a table and pushed back some books to make room
for a bowl of arbutus she held in her hand.

"Ah, but she didn't catch us very often. We
used to stuff up the cracks in the doors so she
couldn't hear us talk and smother our heads in the
pillows. Jonesy, the English teacher, was the
worst." She was still looking in the glass, her fingers
busy with the spray of blossoms on her bosom. "She
always wore felt slippers and crept around like a
cat. She'd tell on anybody. We had a play one
night in my room after lights were out, and Maria
Collins was Claude Melnotte and I was Pauline.
Maria had a mustache blackened on her lips with a
piece of burnt cork and I was all fixed up in a
dressing-gown and sash. We never heard Jonesy till
she put her hand on the knob; then we blew out the
candle and popped into bed. She smelled the candle-
wick and leaned over and kissed Maria good-night,
and the black all came off on her lips, and next day
we got three pages apiece--the mean old thing!
How do I look, Martha? Is my hair all right?"
Here she turned her head for the old woman's inspection.

"Beautiful, darlin'. There won't one o' them
know ye; they'll think ye're a real livin' princess
stepped out of a picture-book." Martha had not
taken her eyes from Lucy since she entered the
room.