plumed heads of Indian warriors! "Such
things are foolish, Mary," Miss Philly
said, her cheeks very pink. And while
Mary chattered on about Mrs. Semple's
book Philippa was silent, remembering
how yellow the great flat disk of the
moon had been in her dream; how it
pushed up from behind the black edge
of the world, and how, suddenly, the
misty stubble-field was flooded with its
strange light:--"you are going to have
a beau!"

Philippa wished she might see the
book, just to know what sort of things
were read to Mary. "It isn't right to
read them to the child," she thought;
"it's a foolish book, Mary," she said,
aloud. "I never saw such a book."

"I'll bring it the next time I come,"
Mary promised.

"Oh no, no," Philly said, a little
breathlessly; "it's a wrong book. I
couldn't read such a book, except--
except to tell you how foolish and wrong
it is."

Mary was not concerned with her