keep a little shop just like it.”

Billy Potter started. For a moment it seemed as if he were about to
speak. But instead, he stared hard at Maida, falling gradually into
a brown study. From time to time he came out of it long enough to
look sharply at her. The sparkle had all gone out of her face. She
was pale and dream-absorbed again.

Her father studied her with increasing anxiety as they neared the
big house on Beacon Street. Dr. Pierce’s face was shadowed too.

“Eureka! I’ve found it!” Billy exclaimed as they swept past the
State House. “I’ve got it, Mr. Westabrook.”

“Got what?”

Billy did not answer at once. The automobile had stopped in front of
a big red-brick house. Over the beautifully fluted columns that held
up the porch hung a brilliant red vine. Lavender-colored glass, here
and there in the windows, made purple patches on the lace of the
curtains.

“Got what?” Mr. Westabrook repeated impatiently.

“That little job of the imagination that you put me on a few moments
ago,” Billy answered mysteriously. “In a moment,” he added with a
significant look at Maida. “You stay too, Dr. Pierce. I want your
approval.”

The door of the beautiful old house had opened and a man in livery