voice, singing; then a small boyish voice, then a man's voice. The
speakers, whoever they were, apparently settled down in the meadow,
not more than a dozen yards away, for a breathing space. A tangle of
vines and bushes screened them from the motor-car.

"Mother, are me and Billy going to turn the freezer?" said a child's
voice, and a man asked:

"Tired, old lady?"

"No, not at all. It's been a delicious walk," said the woman. The
two sitting in the motor gasped. "Yes, yes, yes, lovey," the woman's
voice went on, "you and Bill may turn, if Mary doesn't mind. Be
careful of my fern, Jack!" And then, in German: "Aren't they lovely
in all the grass and flowers, John?"

"Margaret!" breathed Mrs. Frary. "Poor, dear Margaret Kirby!"

"I hope they don't go by this way," whispered Mrs. Dunning, after an
astounded second. "One's been so rude--don't you know--forgetting
her!"

"She probably won't know us," Mrs. Frary whispered back, adjusting
her veil in a stealthy way.

Mrs. Frary was right. The Kirbys presently passed with only a
cursory glance at the swathed occupants of the motor-car. They were
laughing like a lot of children as they scrambled through the hedge.
John--a big, broad John, as strong and brisk as a boy--carried a
tiny barefoot girl on his shoulder. Margaret, her beauty more