cousins would rouse her. But the Fairfaxes decided suddenly to go
abroad this winter. If she’d only express a desire for something,
I’d get it for her—if it were one of the moons of Jupiter.”

“It isn’t anything you can _give_ her,” Dr. Pierce said impatiently;
“you must find something for her to _do_.”

“Say, Billy, you’re an observant little duck. Can’t you tell us
what’s the matter?” “Buffalo” Westabrook smiled down at the third
man of the party.

“The trouble with the child,” Billy Potter said promptly, “is that
everything she’s had has been ‘prize.’ Not that it’s spoiled her at
all. Petronilla is as simple as a princess in a fairy-tale.”

“Petronilla” was Billy Potter’s pet-name for Maida.

“Yes, she’s wonderfully simple,” Dr. Pierce agreed. “Poor little
thing, she’s lived in a world of bottles and splints and bandages.
She’s never had a chance to realize either the value or the
worthlessness of things.”

“And then,” Billy went on, “nobody’s ever used an ounce of
imagination in entertaining the poor child.”

“Imagination!” “Buffalo” Westabrook growled. “What has imagination
to do with it?”

Billy grinned.