these people's masks."

"Can I reform them?"

"No, Baby Doll, you can't do that. They're dyed in the wool
hypocrites--joined to their idols--let 'em alone. And as to that husband of
yours--"

"Stop! Stop! I can't stand any more! Pleathe go--pleathe--"

* * * * *

"What're you going to do about that Tertium Quid you've annexed?" Aunt
Dressie inquired, casually.

"I don't know," Warble uncertained. "He has wonderful ambitions and
aspirations. He wants to be a ragpicker--a real one."

"Ambitions are queer things," Aunt Dressie thoughtfuled. "Now, you mightn't
think it, but I want to be a steeple climber."

"You take Porgie off my hands, and he'll help you--"

"Oh, no, child, every lassie has her laddie--and you saw him first."

* * * * *

Warble sighed. Thus was she always thrown at Porgie's head.

Fate, like a sluicing torrent carried her ever on. Beware, beware, the