“My idea of Paradise,” John meditated, “is a place like Los Angeles, with beautiful smooth-shaven, green lawns thrown in—flowers and foliage and sunshine to remain ‘as you were.’ But the inhabitants of this Paradise are to be all children in their innocence, unalloyed by the little failings which go to show that they are descended from Adam, and who are never, never to grow up.”
Then in a body entered the little four, who, after a cordial interchange of greetings, timidly begged to see the bridal dress.
The betrothed pair looked at each other. They were mystified.
“Say, Uncle John,” said Bobby, who, with Francis, quickly lost interest in the modiste’s “Creation,” “is it true that you’ve been promoted?”
“I’ve been made a Director for the Lantry Studio, if that’s what you mean, Bobby, and they have accepted my new scenario at a price bigger than what they paid for ‘Imitation.’ ”
“You’re going to be rich, uncle.”
“I don’t know about that. But whether I’m rich or not, you are provided for, my dear. At least, putting together the money you have earned this summer with what I have added to it, and turning it into Liberty Bonds, which I have been able to buy up at a price yielding six per cent on the investment, the income will yield enough to carry you through your school-days, and when you are done with classes, the principal will be intact and enough to give you a fair start in life.”
“But,” objected Bobby, “I thought the money I earned was going to Mama to help her pay off that debt.”
“You needn’t worry about that, Bobby,” exclaimed Mr. Compton. “Yesterday your mother sent a check canceling the entire obligation. She wasn’t as poor as we imagined.”
“And then, John,” put in Barbara, “when you gave me—”