at the Ski Club, the skiing party out at
Poplar Hill, I shan't speak to her. And
we used to be so chummy! Why--"
the girl fluttered now, a green weathercock,
upon the two-foot platform--"why,
we used to stand side by side and measure
eyelashes, to see which pair was going to
be the longer. I'll wager mine are now!"

With a veering laugh the weathercock
was here bent forward, striving to catch
some brazen glimpse of a winking profile
in the polished brass of the spectroscope.

Her father laughed: this was the Rose
side of her--of his maiden of the patchwork
name--the Rose side of her, and
he loved it!

"But--but Poplar Hill! Poplar Hill!
Why! that's away outside the city
line--out at Merryville," he exclaimed,
a minute later, in consternation. "Goodness!
child, you're not going off there
to ski to-day--in a zero world, everything
snowbound, no trolley cars running?"

"Oh! the trains--the trains aren't
[[17]]

p016 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p017w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p018

v?