eo? What is your line?"

"I--write!" replied Theo, shrinking in anticipation of the question
which is fraught with so much humiliation to the would-be author. Of
course, Miss Caldecott would instantly want to know what she had written
and where it could be found, and then how agonising to be obliged to
explain that; with the exception of a few stories in a village paper,
not a word of her writing had yet appeared in print! Hope came to the
rescue with a reply which was at once tactful and diplomatic, since it
turned the conversation into the desired channel.

"I have been keeping her busy lately. She has been writing children's
stories for an entertainment which I am hoping to give. I brought one
of the advertisements to show you, as I thought you might be
interested."

The undisguised yawn with which Miss Caldecott greeted this announcement
was the reverse of encouraging; but she read the circular with
increasing interest, pronounced the idea to be "rattling good," and
wanted to know who was responsible for the design. "I'll have a
programme got up like that some day," she declared; but she yawned again
when the girls expatiated on the skill of their artist-sister, and
interrupted with another question:

"Have you written any more songs lately?"

Hope looked at her gravely, and found it impossible to keep a tinge of
reproach out of her voice as she replied, "Why, of course! You know I
have. I have been waiting for weeks to hear what you thought of the one
I wrote especially for you."

"Gracious!" ejaculated Miss Caldecott; "I never got it. I remember now
that you _did_ write to me about it, but I get so many letters that I
forget half what's in them. I've never seen it, anyway. Perhaps it is
in that cupboard with the newspapers. That is my bogy-hole, and if I
haven't time to open things I stick them in there, and forget all about
them. You can look if you like, dear; I'm too lazy."

There was an air of dignified displeasure in the manner in which Hope
crossed the room to avail herself of this permission; but Miss Caldecott
drank her tea in blissful unconsciousness, and when the MS was
discovered, wrapped in an unopened covering, exclaimed cheerily:

"Think of that now! It would have lain there till doomsday if you
hadn't looked. Do you want me to hear it? Strum it over, then, my
dear; but I give you notice that I'm full up for this season."

"But--but it was a commission! You _asked_ me to wr