“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. One little minute with soap and water, voilà tout. It has been a big night. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. “Will you help me?” he asked. His eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy; he let out a sigh. Though the starling was more than two feet above the level of the water, he alighted with his little charge—which he had never for an instant quitted—in safety upon it. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step.
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