covered with oriental rugs, whose patterns she loved to trace. At one
end of the room was a big fireplace and on each side of it a cozy seat,
piled with tapestry covered cushions. Over the fireplace hung two
slender swords, the property of some departed Bradford. The handsome
chairs were upholstered in brown leather to match the other furnishings,
and everything in the room, from the Italian marble Psyche on its
pedestal in the corner to the softly glowing lamps, gave the impression
of wealth and culture. Migwan contrasted it with the shabby sitting room
in her own home and sighed. She was keenly responsive to beautiful
surroundings and would have been happy to stay forever in this library.
But beautiful as the furnishings were, they were the least part of the
attraction. The real drawing card were the books that filled the cases
on three sides of the room. There were books of every kind; fiction,
poetry, history, travel, science; and whole sets of books in handsome
bindings that Migwan fairly revelled in whenever she came to visit.
Hinpoha herself was not fond of reading anything but fiction, and
although she had the freedom of all the cases she never looked at
anything but "story books." Before her parents went to Europe they had
tried making her keep an average of one book of fiction to one of
another kind in the hope of instilling into her a love for essays and
history, but in the absence of her father and mother, history and essays
were having a long vacation and fiction was working overtime.

"Let's play something," said Sahwah when the apples and popcorn had
disappeared; "I'm tired of sitting still."

"Can't somebody please think of a new game?" said Hinpoha. "We've played
everything we know until I'm sick of it."

"I thought of one the other day," said Gladys quietly. "I named it the