My Mother stopped tossing her head. And waving her hands. She gave a little sigh. She began mending my Father again very hard.

"Just----pirates," she said.

"O--h," said my Father.

"We intended to make the next one about 'Motions,'" I explained. "But it was too hard. Carol wanted to be an Elevator!--Carol says an Elevator is like quick-silver in a giant thermometer that's gone mad!--He wanted to be the motion it makes when the Elevator's going down and the floor's coming up! But it made me feel queer in my stomach!"

"Merciful Heavens!" said my Father. "What kind of a family have I drawn?--My Wife wants to be a 'Storm at Sea' and my Son aspires to feel like an 'Elevator Gone Mad'!"

Carol looked at my Mother. My Mother looked at Carol. They laughed their eyes together.

"So we made it 'Money' and 'Memory' instead," I explained.

"Made what 'Money' and 'Memory' instead?" said my Father.

"The next two questions," I explained.

"O--h," said my Mother.

"Fire away!" said my Father.

"Question No. 4," I said. "Which do you like best? _Times?_ or _Things?_"

"Times or Things?" said my Father. "Whatever in the world do you mean?"

His eyebrows looked pretty puzzled.

"Why, we mean," I explained, "if somebody gave you five whole dollars for your birthday--how would you rather spend it?--What would you get most fun out of, we mean?--_Times?_ Or _Things?_--Would you be most apt to spend it for Rabbits, we mean? Or going to a Fair?"

"Oh," said my Father, "I see!--Times or Things?--Times--or things?--Why _Things_!" he decided almost at once. "_Things_ of course!--When you buy a _Thing_ you've got something really tangible for your money!

Something definite! Something really to show!--'Rabbits' I admit would probably not be my choice.--But a book, now! A set of garden tools?--A pair of rubber boots even?"

"N--o," said my Mother very softly, "I'm almost sure I'd rather 'go to the Fair'!--'_Times_' or '_Things_'?--Yes I'm perfectly positive," she cried out, "that _Times_ give me more pleasure than _Things_ do!--Now that I think of it I can see quite plainly that always--always I've preferred to spend my money 'going to the Fair'!"

"Yes, but how foolish," said my Father. "When the Fair's over it's over!--Nothing left to show for it but just a memory."

My Mother laughed right out loud. It was the prettiest laugh.

"Now that's where you're mistaken!" she laughed. "When the Fair's what you call 'over,'--that's the time it's really _just begun_!--Books get lost--or puppies chew them! Garden tools rust! Even the best rubber boots in the world get the most awful holes poked through their toes!--But a Happy Memory?--A Happy Memory--?" She jumped up suddenly and crept into my Father's arms.

My Father stroked her hair. And stroked it.

Carol kicked me in the shins.

"There's only one more question!" I cried out pretty loud.

"What is it?" said my Mother. It sounded pretty mumbly through my Father's shoulder.

"Oh this one is very important," I said. "It's about _colors_."

"Colors?" said my Father. He didn't seem to care nearly as much as you'd have thought he would.

"C--Colors," mumbled my Mother.

"Somewhere in a book," I explained, "we read about a man who wanted his memory 'kept green?'--Why _green?_ Why not pink?--Why not blue?--Or even red with a cunning little white line in it?"

"_Eh?_" said my Father.

"If you were going away," I explained.

My Mother's hands clutched at his coat. She gave a queer little shiver.

"Oh not--'away'!" she protested.

"For ever and ever," I explained.

My Mother's face came peering out from the shadow of my Father's shoulder. She started to laugh. And made a little sob instead. "Oh not for----ever----and _ever_?" she said.

We all sat and looked at each other. I felt awful queer in my stomach.

Carol kicked me in the shins. He wrote something quick on a piece of paper and shoved it across the table at me.

"_China_ was the place that Carol meant!" I explained. "Oh he didn't mean--at all--what you thought he meant!--If you were going away to--to _China_--for ever and ever--and ever--and gave your Best Friend a whole lot of money like twenty-five dollars to remember you by--what color do you _hope_ he'd keep your memory?"

"Oh--yes--why of course!" said my Father quite quickly. "It's a jolly one after all, isn't it!--Color--Color?--Let me see!--For twenty-five dollars you say? Yes Yes!--The very thing! _Yellow_ of course! I hope my Best Friend would have wit enough to buy a _Lamp_!--Nothing fancy you know but something absolutely reliable.--Daytimes to be sure your memory wouldn't be much use to him. But nights--the time everybody needs everybody the most,--Nights I say,--looking back from--from _China_, was it that you designated?--Nights it would be rather pleasant I think to feel that one lived on and on--as a yellow glow in his friend's life."

My Father reached out and pinched my ear.

"How about it, Ruthy?" he asked.

"Oh that's all right," I admitted. "But if _I_ gave my Best Friend twenty-five dollars to remember me by--I hope he'd buy a Blueberry Bush!--Just _think_ of all the colors it would keep your memory!--White in blossom-time! And blue in fruit-season! And red as blood all the Autumn! With brown rabbits hopping through you!--And speckled birds laying--goodness knows _what_ colored eggs! And--"

Somebody banged the front door. Somebody scuffled on the threshold.

Somebody shouted "h.e.l.lo--h.e.l.lo--h.e.l.lo--!" It was the Old Doctor.

We ran to see if he had peppermints in his pocket.

He had!

After the Old Doctor had given us all the peppermints he thought we ought to have--and seven more besides, he sat down in the big cretonne chair by the window, and fanned his neck with a newspaper. He seemed to be pretty mad at the people who had made his collars.

"W-hew!" he said. "The man who invented a 21-inch collar ought to be forced to suck boiling starch through the neck of a Blueing Bottle!"

We didn't see just why.

The Old Doctor said he didn't care to discuss it.

"Any news to-day?" asked my Father.

"News enough!" said the Old Doctor. He seemed pretty mad about that too!