Excerpt: ?Perhaps Anne??? suggested Michael. ?Why, yes?certainly, Anne,? seconded Doromea, eagerly. ?Of course Timothy?s our friend, but Anne knows that we have just this last chapter and?all we need do is to ask her.? ?Um-m. What is she doing?? ?She was trimming a hat on the west porch a few minutes ago.? ?Trimming a hat? Why, she never has one on her head!? Anne?s husband looked at his unfinished manuscript aggrieved. ?I think it was Gladys-Marie?s hat.? Doromea struggled back of plot to remember. ?It had a look{10} of Gladys-Marie?an incoherent sort of cloche, you know, that was meant to have been a sunbonnet.? Michael laughed. ?If you weren?t my sister I should be afraid of you,? he said, looking at her admiringly. ?You see too deep?even in hats.? ?But I cannot trim them,? answered Doromea, seriously. ?Anne can?she can make the most delicious hat out of an old square of lace or something. I can?t even tack a plume in place and have it look like anything but a curled poker.? ?You can only help write books,? smiled Michael, ?and this one??he smoothed the thick pile of closely written paper??is the best you?ve ever helped to write. Er?suppose we just go and speak to Anne.?