back to her place at the table.

"Bless their hearts!" she said, smiling, "I think I'll just let them
stay out and play all night--they're always begging me to let them.
And they're having such a good time I can't bear to vanish them. They
won't bother us," she added, daintily pouring honeysuckle syrup on her
waffle.

The waffles were so tiny and delicious that, every time she had
swallowed one, Sara almost thought she had dreamed it.

"I didn't know you could cook, Avrillia," she said, shyly and
admiringly.

Avrillia looked pleased. "Oh, anybody can cook!" she said, lightly.
Sara understood from her tone that not everybody could write poems on
rose-leaves.

"We do this every year, Sara," said Pirlaps, "the first time it snows.
It's our favorite philanthropy. It's a big undertaking, and rather too
much of a strain for Avrillia, but we can't make up our minds to give
it up."

"And then, when it's all over," continued Avrillia, "I make waffles
(aren't they good, Sara?) and we eat down here in the kitchen, and
relax, and have a lovely, cozy time. And it makes it doubly pleasant
when we have some congenial person to help us celebrate--like you,
Sara."

Sara's little heart swelled with love and pride. Her eyes traveled