confessed, with his usual embarrassment over indisposition of any character, "I have a ripping headache, dearie; please forgive me!" And I had rubbed his head with my finger-tips until he went off to sleep, and then I had stayed very close to him and just looked at his dear face and worshipped him. Oh, God, how sweet he was! How I wished now I might fly to him over this hopeless space between us, and take him away from everybody, and nurse him to strength and smiles again!
That night I dreamed fitfully. I arose in the morning, unrested, and hastened immediately to the Dijon railroad station, where I knew I could obtain the latest papers from Paris.
The papers dated August 1st, which I bought on the morning of the 2nd, caused me to take hope. The headlines were reassuring. "President Much Better; Gives Prepared Speech; His Secretary Hands to Press His Address He Prepared for Delivery in San Francisco." That was more like news, I thought joyously. I hurried back to Helen Anderson with the paper. My Italian friend met me on the way. I translated into French as best I could the good news. Helen Anderson had explained to the people at the boarding house the evening before that I had come from the President's home town and had known him from childhood. My Italian friend smiled broadly. Now would I go to the theatre with him that evening? he asked. Yes, I said, I would go.
I felt as though I ought to be gay. Mr. Harding would want me to. Maybe my prayers were of avail, after all, and I breathed another prayer, this time one of thankfulness. I went to school that day. I laughed with the others at the funny mistakes we all made. I could have shouted all the day long, so relieved did I feel, and so thankful.
That evening my friend called for me and we dined together, and drank more wine than usual, and afterwards laughed with
