I
wish I could come, but see no way to it just now. Yes, I know school is
over, but there are the rank lists to make out, and all kinds of odd
end-of-the-year chores to be done; besides, two of my boys have
conditions to work out,--going to college in the fall,--and I am
tutoring them. They are two of the dearest boys that ever were, only not
very bright, and I have promised to stand by them.' This is the way she
b