worm into a country that must have been utterly strange to it.
"She'd take it back quickly enough if she knew what he makes of it," I said, returning to the picture; "if she knew that he had kept it ever since he learned that agriculture, mining, and ship-building are principal industries—only at first it had two long yellow braids, and tassels dangling from its boot tops."
"My mother had beautiful long golden hair," said the woman child, adding simply, "papa says mine is just like it."
Miss Lansdale regarded me narrowly.
"You get me all mixed up," she said.
"I like to. You're heady then—like your mother's punch when it's 'all mixed up.'"
"I must put in more ice," remarked Miss Lansdale, calmly.
"Fatty Budlow is so serious," said the woman child, suspecting that the talk had drifted away from her.
"It's his curse," I admitted. "If he weren't an A No. 1 dreamer, he'd be too serious to live, but he goes dreaming and maundering along—dreaming that things are about as he would like to have them. He sees your face and Miss Lansdale's, and then they get mixed up in a queer way, and Miss Kate's face comes out of the picture with such a look in the eyes that a man of ordinary spirit would call her 'Little Miss' right off without ever stopping to think; but
