dieting treatment,
and come back in due time to try and atone for her unfortunate past, did
she weep and beg to be allowed to remain at her own dear home? No; she
listened in apparently meek and rather mournful submission, and, after
her father went away, she turned handsprings across the room.

Her utmost dream of happiness had been realized. She was to go to the
land of the red-headed stranger where she would be admired and courted,
and where, in time, she might aspire to the ultimate honor of having her
picture in a ten-cent magazine.

X

ON THE WING

The train rolled away from the low and dingy station and was in the open
country of Morovenia. Kalora and her elderly guardian and the young
women who were to be her companions during the period of exile had been
tucked away into adjoining compartments. Each young woman was muffled
and veiled according to the most discreet and orthodox rules.

Popova's bright red fez contrasted strangely with his silvering hair,
but no more strangely than did this wondrous experience of starting for
a new world contrast with the quiet years that he had spent among his
books.

The train sped into the farm-lands. On either side was a wide stretch
of harvest fields, heaving into gentle billows, with here and there a
shabby cluster of buildings. If Kalora had only known, Morovenia was
very much like the far-away America, except that Morovenia had not
learned to decorate the hillsides with billboards.

At last she was to have a taste of freedom! No father to scold and
plead; no much-superior sister to torment her with reproaches; no
peering through grated windows at one little rectangle of outside
sunshine. To be sure, Popova had received explicit and positive
instructions concerning her government. But Popova--pshaw!

She unwound her veil and removed her head-gear and sat bareheaded by the
car-window, greedily welcoming each new picture that swung into view.

"You must keep your face covered while we are in public or semi-public
places," said Popova gently, repeating his instructions to the very
letter.

"I shall not."

Thus ended any exercise of Popova's authority during the whole journey.

Before the train had come to Budapest all the young women, urged on to
insubordination, had removed their veils, and Kalora had boldly invaded
another compartment to engage in rapt and feverish dialogue with a
little but vivacious Frenchwoman.

Two hours out from Vienna, the tu