I must go somewhere into hiding, a long, long way off. . As soon as dinner was over she went into the kitchen and devoted herself to compiling a tray—not a tray merely of halfcooled dinner things, but a specially prepared “nice” tray, suitable for tempting any one. "Certainly," replied Jonathan, with the most perfect sangfroid, "I'll undertake to free you from the boy. It was you! It was exactly you, but it was probably the photo they thought it was your mother! I dug it up after combing the Reader’s Guide To Periodical Literature for like, six hours straight.
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