d her face against his shoulder lovingly.

"What will Jimmie-wimmie give his Jenny-penny?" she was saying as they
approached.

"First what will Jenny-penny give her Jimmie-wimmie?" Uncle James
cooed.

"First, a nice--sweet--kiss!"

"Duckie-dearie!" Jimmie-wimmie gurgled ecstatically, taking the kiss
with the playful grace of an elephant gambolling.

Beth on the haystack writhed with suppressed merriment until her sides
ached.

But Jimmie-wimmie and Jenny-penny passed out of sight like Harriet and
Russell before them. The moon was sinking rapidly. A sudden gust of
air blew chill upon Beth. She was extremely sensitive to sudden
changes of temperature, and as the night grew dull and heavy, so did
her mood, and she began to be as anxious to be indoors again as she
had been to come out. The fairy-folk had all vanished now, and ghosts
and goblins would come in their stead, and pounce upon her as she
passed, if she were not quick. Beth scrambled down from the haystack,
and made for the side-door in hot haste, and was half-way upstairs,
when it suddenly occurred to her that if she locked the door,
Jimmie-wimmie and Jenny-penny would not be able to get in. So she
retraced her steps, accomplished her purpose, slipped back to bed, and
slept until she was roused in the morning by a shrill cry from
Bernadine--"See, mummy! see, mummy! lazy Beth is in bed with all her
clothes on!"

Beth sat up, and slapped Bernadine promptly; whereupon Mrs. Caldwell
slapped Beth.

"Such is life," said Beth, in imitation of Aunt Grace Mary; and Mrs.
Caldwell smiled in spite of herself.

Later in the day Beth complained to Mildred of a bad cold in her head.

"Oh dear!" Mildred exclaimed, "I expect Uncle James will talk at that
cold as long as it lasts."

"I know," Beth said. "Grace Mary, dear--or Aunt Victoria--have you
observed that children always have colds and never have
pocket-handkerchiefs?"

Uncle James, however, had a bad cold himself that morning, and
described himself as very much indisposed.

"I went out of doors last night before retiring," he explained at
luncheon, "tempted by the glorious moonlight and the balmy air; but
before I returned the night had changed and become chilly, and
unfortunately the side-door had shut itself, and every one was in bed,
so I could not get in. I threw pebbles up at Grace Mary's window, but
failed to rouse her, she being somewhat deaf. I also knocked and rang,
but no one answered, so I was