mysterious finger. Tiptoeing to the door to peer out she inadvertently stepped on her stocking with the other foot. "Drat it!" Coming back. "I'd charm him!"
Edith looked a question.
"They's ways," she repeated, and Edith lingered. "If you'll jest do what I tell you it'll fetch him." Mrs. Blakely was more than pleased at this rare opportunity to discuss the art and gentle practises of love. It was a subject which was never very far from her thoughts, but her sentimental tendencies received small encouragement from her prosaic husband and eldest daughter.
"Edie," she whispered, "you sprinkle the ashes of the heart of a wild dove on him and you got him! The receipt is to kill it yoahself, burn its heart to ashes and slip it in his pocket or sprinkle him."
"Did you try it on dad?"
Mrs. Blakely tossed her head.
"Never had to. An ole lady what had charmed and buried foah husbands, poah soul, tole me."
Edith heard her father calling impatiently, and hurried out. There was a furrow be-
