“I don’t believe you understand, and for that matter, neither do I. I love you best, and the Little Red Chimney, and this darling room.  There aren’t any fairies at Pennington Park, but—­I do like the whirl, the fun, the pretty things, and——­”

“The admiration, Margaret Elizabeth; out with it.  You’ll feel better,” said Uncle Bob.

“Well, yes, people do like me, and oh, I must show you something!” She sprang up, and from a box lying on the sofa she took a filmy, rose-coloured fabric.  “What do you think of this?” she demanded, shaking out the shimmering folds before his surprised eyes.

He rose nobly to the occasion.  “Why, it looks like a sunset cloud.  Is it to wear?”

“Certainly.  It is a pattern robe.  Miss Kitty across the street is going to put it together for me.  She is a genius.  Sunset cloud is very poetic.  Thank you, Uncle Bob.  And now I must finish my letter before I go over to Miss Kitty’s, and then I promised the children I’d go with them to buy some nuts for the squirrel.  A bunny who has the courage to live so far downtown should be rewarded.  I wish you had been here, Uncle Bob, to join our society.”  Margaret Elizabeth sat down with the rosy cloud all about her, and laughed at the recollection.  “Never again will they throw a stone at his bunnyship.  We laid our hands together so, and swore by the paw of the cinnamon bear and the ear of the tailless cat, to take the part of our brother beasts and birds.  It was all on the spur of the moment, or I might have done better, but they were impressed.”

[Illustration:  UNCLE BOB]

“I should think so, indeed,” remarked her uncle.  “You are a sort of philanthropist after all.”

“Yes, I have a very marked bump.  That reminds me, if I don’t see Dr. Prue, you tell her, please, that I am going to take Augustus McAllister to the Suffrage meeting.”

Having returned her robe to its box, Miss Bentley sat down at her desk and wrote furiously for five minutes, then folded her letter, put it in the envelope, and addressed, stamped, and sealed it, concluding the business with a resolute fist.  Shortly after, in the familiar grey suit, with the little grey hat jammed down anyhow on her bright hair, she went forth, the box containing the sunset cloud under her arm.

Homage and admiration attended upon her within Miss Kitty’s humble establishment, and waited outside in the persons of the adoring pigeons.  Virginia, having been unable to keep the story of the Little Red Chimney to herself, must now in consequence share her ladyship with the flock.  But certain privileges were hers—­to walk next to Miss Bentley and clasp her disengaged hand; to carry her bag or book; to act as her prime minister in keeping order.