I had dozed off, however, and Harold was out and on his feet,
poking under the bed for his shoes, when I sat up and grimly
regarded him. Just as he said I could come if I liked, Charlotte
slipped in, her face rigid and set. And then it was borne in
upon me that I was not on in this scene. These youngsters had
planned it all out, the piece was their own, and the
mounting, and the cast. My sceptre had fallen, my rule had
ceased. In this magic hour of the summer night laws went for
nothing, codes were cancelled, and those who were most in touch
with the moonlight and the warm June spirit and the topsy-
turvydom that reigns when the clock strikes ten, were the true
lords and lawmakers.

Humbly, almost timidly, I followed without a protest in the wake
of these two remorseless, purposeful young persons, who were
marching straight for the schoolroom. Here in the moonlight the
grim big box stood visible--the box in which so large a portion
of our past and our personality lay entombed, cold, swathed in
paper, awaiting the carrier of the morning who should speed them
forth to the strange, cold, distant Children's Hospital, where
their little failings would all be misunderstood and no one
would make allowances. A dreamy spectator, I stood idly by
while Harold propped up the lid and the two plunged in their arms
and probed and felt and grappled.

"Here's Rosa," said Harold, suddenly. "I know the feel of her
hair. Will you have Rosa out?"

"Oh, give me Rosa!" cried Charlotte with a sort of gasp. And