In the night, I saw Snoof and Mrs. Kirsten, Miranda and Snooflet, waltzing around the garbage heap, and I was overjoyed to wake and discover that the painful spectacle was merely a fantasy of sleep.

It must have been two or three days later that I went downstairs very early in the morning and found Mrs. Kirsten upon the veranda with her little daughter. She was removing the child's shoes and stockings, and I did not make my presence known for fear of embarrassing them both. Miranda toddled off, and her mother sat down upon the top step, watching her with agonised mother-eyes until she was well out of sight. Then a dry, tearless moan welled up from the depths of her heart. A moment later, her face was buried in her handkerchief, and she was shaking with sobs.

This was too much for me. I am a landlubber when it comes to salt water, and have never been able to endure a woman's tears. I hastened out and put my hand upon her shoulder.

"Mrs. Kirsten," I said, very gently, "you are troubled. Let me help you!"

"Oh, sir," she answered, breaking down utterly at the unexpected sympathy, "you cannot help me—no one can! The most celebrated physicians and alienists have given up the case."

"Dear Mrs. Kirsten, Miranda the First," I continued, "you can at least tell me. Two heads are three times as good as one if the extra head is mine." To the critical reader this may sound egotistical, but the situation was tense, and it was no more than the truth.

"Oh, how can I bear to tell you! I, who have always lived a decent, respectable life, holding my head as high as my neighbours' heads, I, to have this shame, this fear!"

"Dear Miranda the First," I pleaded, forgetting all conventional forms, "tell me! Believe me, I am your friend!"

"I know it," she cried, "but it is too terrible! Miranda, my darling little daughter, my own and only child, is—is—is—is——"

"Is what?" I demanded, excitedly.

"A Little Sister to the Woods!" she gasped, then hid her face against my shoulder.

With rare comprehension, for a man, I only stroked the weeper's spine and said nothing. At last her sobs quieted. "You do not despise me?" she asked, tremulously.

"Despise you?" I repeated. "No, dear lady, no!"

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