The little girl's patience was pretty well tried; but at last she heard the Doctor's step in the hall, and the next moment he stood in the doorway in his tuxedo, the red rosebud in his buttonhole. Mary almost clapped her hands; but remembering that she was the hostess, she tried to behave in a most grown-up manner and welcomed her uncle as she had seen her mother greet guests. It was a little hard not to forget that she was Miss Selwyn, especially when the Doctor started toward the left side of the bed, which was the dining-room, and almost saw behind the screen which hid the table from view.

Liza appeared very promptly with the dinner, the screen was removed, and the Doctor took his place at the table, saying, "I am very sorry, Miss Selwyn, that you cannot partake of anything more than the first course."

"I am quite sure that I am even more sorry than you are, Doctor Carlton," was the very truthful response.

Then the Doctor forgot that he was a guest at a fashionable dinner party, and declared that Mary should have a few bites of meat if she would swallow no more than the juice of it.

Several times, Liza was obliged to hurry from the room so as not to be seen laughing at Mary's quaint remarks. After she had served the dessert, Mary said, "Doctor Carlton, one of my guests is in the playroom waiting to be brought in to dinner. I could not have her here while Liza was in the room."

"I shall be delighted to act as her escort, Miss Selwyn."

The Doctor soon returned with Amelia Anabelle, whom he placed in the high chair, saying, "A fine, little girl, Miss Selwyn, a fine, healthy child, indeed! Is she a relative of yours?"

"Yes, Doctor, she is my niece. On the whole, she is a very good child; but, of course, she has her tantrums sometimes just as other children have."

"Oh, I think you must be mistaken about that, Miss Selwyn. Such a good-natured-looking child could not possibly give way to tantrums," and the Doctor began to eat his pie.

Mary pressed the button; and dropping his fork, he stared at the screaming, kicking Amelia Anabelle.

"You see, Doctor, she can be a very naughty child. I think she is crying for some of your pie."

"No, no, madam, pumpkin pie is very bad for so young a child. Some of the cream on your gelatine will be just the thing for her." Then, when peace was restored, he once more forgot that he was a guest and asked, "How did you manage that? is the face made of rubber?"

"No, Uncle, it is the same as my other dolls' faces. Liza says that Amelia Anabelle is a haunt."

"Nonsense! That doll's antics can be explained as easily as most of the ghosts that we hear about. A string and a spring will work wonders; but I don't quite see how they can make so great a change in a bisque face. Never mind. I shall find out for myself before I go to bed to-night. No wonder that poor Liza is afraid of that doll."

"Uncle, has Liza much book learning?"

"'Education' is a better word, dear. No, Liza has not had much education. If she had had a little more, she would not be so ready to believe in haunts, as she calls them. Why do you ask that question?"

"Aunt Mandy told me that she didn't have any herself, and that she expects to live to be ever so old. She seems to think that book—I mean education makes people die young. Does it, Uncle?"

"Not at all. Of course, if one devotes too much time to study and not enough to proper exercise and rest, there is reason to fear that the health will suffer. But there is not much danger that many young people nowadays will die of overstudy. There, I can't begin to tell you how much I have enjoyed this dinner."

"O Uncle, will you let Liza bring your dinner up here every evening until I am well enough to go down stairs?"

"Unless she objects, I shall be only too glad to do so—that is, if you will not expect me to dress up in this fashion."

"Why, Uncle, I didn't expect you to do that even this evening."

"But your invitation called for it."

"Then I shall not send you any more invitations. We shall be just our own selves and not pretend anything. Don't you think it would be nice if you took off those stiff things now and put on your smoking jacket and slippers? And—and couldn't we sit by the fire in the sitting-room and talk until oh, ever so late? I took a long, long nap this afternoon."

"I quite agree to part of your plan; but as for sitting up until a very late hour—well, we shall see."

Ten minutes later found him in a big leather chair before the blazing fire with Mary, snugly wrapped in a blanket, on his knee. For some time, he forgot the little girl, and sat watching the dancing flames and thinking of the great steamer plowing its way through the dark waters of the Atlantic. Mary's eyes never left his face; and feeling her gaze upon him, he smiled down at her. She slipped her arm around his neck, drawing his head down; and his kind blue eyes grew misty as, gazing once more into the fire, he listened while she whispered many things into his ear—things which let him see deep down into her loving little heart and bound it more closely to his own with bands which the sad after days only strengthened.

When she had finished, he said nothing—just held her close and pressed his lips to the bright little head resting so trustingly against his arm; and Mary knew that he understood.

After a long, long silence, he began to tell her of the beautiful, old, southern city to which he was planning to take her.

"Is it near Wilhelmina's home, Uncle?"

"No, dear, it is much farther from New York. Wilhelmina's home is in Georgia, too near the sea for you at present. We shall go to Texas, a long, long journey; but we shall be well repaid when we reach San Antonio. That is the Spanish way of saying Saint Anthony. It is a very old city, founded by the Franciscan Fathers more than two hundred years ago, and has an interesting and exciting history."

"And will it really be warm there?"

"So warm that by the first of February you will probably be able to play outdoors in a white dress without wraps. The poorest shanty will be almost hidden by roses."

"Then I won't need to take my winter clothes at all."

"I think it will be well for you to take your warm cloak; for sometimes a cold wind called a 'norther' swoops down on the city, and then the beautiful palm trees and the flowers suffer, and for a few days the children hurry to school bundled up in the warmest clothes they can find. We who see so much snow and ice for several months at a time would look upon such a cold snap as fine, bracing weather; but those southern people do not enjoy it at all."

"I wish Wilhelmina lived in San Antonio."

"So do I, little one. You would have great times together, though I really do not know what you would do in a house with seven boys. They are just about the liveliest little crowd I have ever met, and Wilhelmina is equal to any one of them."

"Is she seven years old, too, Uncle?"

"Not quite seven. Her birthday is in January, so you are nearly eight months older than she is; but she is large and strong for her age. No one but her mother ever thinks of calling her by her full name. Even her father calls her Willie, and I have heard the boys say 'Billy' or 'Bill' when their mother is not around."

"I hope I shall know them all some day. They must have the best times together. They need never invite anyone to spend the day with them."

"No, indeed; though they do sometimes have what they term, 'The Gathering of the Clan,' when their forty-five or fifty first cousins, with their fathers and mothers, pay a visit to Sunnymead, as Wilhelmina's home is called."

"Forty-five or fifty first cousins! Why, Uncle! And I haven't one!"

"Perhaps you have some, dear, that we know nothing about. Your father has a brother and a sister of whom he has heard nothing for many years. He was not always a Catholic, you know; and when he became one, your Aunt Bertha would have no more to do with him. Your Uncle Alfred was in Europe at the time. He was not one to trouble himself much about religion and would not care what your father did about it; but he has doubtless been roaming from place to place over there, and any letters which your father has written him have probably gone astray. At all events, men, as a rule, are not great letter-writers, you know."

Then the Doctor told the little girl about her father's old home in Virginia, which was built when George Washington was a little boy. By degrees, her eyes grew heavy, and his voice died away into silence; and when, at the very late hour of half-past seven, Sister Julia came as far as the door to see whether her patient was ready to go to bed, she found the Doctor, a very tender light in his eyes, gazing into the glowing coals, and Mary fast asleep in his arms.

"Our girls have found a new and splendid champion."

Father Finn in the Queen's Works.

Uncle Frank's Mary

By CLEMENTIA

Uncle Frank's Mary is Clementia's first book, and it is full of thoughtful interest; has a wonderful plot development, charming dialogue, and an abundance of action. It introduces a host of delightful personages besides the lovable little heroine.

It will appeal to girls particularly from ages 12 to 17.

The Quest of Mary Selwyn

This book is a sequel to Uncle Frank's Mary. The atmosphere of the story despite thrilling adventures by land and sea is thoroughly feminine.

It is a story that will be enjoyed by all.

Bird-A-Lea

By Clementia

Although this book deals with Mary Selwyn and the characters of Clementia's first two books, it is complete in itself. It sets forth the happy life at "Bird-a-Lea," the beautiful summer home of the Selwyn family. Every page is full of adventure. "Bird-a-Lea" is so well written that girls from ten to twenty years and even over will not put it aside before they have finished it.

The best girls' story written since "Little Women"

Work, Wealth and Wages

By Rev. Joseph Husslein, S. J., Ph. D.

A splendid book by the eminent Jesuit Author

A book for everyone who works

It should be read by every employer and employee. It should be placed in the hands of labor leaders. It will be read with profit by the classes and the masses.

The purpose of the book is to offer, for the use of all, a brief but suggestive exposition of the Christian principles underlying the great social problems of our day.

Father Husslein's valuable book covers such questions as "A Living Wage," "The Right to Strike," "Women at the Wheel of Industry," "Present-day Capitalism," "Proletarian Dictatorship," "Copartnership and Profit-sharing," "Ozanam on Poverty and Wealth," "The Science of Charity," "Catholic Efficiency," "The Apostolic Rule," etc., etc.

WORK, WEALTH AND WAGES should be in millions of our Catholic homes.