overwhelming sea of blue, pure and singing, and a moment later dropped into
pale amethyst which in turn deepens to a threatening purple then plunges
you into a turmoil of passionate red, always and constantly swirling and
whirling and twisting and untwisting, gliding, approaching and retreating
in that haunted and inexplicable color space--

There was more--much more--but at this point Warble rose, made a
comprehensive, all-embracing and very outspoken face at them and went down
to the pantry.

"It's no use--" she groaned, "perpetual waste motion--and now waste color!
What to do--what to do!

"Yet I must reform them somehow. That Iva Payne! Like a pure, pale
lily--but I bet her soul has got its rubbers on! Lotta Munn--spinster in
name only--with her foolish pleasures and palaces--Daisy Snow, little
innocent-making saucer eyes at my husband--oh, Bill, dear, I love you so--
I wish I was pale and peaked and wise and--yes, and artistic! So there now!

"Well, there's only two alternatives. I must reform this toy town, or be
dragged down to their terrible depths myself!

"Aunt Dressie says, love and grow thin. I surely love Bill enough, but if
he doesn't love me--maybe I'd better try somebody else. It's done here.

"But not Trymie Icanspoon! No, he makes me sick. I guess I'll eat pickles."

* * * * *

In the pantry she found the under scullery maid screaming with an earache.