"Berp-werp! Berp-werp!" came the voice of William Sylvanus Baxter.

And in the library Plutarch's Lives moved convulsively, while with
writhing lips Mr. Parcher muttered to himself.

"More, more!" cried Miss Pratt, clapping her hands. "Do it again, ickle
boy Baxter!"

"Berp-werp! Berp-werp-werp!"

"WORD!" muttered Mr. Parcher.

Miss Pratt's voice became surcharged with honeyed wonder. "How did he
learn such marv'lous, MARV'LOUS imitations of darlin' Flopit? He ought
to go on the big, big stage and be a really actor, oughtn't he, darlin'
Flopit? He could make milyums and milyums of dollardies, couldn't he,
darlin' Flopit?"

William's modest laugh disclaimed any great ambition for himself in this
line. "Oh, I always could think up imitations of animals; things like
that--but I hardly would care to--to adop' the stage for a career.
Would--you?" (There was a thrill in his voice when he pronounced the
ineffably significant word "you.")

Miss Pratt became intensely serious.

"It's my DREAM!" she said.

William, seated upon a stool at her feet, gazed up at the amber head,
divinely splashed by the rain of moonlight. The fire with which she