Mr. Achilles

ed more freely as she thought of it. The child had told her that she had asked him. But she had forgotten to give him her address; and it would not do to be mixed up with a person like that-free to c

e theory of Betty Harris's education had been elaborately worked out by specialists from earliest babyhood. Certain studies, rigidly prescribed, were to be followed whether she liked them or not-but outside these lines, subjects were to be taken up when she showed an interest in them. There could be no questi

d," he reported to the head of the department, "and the family

"I know-hide and hoo

t the child is uncanny. She

ssor smiled indulgently. "She wou

s. I took up a lot of photographs to-day-some of the later period mix

interested. "Modern

s something more. When I am with the child I am in At

hild. He was a famous epigraphist and an authority in his subject. He had spent years

am going over for a year," he said, when he me

ttle Harris girl?"

paused. "Yes

she str

r while she expounded things to me-asked me questions I couldn't answer, mostly."

eek. The trouble seems to be that she's alive, an

e a little sigh. "Sometimes I've wondered myself whether it is-quite as dead as it looks to you and me," he added

e plant

h of something green up there in his back yard-as fre

s a little. This was a wild f

girl," explained the professor-"as if my mummy might

hed out. "So you're

" said the professor. "I