something I wanted to throw to some dog, and that one looked big enough to manage it."
Ellen had arrived at her conclusions. "Pass over that lunch box," she demanded.
"I will not!" said Elnora.
"Then I will have you arrested for trying to poison our dog," laughed the girl as she took the box.
"One chunk of stale bread, one half mile of antique bologna contributed for dog feed; the remains of cake, salad and preserves in an otherwise empty lunch box. One ham sandwich yesterday. I think it's lovely you have the box. Who got your lunch?"
"Same," confessed Elnora, "but there were three of them to-day."
"Wait, until I run back and tell mother about the dog, and get my books."
Elnora waited, and that morning she walked down the hall and into the auditorium beside one of the very nicest girls in Onabasha, and it was the fourth day. But the surprise came at noon when Ellen insisted upon Elnora lunching at the Brownlee home, and convulsed her parents and family and overwhelmed Elnora by a greatly magnified but moderately accurate history of her lunch box.
"Gee! but it's a box, daddy!" cried the laughing girl. "It's carved leather and fastens with a strap that's got her name on it. Inside are trays for things all complete, and it bears evidence of having enclosed delicious food, but Elnora never gets any. She's carried it two days now,
