lace and ribbons on it Sylvia had had up to that time. As suddenly as
the evening star had shone out, another radiant vision flashed across
Sylvia's mind, Aunt Victoria, magnificent in her lacy dress, her
golden hair shining under the taut silk of her parasol, her white,
soft fingers gleaming with rings, her air of being a condescending
goddess, visiting mortals ...

After a time Mother stepped out on the porch and said, "Oh, quick,
children, wish on the shooting star."

Judith had dropped asleep like a little kitten tired of play, and
Sylvia looked at her mother blankly. "I didn't see any shooting star,"
she said.

Mother was surprised. "Why, your face was pointed right up at the
spot."

"I didn't see it," repeated Sylvia.

Mother fixed her keen dark eyes on Sylvia. "What's the matter?" she
asked in her voice that always required an answer. Sylvia wriggled
uncomfortably. Hers was a nature which suffers under the categorical
question; but her mother's was one which presses them home.

"What's the matter with you?" she said again.

Sylvia turned a clouded face to her mother. "I was wondering why it's
not nice to be idyllic."

"_What_?" asked her mother, quite at a loss. Sylvia was having one of