"I'd make an up-to-date child of her, John. She's got her mother's eyes
but the Randolph features. With a little grooming she'd make a beauty.
And the first thing I'd do would be to put a decent frock on her!"

Keineth knew that Aunt Josephine meant to be kind but, hurt at her
criticism, she drew away from her aunt's clasp. As her aunt and father
went out she looked down wonderingly at the simple blue serge she wore.
Tante had always had her dresses made at a little shop on lower Fifth
Avenue and Keineth had always thought them very nice.

Madame Henri, muttering to herself, went out of the room. Keineth stood
very still until her father came back. He shut the door and went to his
desk. She ran to him and hid her face on his shoulder.

"Daddy--are you--going away?"

"Yes, child--I must."

"For all summer? For all winter?"

"Yes, dear. I think it may be a year."

"Daddy--" began Keineth, then stopped short to hide her face. Father
must not see her cry!

"I'll make a little picture for you, dear. This country of ours is like
a great big house. It's like all the homes all over the United States
put into one. And it must be tended just as we'd tend our own little
home--it must be kept in repair. It must be kept clean and have pretty
spots, just like Madame Henri's geraniums! And it must be guarded, too,