satisfaction in buying the things you want to give to people who don't want them. I tried it once," she confided, "and it didn't work. "The winter we were in Paraguay," she went on, "in some stale old English newspaper I saw an advertisement of a white bedroom set. There were eleven pieces, and it was adorable, and it cost eighty-two pounds--and I thought after I'd had the fun of unpacking it, I could give it to a woman I knew who had a tea plantation. But the instant she got it--she painted it--green! Now when you send to England for eleven pieces of furniture because they are white," sighed little Eve Edgarton, "and have them crated--because they're white--and sent to sea because they're white--and then carried overland--miles and miles and miles--on Indians' heads--because they're white, you sort of want 'em to stay white. Oh, of course it's all right," she acknowledged patiently. "The Tea Woman was nice, and the green paint by no means--altogether bad. Only, looking back now on our winter in Paraguay, I seem to have missed somehow the particular thrill that I paid eighty-two pounds and all that freightage for." "Yes, of course," agreed Barton. He could see that. "So if you could rent me your attic--" she resumed almost blithely. "But my dear child," interrupted Barton, "what possible--" "Why--I'd have a place then to send things to," argued little Eve Edgarton. "But you're off on the high seas Saturday, you say," laughed Barton. "Yes, I know," explained little Eve Edgarton just a bit impatiently. "But the high seas are so dull, Mr. Barton. And then we sail so long!" she complained. "And so far!--via this, via that, via every other stupid old port in the world! Why, it will be months and months before we ever reach Melbourne! And of course on every steamer," she began to monotone, "of course on every steamer there'll be some one with a mixed-up collection of shells or coins--and that will take all my mornings. And of course on every steamer there'll be somebody struggling with the Chinese alphabet or the Burmese accents--and that will take all my afternoons. But in the evenings when people are just having fun," she kindled again, "and nobody wants me for anything, why, then you see I could steal 'way up in the bow--where you're not allowed to go--and think about my beautiful attic. It's pretty lonesome," she whispered, "all snuggled up there alone with the night, and the spray and the sailors' shouts, if you haven't got anything at all to think about except just 'What's ahead?--What's ahead?--What's ahead?' And even that belongs to God," she sighed a bit ruefully. With a quick jerk she edged herself even closer to Barton and sat staring up at him with her tousled head cocked on one side like an eager terrier.