"Yours truly,
"ALEXANDRINA GERARD.

She looked doubtfully at Selwyn. "Is it all right to sign a poem? I
believe that poets sign their works, don't they, Uncle Philip?"

"Certainly. Drina, I'll give you a dollar for that poem."

"You may have it, anyway," said Drina, generously; and, as an
after-thought: "My birthday is next Wednesday."

"What a hint!" jeered Billy, casting a morsel at the dogs.

"It isn't a hint. It had nothing to do with my poem, and I'll write you
several more, Uncle Philip," protested the child, cuddling against him,
spoon in hand, and inadvertently decorating his sleeve with cranberry
sauce.

Cat hairs and cranberry are a great deal for a man to endure, but he
gave Drina a reassuring hug and a whisper, and leaned back to remove
traces of the affectionate encounter just as Miss Erroll entered.

"Oh, Eileen! Eileen!" cried the children; "are you coming to luncheon
with us?"

As Selwyn rose, she nodded, amused.

"I am rather hurt," she said. "I went down to luncheon, but as soon as I
heard where you all were I marched straight up here to demand the reason
of my ostracism."

"We thought you had gone with mother," explained Drina, looking about
for a chair.

Selwyn brought it. "I was commissioned to say that Nina couldn't
wait--dowagers and cakes and all that, you know. Won't you sit down?
It's rather messy and the cat is the guest of honour."

"We have three guests of honour," said Drina; "you, Eileen, and Kit-Ki.
Uncle Philip, mother has forbidden me to speak of it, so I shall tell
her and be punished--but _wouldn't_ it be splendid if Aunt Alixe were
only here with us?"

Selwyn turned sharply, every atom of colour gone; and the child smiled
up at him. "_Wouldn't_ it?" she pleaded.

"Yes," he said, so quietly that something silenced the child. And
Eileen, giving ostentatious and undivided attention to the dogs, was now
enveloped by snooping, eager muzzles and frantically wagging tails.

"My lap is full of paws!" she exclaimed; "take them away, Katie! And
oh!--my gown, my gown!--Billy, stop waving your tumbler around my face!
If you spill that milk on me I shall ask your Uncle Philip to put you in
the guard-house!"

"You're going to bolo us, aren't you, Uncle Philip?" inquired Billy.
"It's my turn to be killed, you remember--"

"I have an idea," said Selwyn, "that Miss Erroll is going to play for
you to sing."

They liked that. The infant Gerards were musical