spirits generated during his confinement. Joan laughed at the dog, whistled him to her, stooped to tug at his ears affectionately. “You’re full of it, aren’t you, Muldoon?”

He whined aloud in his desperate desire to answer her, then darted away again. She straightened and they went on, the girl still smiling. Wint looked at her once, and then again, and then he, too, smiled--at her and at the dog."He's a clown," he said. She nodded. "He's a fine dog, Wint."

"He's a dog of sense. He thinks well of you." He laughed. "I'll give him to you some day."

She looked up at him seriously, understanding in her eyes. "I hope so, Wint," she said.

There was something besides understanding in her eyes, something faintly accusing; and he flushed and said hotly: "Don't look at me like that. Please. I'm--I mean to--make it come true."

"I hope so, Wint," she said again.

They spoke no more for a time. Presently she stopped at the bakery and they went in together. The sweet odor of hot bread and sugar and spice clouded about them as he opened the door. A round little woman greeted them.

"Is your cream bread all gone, Mrs. Mueller?" Joan asked.

"No. Not yet. How many loaves?"

"Two, please."

The little woman brought two loaves, still soft from the great ovens and still warm, and wrapped them gently, careful not to bruise them. She handed the package to Joan. Wint tried to take it, but Joan shook her head, laughing at him. "Last time you mashed them flat," she said; "I'll carry them."

"I'll be careful," he promised, and took the package from her with calm mastery, a mastery to which she yielded with a faint tremor of happiness. They continued more swiftly on their way.

Presently she asked: "How does the work go?"

He shook his head. "Badly. I've no--knack for it. And father and I weren't meant to pull in double harness."

"You must learn to, Wint. Give him a chance."

He nodded. "But we--grate on each other. He fires up at the least mistake."

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