ne as old as the Bride. If they'd only
waited, the Bride could have married my husband!"

But this line of thought was too complicated; and, besides, she had
so entirely cheered up that she practically forgot death. She began to
count how much money her mother owed her for eggs--which reminded her to
look into the nests; and when, in spite of a clucking remonstrance, she
put her hand under a feathery breast and touched the hot smoothness of a
new-laid egg, she felt perfectly happy. "I guess I'll go and get some
floating-island," she thought. "Oh, I _hope_ they haven't eaten it all
up!"

With the egg in her hand, she rushed back to the dining room, and was
reassured by the sight of the big glass dish, still all creamy yellow
and fluffy white.

"Edith," Mrs. Houghton said, "you won't mind letting Maurice and Eleanor
have your room, will you, dear?"

"Is her name 'Eleanor'? I think it's a perfectly beautiful name! No,
I'd love to give her my room! Mother, she won't be as old as you are for
eleven years, and that's as long as I have been alive. So I won't worry
about Maurice just yet. Mother, may I have two helpings? When are they
coming?"

"They haven't been asked yet," her father said, grimly. "I'm not going
to concoct a letter, Mary, for a week. Let 'em worry! Maurice, confound
him!--has never worried in his life. Everything rolls off him like water
off a duck's back. It will do him good to chew nails for a while. I wish
I was asleep!"

"Why, father!" Edith said, aghast; "I don't believe you _want_ the
Bride!"

"You're a very intelligent young person," her father said, scratching
a match under the table and lighting a cigar.

"But, my dear," his wife said, "has it occurred to you that it may be
as unpleasant for the Bride to come, as for you to have her? _Henry!_
That's the third since breakfast!"

"Wrong for once, Mrs. Houghton. It's the fourth."

"_I_ want the Bride," said Edith.

Her mother laughed. "Come along, honey," she said, putting her hand on
her husband's shoulder, "and tell me what to say to her."

"Say she's a harpy, and tell her to go to the--"

"Henry!"

"My dear, like Mr. F.'s aunt, 'I hate a fool.' Oh, I'll tell you what
to say: Say, 'Mr. F.'s aunt will send her a wedding present.' That's
friendly, isn't it?"

"Better not be too literary in public," his wife cautioned him, with a
significant glance at Edith, who was all ears.

When, laughing, they left the table, their daughter scra