neck, where it had rested, and wiped her eyes.

"How did you know about Cecil?" she demanded of a very discomfited
young man upon the manger.

"I didn't know--and I didn't WANT to know. I heard the boys talking
and joshing about him, and I just drew--their own conclusions." Chip
grinned a little and whittled at his pencil, and wondered how much of
the statement was a lie.

Miss Whitmore tamed red again, and ended by laughing even more heartily
than at first.

"Their conclusions aren't very complimentary," she said. "I don't
believe Dr. Cecil would feel flattered at this. Why those bowed legs,
may I ask, and wherefore that long, lean, dyspeptic visage? Dr. Cecil,
let me inform you, has a digestion that quails not at deviled crabs and
chafing-dish horrors at midnight, as I have abundant reason to know. I
have seen Dr. Cecil prepare a welsh rabbit and--eat it, also, with much
relish, apparently. Oh, no, their conclusions weren't quite correct.
There are other details I might mention--that cane, for instance--but
let it pass. I shall keep this, I think, as a companion to 'The old
maid's credential card.'"

"Are you in the habit of keeping other folk's property?" inquired Chip,
with some acerbity.

"Nothing but personal caricatures--and hearts, perhaps," returned the
Little Doctor, sweetly.