``Bertram, I don't know a thing about--
cooking--except what I've been learning in
Rosa's cook-book this last week.''

Bertram laughed so loud that the man across
the aisle glanced over the top of his paper
surreptitiously.

``Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were
doing all this week?''

``Yes; that is--I tried so hard to learn
something,'' stammered Billy. ``But I'm
afraid I didn't--much; there were so many
things for me to think of, you know, with
only a week. I believe I _could_ make peach
fritters, though. They were the last thing I
studied.''

Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at
Billy's unchangingly tragic face, he grew
suddenly very grave and tender.

``Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to--to get a
cook,'' he said gently.

Billy shook her head.

``I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if