When she and Roger had begun to make mud pies together, she had told him about the Tower and got him interested in it, too—­all but the Boy whose face she was unable to see and whose name she did not know.  In the Tower, she addressed him simply as “Boy.”  Barbara kept him to herself for some occult reason.  Roger liked the Tower very much, but thought the construction might possibly be improved.  Barbara never allowed him to make any changes.  He could build another Tower for himself, if he chose, and have it just as he wanted it, but this was her very own.

It all seemed as if it were yesterday.  “And,” mused Barbara, “it was almost sixteen years ago, when I was six and Roger ‘seven-going-on-eight,’ as he always said.”  The dear Tower still stoodin her memory, but far off and veiled, like a mirage seen in the clouds.  The Boy who helped her over the difficult places was a grown man now, tall and straight and strong, but she could not see his face.

“It’s queer,” thought Barbara, as she put out the light.  “I wonder if I ever shall.”

[Sidenote:  An Enchanted Land]

That night she dreamed of the Tower of Cologne, in the old, enchanted land, where a blue sky bent down to meet a bluer sea.  She and the Boy were in the cupola, making music with the golden bells.  Their laughter chimed in with the sweet sound of the ringing, but still, she could not see his face.

IV

The Seventh of June

Barbara sat by the old chest which held her completed work, frowning prettily over a note-book in her lap.  She was very methodical, and, in some inscrutable way, things had become mixed.  She kept track of every yard of lace and linen and every spool of thread, for, it was evident, she must know the exact cost of the material and the amount of time spent on a garment before it could be accurately priced.

[Sidenote:  Finishing Touches]

Aunt Miriam had carefully pressed the lingerie after it was made and laid it away in the chest with lavender to keep it from turning yellow.  There remained only the last finishing touches.  Aunt Miriam could have put in the ribbons as well as she could, but Barbara chose to do it herself.

[Sidenote:  Ways and Means]

Three prices were put on each tag in Barbara’s private cipher, understood only by Aunt Miriam.  The highest was the one hoped for, the next the probable one, and the lowest one was to be taken only at the end of the season.

Already four or five early arrivals were reported at the hotel.  By the end of next week, it would be proper for Aunt Miriam to go down with a few of the garments packed in a box with tissue paper, and see what she could do.  Barbara had used nearly all of her material and had sent for more, but, in the meantime, she was using the scraps for handkerchiefs, pin-cushion covers, and heart-shaped corsage pads, delicately scented and trimmed with lace and ribbon.