The Little Colonel's Chum: Mary Ware

By ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSTON

Author of "The Little Colonel Series, " "Big Brother, " "Ole Mammy'sTorment, " "Joel: A Boy of Galilee, " "Asa Holmes, " etc. 

Illustrated by ETHELDRED B. BARRY

[Illustration]

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY

BOSTON PUBLISHERS

 _Copyright, 1908_BY L. C. PAGE AND COMPANY (INCORPORATED)

 * * * * *

_Entered at Stationers' Hall, London_

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_All rights reserved_

Made in U. S. A. 

Twenty-third Impression, July, 1944PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICABY THE COLONIAL PRESS INC. , CLINTON, MASS. 

 To M. G. J. 

[Illustration: "HER KEEN GRAY EYES SWEPT HIM ONE QUICK LOOK. "(_See page 4_)]

Preface

=Dear Boys and Girls Who Are Old Friends of the Little Colonel:=

When I finished the eighth volume of the Little Colonel Stories, TheMaid of Honour, I thought I had reached the end of the series, but sucha flood of letters came pouring in demanding to know what happened next, that I could not ignore such a plea, and in consequence The LittleColonel's Knight came riding by. 

But even with Lloyd married and "living happily ever after" her friendswere not satisfied. "You skipped" they complained by the hundreds. "Younever told what happened between the time of her engagement and thewedding, and you never told what happened to Betty and Joyce and Maryand Phil and all the rest of them. Even if you haven't time for anotherbook, couldn't you just please write _me_ a little letter and satisfy mycuriosity about each character. "

Of course I couldn't begin granting all those requests, and finally Iwas persuaded it would be easier to answer your questions with a newbook. So here is Mary Ware, taking up the thread of the story at thefirst of the skipped places. The time is September, the same Septemberthat Betty went away to Warwick Hall to teach and Lloyd began to preparefor her debut in Louisville. 

Now this volume covers only one short year, so of course it can not tellyou all you want to know. But if you are disappointed because it doesnot take you to the final milestone, remember that had we gone that farit would have been the end of all our journeying together. And we haveit from our _Tusitala_ himself, that best beloved of travellers, forwhom in a far island of the sea was dug "a Road to last for ever, " that"_to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive_. " A. F. J. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE I. MARY ENTERS WARWICK 1 II. "THE KING'S CALL" 18 III. ROOM-MATES 37 IV. "AYE, THERE'S THE RUB!" 56 V. A FAD AND A CHRISTMAS FUND 81 VI. JACK'S WATCH-FOB 103 VII. IN JOYCE'S STUDIO 125VIII. CHRISTMAS DAY AT EUGENIA'S 141 IX. THE BRIDE-CAKE SHILLING COMES TO LIGHT 163 X. HER SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY 190 XI. TROUBLE FOR EVERYBODY 205 XII. THE GOOD-BYE GATE 222XIII. THE JESTER'S SWORD 237 XIV. BACK AT LONE-ROCK 262 XV. KEEPING TRYST 286

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 PAGE

"HER KEEN GRAY EYES SWEPT HIM ONE QUICK LOOK"(_See page_ 4) _Frontispiece_

"LAY BACK UNDER ITS SHELTERING CANOPY WITH ASUPPRESSED GIGGLE" 52

"INSTEAD, IT SEEMED AS IF A SMALL CYCLONE SWEPTTHROUGH THE ROOM" 79

"THE GIRLISH FIGURE ENVELOPED IN A LONG LOOSEWORKING APRON" 125

"SHE WAS A FASCINATING LITTLE CREATURE, ALL SMILESAND DIMPLES" 153

"ALL SHE SAW WAS THE TELLER'S WINDOW, WITH ASHREWD-EYED MAN BEHIND ITS BARS" 172

"OUT ON THE PORCH SHE HEARD FROM NORMAN HOWIT HAD HAPPENED" 263

"WHEN SHE DROVE A NAIL IT HELD THINGS TOGETHER" 280

THE LITTLE COLONEL'S CHUM: MARY WARE

CHAPTER I

MARY ENTERS WARWICK HALL

The bus running between Warwick Hall Station and Warwick Hall schooldrew up at the door of the great castle-like building with as grand aflourish as if it carried the entire Senior class, and deposited onelone passenger upon the steps. As it was several days before the openingof the Fall term, no pupils were expected so soon, and but few of theteachers had returned. There was no one to see the imposing arrival ofthe little Freshman except the butler, who had been drawn to the frontwindow by the sound of wheels. It devolved on him to answer the knockerthis afternoon. In the general confusion of house-cleaning the man whoattended the door had been sent up stairs to hang curtains. 

That the newcomer was a prospective pupil, Hawkins saw at a glance. Hehad not been in Madam Chartley's service all these years withoutlearning a few things. That she was over-awed by the magnificence of hersurroundings he readily guessed, for she made no movement towards theknocker, only stood and looked timidly up at the massive portal and thenacross the lawn, where a line of haughty peacocks stood drawn up ingorgeous dress parade on the highest terrace. 

"She's feeling like a cat in a strange garret, " said the butler tohimself with a grin. It was a matter of personal pride with him whenstrangers seemed duly impressed by the grandeur of this aristocratic oldmanor-house, now used as a boarding-school. It was a personal affrontwhen they were not. Needless to say his dignity had suffered much at thehands of American school-girls, and although this one seemed impressedby her surroundings almost to the point of panic, he eyed hersuspiciously. 

"'Eaven knows they lose their shyness soon henough!" he said under hisbreath. "She can just cool 'er 'eels on the doorstep till she getscourage to knock. 'Twull do 'er good. "

But she waited so long that he began to grow uneasy. After that firstglance she had turned her back on the door as if she repented coming, and, satchel in hand, stood hesitating on the top step ready for flight. At least that is the way Hawkins interpreted her attitude. He could notsee her face. 

It was a plain little face, sunburned as a gypsy's, with a generoussprinkling of freckles on her inquisitive nose. But it was a lovableface, happy and eager, with a sweet mouth and alert gray eyes thatseemed to see to the bottom of everything. Sometimes its expression madeit almost beautiful. This was one of the times. 

She was not gazing regretfully after the departed 'bus as Hawkinssurmised, but with a pleasure so keen that it fairly made her catch herbreath, she was looking at the strange landscape and recognizing placeshere and there, made familiar by kodak pictures, and the enthusiasticdescriptions of old pupils. There was the long flight of marble stepsleading down the stately terraces to the river--the beautifulwillow-fringed Potomac. There was the pergola overhung with Abbotsfordivy, and the wonderful old garden with the sun-dial, and therhododendrons from Killarney. She had heard so much about this placethat it had grown to be a sort of enchanted land of dreams to her, andnow the thought that she was actually here in the midst of it made herdraw in her breath with a delicious little shiver. 

Hawkins, from his peep-hole through one of the mullioned sidelights ofthe great entrance, to which he had now advanced, saw the shiver, andmisinterpreting it, suddenly opened the door. It gave her such a start, so absorbed had she been in her surroundings, that she almost toppleddown the steps. But the next instant it was Hawkins who was having thestart. Unabashed by his pompous manner, her keen gray eyes swept him onequick look from his sphinx-like face to his massive shoe-buckles, as ifshe had been given some strange botanical specimen to label andclassify. Without an instant's hesitation she exclaimed in the tone ofone making a delightful discovery, "Why, it's _Hawkins_!"

It was positively uncanny to the man that this stranger on whom he hadnever laid eyes before should call him by name. He wondered if she wereone of these new-fangled mind-readers he had been hearing so much about. It was also upsetting to find that he had been mistaken about her delayin knocking. There was anything but timidity in the grand air withwhich she gave him her card, saying, "Announce me to Madam Chartley, Hawkins. "

She was a plump little body, ill adapted to stately airs and graces, butshe had been rehearsing this entrance mentally for days, and she sweptinto the reception room as if she were the daughter of a duke. 

"There!" she said to herself as the portičres dropped behind her. "Ihope he was properly impressed. " Then catching sight of her reflectionin a long mirror opposite, she wilted into an attitude of abjectdespair. A loop of milliner's wire, from which the ribbon had slipped, stood up stiff and straight in the bow on her hat. She proceeded to putit back in place with anxious pats and touches, exclaiming in ananguished whisper, "Oh, _why_ is it, that whenever I feel particularly imposing and QueenAnnish inside, I always look so dishevelled and Mary Annish outside!Here's my hat cocked over one eye and my hair straggling out in wispslike a crazy thing. I wonder what Hawkins thought. "

Hawkins, on his way up stairs was spelling out the name on the card hecarried. "Miss Mary Ware, Phoenix, Arizona. "

"Humph!" was his mental exclamation. "From one of the jumping hoffplaces. " Then his mind reverted to the several detective tales that madeup his knowledge of the far West. "'Ope she doesn't carry a gun 'iddenhon 'er person. "

Now that the first ordeal was over and she was safely inside the doorsof Warwick Hall, the new pupil braced herself for the next one, themeeting with Madam Chartley. She wouldn't have been quite so nervousover it if she had been sure of a welcome, but the catalogue stateddistinctly that no pupils could be received before the fifteenth ofSeptember, and this was only the twelfth. She had the best of reasonsfor coming ahead of time, and was sure that Madam Chartley would make anexception in her case when once the matter was properly explained. Thefriends in whose care she had travelled from Phoenix had expected tospend several days in Washington, sight-seeing, and she was to have beentheir guest until the opening of school. But a telegram met them callingthem immediately to Boston. She couldn't stay alone at a strange hotel, she knew no one in the entire city, and there was no course open to herbut to come on to school. 

It was easy enough for her to see why she might not be welcome. Therewas a vigorous washing of windows going on over the whole establishment, a sound of carpenters in the background and a smell of fresh paint andfurniture polish to the fore. Everything was out of its usual orbit inthe process of getting ready for the opening day. 

Lying awake the night before in the upper berth of the hot Pullman car, Mary had carefully planned her little speech of explanation, and hadrehearsed it a dozen times since. But now her heart was beating so fastand her throat was so dry she knew the words would stick at the verytime she needed them most. Feeling as if she were about to have a toothpulled, she sank into a large upholstered rocking chair to wait. Ittipped back so far that her toes could not reach the floor, and shesprang out again in a hurry. One could never feel at ease in aninfantile position like that. 

Then she tried a straight chair, imitating the pose of a majesticgentlewoman in one of the portraits on the panelled wall. It was one ofMadam's grand ancestors she conjectured. A glance into the tell-talemirror made her sigh despairingly again. She was not built on majesticlines herself. No matter how queenly and imposing she might feel in thatattitude, she only looked ridiculously stiff. 

Once more she changed her seat, flouncing down on a low sofa, andstruggling for a graceful position with one elbow leaning on a huge silkcushion. It was in all seriousness that she made these changes, realizing that she could not appear at her best unless she felt at ease. But the humour of the situation was not lost on her. An amused smiledimpled her face as she gave the sofa cushion a thump and once morechanged her seat. "I'm worse than Goldilocks trying all the chairs ofthe three bears, but that's too loppy!"

She whisked into a fourth seat, this time opposite the portičres. To herconsternation the parted curtains revealed an appalling fact. Not onlycould the winding stairway be seen from where she sat, but the entireinterior of the reception room must be equally visible to any one comingdown the steps. The dignified white-haired Personage now on the bottomstep must have seen every move she made as she darted around the roomtrying the chairs in turn. 

The faint gleam of suppressed amusement on Madam Chartley's face as sheentered, confirmed the girl's fears. It was unthinkable that such amortifying situation should go unexplained, yet for a moment afterMadam's courteous greeting Mary stood tongue-tied. Then she burst out, her face fairly purple:

"Oh, I _wish_ you could change places with me for just five minutes!Then you'd know how it feels to always put your worst foot first andmake a mess of everything!"

Madam Chartley had welcomed many types of girls to her school and wasfamiliar with every shade of embarrassment, but she had never beengreeted with quite such an outburst as this. Desperate to make herselfunderstood, Mary began in the middle of her carefully planned speech andbreathlessly explained backward, as to why she had arrived at thisinopportune time. The explanation was so characteristic of her, soheart-felt and utterly honest, that it revealed far more than sheintended and opened a wide door into Madam's sympathies. As she stoodlooking down at the girl with grave kind eyes, Mary suddenly becameaware of a strangely comforting thing. This was not an awesomepersonage, but a dear adorable being who could _understand_. Thediscovery made the second part of her explanation easier. She plungedinto it headlong as soon as they were seated. 

"You see, I've heard so much about Hawkins and the way he sometimesconfuses the new girls with his grand London airs till they're toorattled to eat, that I made up my mind that even if I am from Arizona, I'd made him think that I've always 'dwelt in marble halls, with vassalsand serfs at my side. ' I thought I was making a perfectly regalentrance, till I looked into the mirror and saw how dilapidated I wasafter my long journey. It took all the heart out of me and made medreadfully nervous about meeting you. I was trying to get into an easyattitude that would make me feel more self-possessed when you came down. That is why I was experimenting with all the sofas and chairs. Oh, you've no idea how the Walton girls and Lloyd Sherman and Betty Lewishave talked about you, " she went on hurriedly, eager to justify herself. "They made me feel that you were--well--er--sort of like _royalty_ youknow. That one ought to courtesy and back out from your presence as theydo at court. "

Madam laughed an appreciative little laugh that showed a thoroughenjoyment of the situation. "But when you saw that the girls weremistaken--"

Mary interrupted hurriedly, blushing again in her confusion. "No, no!they were not mistaken! You're exactly as they described you, only theydidn't tell me how--how--er, " she groped frantically for the word andfinished lamely, "how _human_ you are. "

She had started to say "how _adorable_ you are, " but checked herself, afraid it would sound too gushing on first acquaintance, although thatwas exactly what she felt. 

"I mean, " she continued, in her effort to be understood, "it seems fromthe way you put yourself in my place so quickly, that once upon a timeyou must have been the same kind of girl that I am. But of course I knowyou were not. You were Lloyd Sherman's kind. She just naturally does theright thing in the right place, and there's no occasion for her being acopy-cat. That's what Jack calls me. Jack is my brother. "

Madam laughed again, such an appreciative, friendly laugh, that Maryjoined in, wondering how the other girls could think her cold andunapproachable. It seemed to her that Madam was one of the mostresponsive and sympathetic listeners she had ever had, and it moved herto go on with her confidences. 

"Jack says I am not built on the same lines as the Princess. PrincessWinsome is one of our names for Lloyd. And he says it is ridiculous forme to try to do things the way she does. He is always quoting Epictetusto me: 'Were I a nightingale I would act the part of a nightingale; wereI a swan, the part of a swan. ' He says that trying to copy her is whatmakes me just plain goose so much of the time. "

Madam Chartley, long accustomed to reading girls, knew that it was notvanity or egotism which prompted these confessions, only a girlisheagerness to be measured by her highest ideals and not by appearances. She saw at a glance the possibilities of the material that lay here ather hand. Out of it might be wrought a strong, helpful character such asthe world always needs, and such as she longed to send out with everygraduate who passed through her doors. Many things were awaiting herattention elsewhere, but she lingered to extend their acquaintance atrifle further. 

"You know Lloyd Sherman well, I believe, " she said. "I remember that yougave Mrs. Sherman as one of your references when you applied foradmission to the school, and I had a highly satisfactory letter from herabout you in reply to my inquiry. Now that we speak of it I am remindedthat Lloyd added a most enthusiastic post-script concerning you. "

Mary's face flushed with a pleasure so intense it was almost painful. "Oh, did she?" she cried eagerly. "We've been friends always, even withhalf a continent between us. Our mothers were school-mates. Lloyd wasmore Joyce's friend than mine at first, because they are nearer of anage. (Joyce is my sister. She's an artist now in New York City, and wethink she's going to be famous some day. She does such beautifuldesigning. ) Lloyd has been my model ever since I was eleven years old. I'd rather be like her than anybody I ever knew or read of, so I don'tmind Jack calling me a copy-cat for trying. One of the reasons I wantedto come to Warwick Hall was that she had been here. Would you believeit?" she rattled on, "Last night on the sleeping-car I counted upforty-two good reasons for wanting to come here to school. "

It had been many a moon since Mary's remarks had met with suchflattering attention. Not realizing she was being studied she felt thatMadam was genuinely interested. It encouraged her to go on. 

"Jack gave me my choice of all the schools in the United States, and Ichose this without hesitating an instant. Jack is paying my expenses youknow. I couldn't have come a step if it hadn't been for him, and therewouldn't have been the faintest shadow of a hope of coming if he hadn'tbeen promoted to the position of assistant manager at the mines. Oh, Madam Chartley, I _wish_ you knew Jack! He's just the dearest brotherthat ever lived! So unselfish and so ambitious for us all"--

She stopped abruptly, feeling that she was letting her enthusiasm runaway with her tongue. But Madam, noting the quick leap of light to hereyes and the eager clasping of her hands as she spoke of him wanted tohear more. She was sure that in these naďve confessions she would findthe key-note to Mary's character. So with a few well chosen questionsshe encouraged her to go on, till she had gathered a very accurate ideaof the conditions which had produced this wholesome enthusiastic littlecreature, almost a woman in some respects, the veriest child in others. 

Mary had had an uneventful life, she judged, limited to the narrowbounds of a Kansas village, and later to the still narrower circle ofexperiences in the lonely little home they had made on the edge of thedesert, when Mrs. Ware's quest of health led them to Arizona. But it wasa life that had been lifted out of the ordinary by the brave spiritwhich made a jest of poverty, and held on to the refining influenceseven while battling back the wolf from the door. It had made a family ofphilosophers of them, able to extract pleasure from trifles, and tofind it where most people would never dream of looking. 

As she listened, Madam began to feel warmly drawn to the entire familywho had taken the good old Vicar of Wakefield for an example, andadopted one of his sayings as a rule of life: "Let us be inflexible andfortune will at last turn in our favour. "

Mary had no intention of revealing so much personal history, but she hadto quote the motto to show how triumphantly it had worked out in theircase and what a grand turn fortune had taken in their favour after somany years of struggle to keep inflexible in the face of repeateddisappointments and troubles. It had turned for all of them. Joyce, after several years of work and worry with her bees, had realized enoughfrom them to start on her career as an artist. Holland was at Annapolisin training for the navy. Within the last six weeks Jack's promotion hadmade possible his heart's desire, to send Mary to school and to bringhis mother and thirteen year old brother to Lone-Rock, the little miningtown where he had been boarding, ever since Mr. Sherman gave him hisfirst position there, several years before. 

Mary was so bubbling over with the pleasure these things gave her thatit was impossible not to feel some share of it when one looked at her. As Madam Chartley led the way to the office she felt a desire to addstill more to her pleasure. It was refreshing to see some one who couldenjoy even little things so thoroughly. She bent over the ledger amoment, scanning the page containing the list of Freshmen who had passedthe strict entrance requirements. 

"I had already assigned you to a room, " she said, "but from what youtell me I fancy you would count it a privilege to be given Lloyd's oldroom. If that is so I'll gladly make the change, although I do not knowwhether the other girl assigned to that room will prove as congenial acompanion to you as the first selection. Her mother asked for thatparticular room, so I cannot well change. "

Mary's face grew radiant. "Oh, Madam Chartley!" she cried. "I'd roomwith a Hottentot for a chance to stay inside the four walls that heldthe Princess all her school-days. You don't know how much it means tome! You've made me the happiest girl on the face of the globe. "

"It's a far cry from Ethelinda Hurst to a Hottentot, " laughed MadamChartley. "She comes from one of the wealthiest homes in the suburbs ofChicago, and has had every advantage that civilization can offer. She'sbeen abroad eight times, I believe, and has always studied at home underprivate tutors. She's an only daughter. "

"How interesting! That will be lots more diverting than a room-mate whohas always done the same common-place things that I have. Oh, you've noidea how hard I'm going to work to deserve all this! I wrote to Jacklast night that I intend to tackle school this year just the way I usedto kill snakes--with all my might and main!"

An amused expression crossed Madam Chartley's face again. She wasthinking of Ethelinda and the possible effect the two girls might haveon each other. At any rate it was an experiment worth trying. It mightprove beneficial to them both. She turned to Mary with a smile, andpressed a button beside her desk. 

"Your trunk shall be sent up as soon as the men find time to attend toit. In the meantime you may take possession of your room as soon as youplease. "

CHAPTER II

"THE KING'S CALL"

Left to herself in the room which she was to occupy for the year, Marystood looking around with the keen interest of an explorer. It was apleasant room, with two windows looking out over the river and two overthe garden. To an ordinary observer it had no claim to superiority overthe other apartments, but to Mary it was a sort of shrine. Here in thelow chair by the window her Princess Winsome had sat to read and studyand dream all through her school days. 

Here was the mirror that had caught her passing reflection so often, that it still seemed to hold a thousand shadowy semblances of her in itsshining depths. Only the June before (three short months ago) she hadstood in front of it in all the glory of her Commencement gown. 

Mary crossed the room on tiptoe, smiling at the recollection of one ofher early make-believes. Oh, if it were only true that one could passthrough the looking-glass into the wonderland behind it, what acharming picture gallery she would find! All the girls who had occupiedthe room since Warwick Hall had been a school! Blue eyes and brown, laughing faces and wistful ones, girls in gorgeous full dress, plumingthemselves for some evening entertainment, girls in dainty undress andunbound hair, exchanging bed-time confidences as they prepared for thenight, ambitious little saints and frivolous little sinners--they wereall there, somewhere in the dim background of the mirror, and because ofthem there was a subtle charm about the room to Mary, which she wouldnot have felt if she had been its first occupant. 

"It's like opening an old drawer to drop in a handful of freshrose-leaves, and finding it sweet with the roses of a dozen Junes goneby, " she said to herself, so pleased with the fancy that she went onelaborating it. 

"And Lloyd has been here so lately that _her_ rose-leaves haven't evenbegun to wither. "

There is no loyalty like the loyalty of a little school-girl for theolder girl whom she has enshrined in her heart as her ideal; nosentiment like the intense admiration which puts a halo aroundeverything the beloved voice ever praised, or makes sacred everythingthe beloved fingers have touched. Mary Ware at sixteen had not outgrownany of the ardent admiration for Lloyd Sherman which had seized her whenshe was only eleven, and now the desire to be like her flared upstronger than ever. 

She peered wistfully into the mirror, thinking, "Maybe just being in herold room will help, because I shall be reminded of her at every turn. "

For a moment the selfish wish was uppermost that she need not share theroom with any one. It seems almost desecration for a person who did notknow and love Lloyd to be so intimately associated with her. But Mary'slove of companionship was strong. Half the fun of boarding school in heropinion was in having a room-mate, and she could not forego thatpleasure even for the sake of a very deep and tender sentiment. But shemade the most of her solitude while she had it. From kodak pictures shehad seen of the room, she knew at a glance which of the narrow whitebeds had been Lloyd's, and immediately pre-empted it for herself, staking out her claim by depositing her hat and gloves upon it. 

As soon as her trunk was brought up stairs she fell to work unpacking, with an energy in no wise diminished by the fatigue of the tiresomejourney. She had been cooped up on the cars so long that she was fairlyaching for something to do. In an hour's time all her clothes wereneatly folded or hung away, her shoe-pocket tacked inside the closetdoor, her laundry-bag hung on a convenient nail, her few picturesarranged in a group over her bed, and exactly half of the table laid outwith her portfolio, books and work-basket. She had been not only justbut generous in the division of property. She had left more than halfthe drawer space and closet hooks for the use of the unknown Ethelinda;the most comfortable chair, and the best lighted end of the table. Thatwas because she herself had had first choice in the matter of bed anddressing table, and having seized upon the most desirable from her pointof view, felt that she owed the other girl some reparation. Because theyhad been Lloyd's she wanted them so strongly that she was ready tosacrifice everything else in the room for them, or even fight for theirpossession if necessary. 

By the time all was in order, the tall Lombardy poplars were throwinglong shadows on the green sward of the terraces, and from the window shecould see the garden, lying so sweet and still in the drowse of the lateafternoon that she longed to be down in it. She hurried to change therumpled shirt-waist in which she had finished her journey and done herunpacking, for a fresh white dress. It was proof that the room wasexerting some influence to make her like her model, that even in herhaste she made a careful toilet. Remembering how dainty andthorough-going Lloyd always was in her dressing, she scrubbed away untilevery vestige of travel-stain was gone. All fresh and rosy, down to herimmaculate finger-tips, she scanned herself in the mirror, from thecarefully tied bow in her hair to the carefully tied bows on herslippers, and nodded approvingly. She could stand inspection now fromthe whole row of them--all those girls on the other side of thelooking-glass, who somehow seemed so near and real to her. 

As she turned away from the mirror, her glance rested on the littlegroup of home pictures she had put up over her bed. The tents and tinytwo-roomed cottage that they called Ware's Wigwam looked small andcramped compared to this great Hall with its wide corridors and spaciousrooms. It had always seemed to Mary that she was born to live in kings'houses, she so enjoyed luxurious surroundings, but a homesick pangseized her now, as she looked down on the picture and remembered thatshe could never go back to it. 

"It doesn't seem as if I have any home now, " she sighed, "for I didn'tstay long enough in the new place at Lone-Rock to get used to it. I knowI shall always love the Wigwam best, and when I think of it standingempty or maybe turned over to strangers, it makes me feel as if one ofmy best friends had died. I'm glad we took so many pictures of it, andthat I kept a record of all the good times we had there. Oh, thatreminds me! There's one more thing I must do before sundown--bring mydiary up to date. I haven't written a line in it for six weeks. "

The out-doors was too alluring to waste another moment in the house, however, so gathering up her diary and fountain-pen, she went downstairs and out into the garden, feeling as the gate swung to behind herthat she was stepping into an old, old English garden belonging to someducal estate. Coming as she did straight from the edge of the desert, with its burning stretches of sand, its cactus and greasewood, its barered buttes and lank rows of cotton-wood trees, this Eden of green andbloom had a double charm for her. 

For a long time she wandered up and down its winding paths, finding manya shady pleasance hidden away among its labyrinths of hedges, where onemight be tempted to stop and dream away a whole long summer afternoon. But she did not pause until she came to a sort of court surrounded byrustic arbours, where a fountain splashed in the centre, and an ancientsun-dial marked the hours. With a pleased cry of recognition she ranacross the closely clipped turf, to read the motto carved on the dial'sface: "I only mark the hours that shine. "

"The very words that Betty wrote in my Good Times Book the day she gaveit to me, " she said, opening her diary to verify the motto on thefly-leaf. 

"It was beyond my wildest dreams then that I'd ever be standing here inWarwick Hall garden, reading them for myself! I mustn't wait anotherminute to make a record of this good time. "

Choosing a seat in one of the arbours where a humming bird was dartingin and out through a tangle of vines, she opened the thick red book inwhich she had kept a faithful record of her doings and goings for thelast two years, and glanced at the last entry. The date was such an oldone that she read the last few pages to refresh her memory. 

 "THE WIGWAM, Thursday, August 4th. 

 "Jack came home yesterday to our joyful surprise. Mr. Sherman had telegraphed him to come at once to Kentucky, on a flying trip to consult with the directors of the mine. As he had to pass through Phoenix anyhow, he managed it so that he could stay over night with us. I am so happy over the prospect of his having a chance at last to see our 'Promised Land' that I am fairly beside myself. I sat up half the night making cookies and gingerbread and rolls, and broiling chickens for his lunch. He says he's been hungry for home-cooking so long that it will go away ahead of dining-car fare. 

 "Everything turned out beautifully, and while I waited for them to bake I wrote a list of the things he must see and questions he must ask at The Locusts; things I've wanted to know ever since I came back from Lloydsboro Valley, and yet you can't very well find out just in letters. He left on this morning's early train. If he finds he can take the time, he's going on to Annapolis for a day, just to get a glimpse of Holland, and then to New York for a day and a half with Joyce. Good old Jack! He's certainly earned his holiday. I can hardly wait for him to come home and tell all about it. "

Spreading the book out on her knees, Mary adjusted her pen and began towrite rapidly, for words always crowded to her pen-point as they did toher tongue, with a rush. 

 "WARWICK HALL, September 12. 

 "Little did I think when I wrote that last line, that six whole weeks would pass before I added another, or that my next entry would be made in this beautiful old garden that I have dreamed of so long. Little did I think I would be sitting here beside the old sun-dial, or that such an hour could shine for me as the happy hour when Jack came back. 

 "I drove into Phoenix to meet him, and I knew from the way he waved his hat and swung off the steps before the train stopped that he had good news, and it was! Perfectly splendid! They had made him assistant manager of the mines, with a great big salary that would make a change in all our fortunes. I thought it was queer that he should bring a trunk back with him, for he went away with only a suit-case, but I was so busy asking questions about Joyce and Holland and everybody at The Locusts, that there wasn't time or breath to ask about the trunk. We were half way home before he got around to that. 

 "He said his first thought when they told him of his promotion was, 'Now Mary can have her heart's desire and go away to school. ' And on the way to New York he planned it all out, how we'd give up the Wigwam, and take a house in Lone-Rock, and he'd get some one to help Mamma with the work, and he'd have Norman under his eye all the time when he was out of school, and keep him out of mischief. He's been wanting to do that ever since he went to the mines, for there never was such a home-body. He can't bear to board. 

 "Nearly all of that little scrap of a visit he and Joyce had together, those blessed children spent in getting my clothes. Joyce has all my measurements, and they got me three dresses and a hat and a lot of shirt-waists and gloves and fixings, all so beautiful and stylish and New Yorkey, _and_ the fine big trunk to put them in. There was even a new brush and comb and mirror, for she remembered how ratty looking my old things were. And there was a letter portfolio and a silk umbrella and a lot of odds and ends that all school-girls need. I don't believe they overlooked a thing to make my outfit complete, and I know they're as nice as any the others will have, for Joyce has such good taste and always knows just what is fit and proper. I feel so elegant in my pretty blue travelling suit, and I'm just aching for a chance to wear the beautiful little evening dresses they chose, one white pongee, and the other some new sort of goods that looks just like a soft shimmery cloud, a regular picture dress. 

 "Jack went on to the mines next day, and after that everything was in a whirl till we were moved and settled, for there was so much to do, packing the furniture to be shipped, and after we got to the new house unpacking again and shifting things around till it got all liveable and homelike. By that time it was time for me to get my things together and go down to Phoenix to meet the people who had offered to take me under their wing on their way back East. Judge and Mrs. Stockton brought me. I must remember the date of Mrs. Stockton's birthday, November the fourth, and send her one of those bead purses. She admired the one she saw me making so much that I know she would like it, and she certainly was an angel to me on the trip. It seems to me it's my luck to meet nice people everywhere I go. 

 "I'm not going to wait till the last Thursday in November for my Thanksgiving Day. I've got seven good reasons for thanksgiving this very minute. First, we got here without a wreck. Second, the ribbon on my hat doesn't show a single spot, after all the hard shower that we got caught in, that I thought had ruined it. Third, I _think_ I impressed Hawkins as I hoped to, even if I was a bit nervous. Fourth, while my introduction to Madam Chartley was horribly mortifying, all's well that ends well, and she didn't lay it up against me. I think she must have taken quite a fancy to me instead or she wouldn't have given me my fifth and greatest reason for thankfulness, the privilege of occupying Lloyd's old room. Maybe I oughtn't to put that as the greatest reason, for of course it's greater just to be here at all, and seventh, I'll never get done being thankful that I've got Jack for a brother. That really is the best of all, and I'm going to make so much out of my opportunities this year, that he'll feel repaid for all he's done for me, and be glad and proud that he could do it. "

Filling another page with an account of her journey and her impressionsof the place, Mary closed her journal with a sigh of relief that thelong-neglected entry had been made. Then she leaned back on the rusticbench and gave herself up to the enjoyment of her surroundings. Thefountain splashed softly. A lazy breeze stirred the vines, and fannedher face. Far below, the shining Potomac took its slow way to the seabetween its lines of drooping willows. The calm and repose of thestately old place seemed to steal in on her soul not only through eyeand ear and sense of touch, but at every pore. 

"It's the strangest thing, " she mused. "I must be a sort of chameleon, the way I change with my surroundings. It doesn't seem possible thatonly last week I was scrambling around with my head tied up in a towel, scrubbing and cleaning and dragging furniture around at a break-neckspeed. I could almost believe I've never done anything all my life buttrail around this garden at my elegant leisure like some finelady-in-waiting. "

There was time for a stroll down to the river before the fallingtwilight recalled her to the house. As she went down the flight ofmarble steps it was with the self-conscious feeling that she was a girlin a play, and this was one of the scenes in Act I. She had seen asetting like this on a stage one time, when a beautiful lady traileddown the steps of a Venetian palace to the gondola waiting in the lagoonbelow. To be sure Mary's dress did not trail, and she was not tall andwillowy outwardly, but it made no difference as long as she could _feel_that she was. For a long time she walked slowly back and forth along theriver path, pausing now and then to look up at the great castle-likebuilding above her. She had never seen one before so suggestive ofold-world grandeur. Already it was giving her more than she would findinside in its text-books. Peculiarly susceptible to surroundings, sheunconsciously held herself more erect, as if such a stately habitationdemanded it of her. And when she climbed the steps again, with itlooming up before her in the red afterglow, the dignity and repose ofits lines, from its massive portal to its highest turret, awakened aresponse in her beauty-loving little soul that thrilled her like music. 

She went softly through the great door and up the stair-case, pausingfor a moment on the landing to look at the coat-of-arms in the stainedglass window. It was a copy of the window in the old ancestral castle inEngland, that belonged to Madam Chartley's family. Mary already knew thestory of its traditional founder, the first Edryn who had won hisknighthood in valiant deeds for King Arthur. In the dim light thecoat-of-arms gleamed like jewels in an amber setting, and the heart inthe crest, the heart out of which rose a mailed hand grasping a spear, was like a great ruby. 

"I keep the tryste, " whispered Mary, reading the motto of the scrollunderneath. "No wonder Madam Chartley grew up to be so patrician. Anybody might with a window like that in the house. "

Some one began striking loud full chords on a piano in one of the roomsbelow; some one with a strong masterful touch. Mary was sure it was aman. By leaning over the banister until she almost lost her balance, shecaught a glimpse of a pair of black coat-tails swinging awkwardly over apiano bench. Herr Vogelbaum, the musical director, must have arrived. Probably she would meet him at dinner. That was something to lookforward to--an artist who had played before crowned heads and had beenlionized all over Germany. And then the chords rolled into something sobeautiful and inspiring that Mary knew that for the first time in herlife she was hearing really great music, played by a master. She satdown on the steps to listen. 

The self-conscious feeling that she was acting a part in a play cameback afresh, and made her hastily pull down her skirts and assume alistening attitude. Thinking how effective she would look on a stage sheleaned back against the carved banister, clasping her hands around herknees, and gazing up at the ruby heart in the stained glass window aboveher. But in a moment both self and pose were forgotten. She had neverdreamed that the world held such music as the flood of melody whichcame rolling up from below. It seemed to lift her out of herself andinto another world; a world of nameless longings and exalted ambitions, of burning desire to do great deeds. Something was calling her--callingand calling with the compelling note of a far-off yet insistent trumpet, and as she gazed at the mailed hand with the spear rising triumphantlyout of the ruby heart, she began to understand. A feeling of awe creptover her, that she, little Mary Ware, should be hearing the same callthat Edryn heard. Somewhere, some day, some great achievement awaitedher. Now she knew that that was why she had been born into the world. That was why, too, that Providence had opened a way for her to come toWarwick Hall, that she might learn what was to be "the North-star of hergreat ambition, " and how "to keep the compass needle of her soul" evertrue to it. 

Clasping her hands together as reverently and humbly as if she werebefore an altar, she looked up at the ruby heart, her face all alight, whispering Edryn's answer:

 "'Tis the King's call! O list! O heart and hand of mine keep tryst-- Keep tryst or die!"

The music stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and all a-tingle with theexalted mood in which it left her, she ran up to her room and knelt bythe window, looking out into the dusk with eager shining eyes. As yet itwas all vague and shadowy, that mysterious future which awaited her. With what great duty to the universe she was to keep tryst she did notknow; but whatever it was she would do it at any cost. To callow wingsno flight is too high to attempt. At sixteen all things are possible. 

All girls of Mary's imaginative impulsive temperament have had suchmoments, under the spell of some unusual inspiration, but their dreamsare apt to vanish at contact with the earth again, as suddenly as abubble breaks when some material object touches it. But with Mary thevision stayed. True, it had to retire into the background when dinnerwas announced, and her over-weening curiosity brought her down to theconsideration of common everyday affairs, but she did not lose the senseof having been set apart in some way by that supreme moment on thestair. To the world she might be only an ordinary little Freshman, butinwardly she knew she was a sort of Joan of Arc, called and consecratedto some high destiny. 

She went down to dinner in an uplifted frame of mind that made herpassage down the long dining room in the wake of Madam and the fewreturned teachers a veritable march of triumph. The feeling that thecurtain had gone up on an interesting play in which she was chief actorcame back stronger than ever when she took her seat in one of thehigh-backed ebony chairs, with the carved griffins atop, and unfoldedher napkin in the gaze of a long line of ancestral portraits. 

Madam Chartley, who had been looking forward to the dinner hour withsome apprehension on the new pupil's account, knowing she would beobliged to curb the lively little tongue if she talked at the table asshe had done in the reception room, was amazed at the change in her. Warwick Hall had done its work. Already the little chameleon had takenon the colour of her surroundings. Hawkins, in all his years of Londonservice, had never served a more demure, self-possessed little Englishmaiden, or one who listened with greater deference to the conversationof her elders. 

She spoke only when she was spoken to, but some of her odd, unexpectedreplies made Herr Vogelbaum look up with an interest he rarely took inanything outside of his music and his dinner. Miss Chilton was so amusedat her accounts of Arizona life, that she invited her up to her room, and led her into a conversation that revealed her most original traits. 

"She's a bright little thing, " Miss Chilton reported to Madam afterward, "The kind of a girl who is bound to be popular in a school, just becauseshe's so different and interesting. "

"She is more than that, " answered Madam, smiling over the recollectionof some of her quaint speeches. "She is lovable. She has 'the divinegift of making friends, '"

CHAPTER III

ROOM-MATES

Up in her orderly room, on opening day, Mary listened to the bustle ofarrivals, and the stir of unpacking going on all over the house. Thecordial greetings called back and forth from the various rooms and thelaughter in the halls made her long to have a part in the generalsociability. She wished that it were necessary for her to borrow ahammer or to ask information about the trunk-room and the porter, as theother new girls were doing. That would give her an excuse for going intosome of the rooms and making acquaintance with their occupants. Buteverything was in absolute order, and she was already familiar with theplace and its rules. There was nothing for her to do but take out herbead-work and occupy herself with that as best she could until thearrival of her room-mate. 

She set her door invitingly open, ready to meet more than half way anyadvances her neighbours might choose to make. While she sorted her beadsshe amused herself by fitting together the scraps of conversation whichfloated her way, and making guesses as to the personality of thespeakers. Twice her open door brought the reward of a transient visitor. Once a jolly Sophomore glanced in to say "I just wanted to see who hasthe American Beauty room. That's what we called it last term when KittyWalton and Lloyd Sherman had it. "

Soon after, a girl across the hall whom Mary had already identified asone Dora Irene Derwent, called Dorene for short, darted inunceremoniously with an agonized plea for a bit of court-plaster. 

"I cut my finger on a piece of glass in a picture frame that got brokenin my trunk, " she explained, unwinding her handkerchief to see if thebleeding had stopped. "I can't find my emergency case, and Cornie Deannever was known to keep anything of the sort. All the other rooms are soupset I knew it was of no use to apply to them. "

Happy that such an opportunity had come at last and that she couldsupply the demand, Mary examined the injured finger and began to trim astrip of plaster the required size. At the moment of cutting herselfDorene had dropped the broken glass, but for some unaccountable reasonhad thrust the frame under her arm, and was holding it hugged tight toher side by her elbow. Now as she put out her hand for Mary'sinspection, she sat down on the edge of the bed, and let the frame slipfrom her grasp to the counterpane. The photograph side lay uppermost, and Mary, glancing at it casually, gave an exclamation of surprise. 

"Why, it's _Betty_! Betty Lewis! Do _you_ know her?"

"Well, rather!" was the emphatic answer. "She was my crush all myFreshman year. I suppose you know what that means if you've ever had acase yourself. I simply adored her, and could hardly bear to come backthe next year because she was graduated and gone. I haven't seen hersince, but you can imagine my delight when I found her name in thisyear's catalogue, as one of the teachers. We never imagined she'd teach, for she has such a wonderful gift for writing; but it will be simplydelightful to have her back again. She's such a dear. But where did_you_ happen to know her?" she added as an afterthought. "Are you fromLloydsboro Valley, too?"

"No, but I visited there once at Lloyd Sherman's home where Betty lives. Lloyd's mother is Betty's god-mother, you know, and Betty's mother wasmy sister Joyce's god-mother. We're all mixed up that way on account ofour mothers being old school friends, as if we were related. Of course, I shall call her Miss Lewis before the other girls. Mamma says itwouldn't be showing proper respect not to. But it's such a comfort to beable to call her Betty behind the scenes. She came yesterday. Last nightshe was up in my room for more than an hour with me, talking about theplaces and people we both know in the valley. It made me so happy Icould hardly go to sleep. Elise Walton came with her, Kitty's sister, you know. "

"Oh, is she as bright and funny as Kitty?" demanded Dorene. "If she iswe certainly shall lay siege to you two for our sorority. We ought tohave first claim, for all the other Lloydsboro Valley girls belong tous. Come over and see Cornie. "

Conscious that as a friend of the Valley girls she had gone up manydegrees in Dorene's estimation, Mary put away her scissors andplaster-case, and followed her newfound acquaintance across the hall. Her cordial reception gave her what she had been longing for allmorning, the sense of being in intimate touch with things in the innercircle of school life. Because she knew Lloyd and Betty so well, theytook her in as one of themselves, gave her a seat on a suit-case, thechairs all being full, and climbed over her and around her as they wenton with their unpacking. Mary was in her element, and blossomed out intosuch an interesting visitor, that Dorene was glad that she haddiscovered her. This was the beginning of the fourth year that she andCornie had roomed together, and to Mary their companionship seemedideal. 

"I hope my room-mate will prove as congenial as you two, " she said, after listening half an hour to their laughing repartee and theirridiculous discussions as to the arrangement of their pictures andbric-a-brac. "I've been looking forward all morning to her coming. Everytime I think of her I have the same excited, creepy feeling that I usedto have when I opened a prize pop-corn box. My little brother and I usedto save all our pennies for them when we were little tots back inKansas. We didn't eat the pop-corn, that is _I_ didn't. It was theflutter and thrill I wanted, that comes when you've almost reached thebottom of the box, and know the next grab will bring the prize into yourfingers. I was always hoping I might find one of those little rings witha red setting that I could pretend was a real garnet. No matter if itdid always turn out to be nothing but a toy soldier or a tin whistle, there was always some kind of a surprise, and that delicious uncertaincreepy feeling first. "

"Well, you don't always draw a prize in your pop-corn when you'redrawing room-mates, I can tell you _that_!" announced Cornieemphatically. 

"I was at a school the year before I came here, where I had to room witha girl who almost drove me to distraction. She was a mild, modest littlething, who, as Cowper says:

 "'Would not with a peremptory tone Assert the nose upon her face her own. '

Yet she'd do things that would provoke me beyond endurance. Sometimes Icould hardly keep from choking her. "

"What kind of things for instance?" asked Mary. 

"Well, for one thing, and it does seem a little one when you tell it, wehad about a thousand photographs, more or less, perched around on themantel and walls. Essie was so painfully modest that she couldn't bearto undress with them looking at her, so she'd turn their faces to thewall, and then next morning she'd be so slow about getting down tobreakfast that there wouldn't be time to turn them back. There my poorfamily and friends would have to stay with their faces to the wall allday as if they were in disgrace, unless I went around and turned themall back myself. 

"Then she was such a queer little mouse; didn't really come out of herhole and get sociable until after dark. As soon as the lights were outand we were in bed, she'd want to talk. No matter how sleepy I was, thatwas the time to tell all her troubles. She was so humble and respectfulin asking my advice that I couldn't throw a pillow at her and shut herup, so there she'd lie and talk in a stage whisper till after midnight. Then it was like pulling teeth to get her up in the morning. She took tosetting an alarm clock for awhile, to rouse her early and give her halfan hour to wake up in. It never made the slightest difference to her, but always wakened me. Finally I unscrewed the alarm key and hid it. Shewas so sensitive that I couldn't scold and fuss about things. Now withDorene here, I simply gag her when she talks too much, shut her in thecloset when she gets in my way, and scalp her when she doesn't do as sheis bid. "

Without any reason for forming such a mental picture of her prospectiveroom-mate, Mary had imagined her to be a blue-eyed, golden-haired littlecreature, with a sort of wax-doll prettiness: a girl made to be pettedand considered and shielded like a delicate flower. The type appealed toher. Independent and capable herself, she was prepared to be almostmotherly in her care for Ethelinda's comfort. With this preconceivednotion it was somewhat of a shock when she went back to her room andfound the real Ethelinda being ushered into it. 

She was not blue-eyed and appealing. She was large, she wasself-assured, and she took possession of the room in an expansiveall-pervading sort of way that made Mary feel very small andinsignificant. The room itself that heretofore had been so spacioussuddenly seemed to shrink, and when a huge trunk was brought in, it wasfairly crowded. 

Mary drew her chair into the narrow space between the bed and thewindow, but even there she felt in the way. "I don't see why I should, "she thought with vague resentment. "It's as much my room as hers. "

It was one of the requirements of the school that all trunks must beemptied and sent to the store-room on arrival, and presently, asEthelinda seemed ignorant of the rule, Mary told her and offered to helpher unpack. The answer was excessively polite, so polite that it leftMary at greater arm's length than before. Fanchon was to do theunpacking. She had come on purpose for that. In a few moments Fanchoncame in, a middle-aged woman who had accompanied her from home, and whowas to return as soon as her charge was properly settled. The twoconversed in French, as Ethelinda, with her hands clasped behind herhead, tipped back in a rocking chair and lazily watched proceedings. Shewas utterly regardless of Mary's presence. 

"I might as well be the door-knob for all the notice she takes of me, "thought Mary resentfully, "Well, she may prove to be as much as a tinwhistle, but she certainly isn't the prize I had hoped to find. "

She cast another furtive glance at her over her lead-stringing, slowlymaking up her estimate of her. 

"She's what Joyce would call a drab blonde--washed out complexion andsallow hair. She looks drab all the way through to me, but she may bethe kind that improves on acquaintance. She certainly has a good figure, and looks as stylish as one of those fashion ladies in _Vogue_. "

From time to time Mary proffered bits of information as occasionoffered, as to which of the drawers were empty and how to pull thewardrobe door a certain way when it stuck, but her friendly advanceswere so coldly received, that presently she slipped out of the room andwent over to the East wing to see what Elise Walton was doing. 

Elise had already made friends with her room-mate, a little dumpling ofa girl by the name of Agnes Olive Miggs, and was calling her A. O. Asevery one else did. In five minutes Mary was calling her A. O. Too, andwishing a little enviously that either one of these bright friendlygirls could have fallen to her lot instead of the polite iceberg she hadrun away from. 

"But I won't complain of her to them, " she thought loyally. "Maybeshe'll improve on acquaintance and be so nice that I'd be sorry some daythat I said anything against her. "

Several other girls came in while she sat there, and a box of candy waspassed around. Finding herself in the company of congenial young spiritswas a new experience for Mary. 

"Now I know what it means to be 'in the swim, '" she thought exultantly. "I feel like a duck who has found a whole lake to swim in, when it hasnever had anything bigger than a puddle before. "

The sensation was so exhilarating that it prompted her to exert herselfto keep on saying funny things and send her audience off into gales oflaughter. And all the time the consciousness deepened that they reallyliked her, that she was really entertaining them. 

After lunch the day went by in a rush. Each teacher met her classes, programmes were arranged and lessons assigned. By night Mary had madethe acquaintance of every girl in the Freshman class and many of theothers. She started to her room all aglow with the new experiences, thinking that if she could only find Ethelinda responsive it would putthe finishing touch to a perfect day. Betty was in the upper hallsurrounded by an admiring circle, for all the old girls who rememberedher as the star of her class, and all the new ones who had beenattracted to her from the moment they saw her were crowding around heras if she were holding some kind of court. It was a moment of triumphfor Mary when Betty laughingly excused herself from them all and drewher aside. 

"Come into my room a few minutes, " she said. "I've something to showyou, " While she was looking through her desk to find it she asked, "Well, how goes it, little girl? Is school all you dreamed it would be?"

"Betty, she won't thaw out a bit. "

"Who, dear?"

"That Miss Ethelinda Hurst. When I went up stairs to dress for dinner Itried my best to be sociable, and brought up every subject that Ithought would interest her. She barely answered till she found that Ihad come out to Warwick Hall from the city alone. That horrified her, tothink I'd taken a step without a chaperon, and she said it in such a waythat I couldn't help saying that I thought one must feel like a poodletied to a string--always fastened to a chaperon. As for me give meliberty or give me death. And she answered, 'Oh, aren't you _queer_!'Then after awhile I tried again, but she wouldn't draw out worth a cent. Said she had never roomed with any one before, but supposed it was oneof the disagreeable things one had to put up with when one went away toschool. Imagine! Pleasant for me, wasn't it!"

"Try letting her alone for awhile, " advised Betty. "Beat her at her owngame. Play dumb for--say a week. "

"But that is so much good time wasted, when we might be chums from thestart. When you're going to bed is the cream of the day. You see youalways had Lloyd, so you don't know what it is like to room with anoyster. "

"Here it is, " announced Betty, unwrapping the package she had justfound, and passing it to Mary. "Lloyd's latest photograph, the best shehas ever had taken, in my opinion. It's so lifelike you almost wait tohear her speak. And I like it because it's so simple and girlish. Isuppose the next one will be taken in evening gown after she makes herdebut. "

"Oh, is it for me?" was the happy cry. 

"Yes, frame, picture, nail to hang it on and all. Lloyd sent it with herlove. The day the photographs came home, she found that funny slip ofpaper with all the questions on it Jack was to ask. And you wanted soespecially to know just how the Princess looked and how she was wearingher hair and all that, that she said, 'I believe I'll send one of theseto Mary. She'll admire it whether any one else does or not. '"

"Tell me about her, " begged Mary, propping the frame up in front of herthat she might watch the beloved face while she listened. 

Nothing loath, Betty sat down and began to talk of the gay summer justgone, of the picnics and the barn parties, the moonlight drives, therainy days at the Log Cabin, the many knights who came a-riding by topay court to the fair daughter of the house. Then she told of her owngood times and the disappointment when her manuscript had been returned, and the reason for her coming to Warwick Hall to teach. 

"I have come to serve my apprenticeship, " she explained. "The oldColonel advised me to. He said I must live awhile--have some experiencesthat go deeper than the carefree existence I have been living, before Ican write anything worth while. I am sure he is right. "

When Mary had heard all that Betty could remember to tell, she took herdeparture, carrying the picture and the nail on which to hang it. Shewanted to show it to Ethelinda, she was so proud of it, but heroicallyrefrained. Early as it was Ethelinda was undressing. 

Mary had intended to do many things before bed-time, write in herjournal, mend the rip in her skirt, start a letter to Jack, and maybemake some break in the wall of reserve which Ethelinda still keptpersistently between them. But when she saw the preparations forretiring she hesitated, perplexed. 

"She's tired from her long journey, " she thought, "so maybe I ought notto sit up and keep the light burning. Maybe she'll appreciate it if I goto bed, too. I can lie and think even if I'm not sleepy. "

The rip in the skirt had to be mended, however, or she would not bepresentable in the morning. It was a small one, and she did not sit downto the task, but in order that she might work faster stood up and tookshort hurried stitches. Next, taking off her shoe to use the heel as ahammer, she drove the nail in the wall over the side of her bed, andhung the picture where she could see it the last thing at night and thefirst in the morning. Then, retiring behind her screen, she made herpreparations for the night. They were completed long before Ethelinda's, and climbing into bed she lay looking at the new picture, glad for thisopportunity to gaze at it to her heart's content. 

It made her think of so many things that she loved to recall--littleincidents of her visit to The Locusts; and the smiling lips seemed to besaying, "Don't you remember" in such a friendly companionable way thatshe whispered to herself, "Oh, you dear! If you were only here thisyear, what an angel of a chum you would make!"

Then she looked across at Ethelinda, who had arranged the windows to hersatisfaction and was now stretching the electric light cord from herdressing table to her bed, so that the bulb would hang directly over it. In another moment she had propped herself comfortably against thepillows, and settled down with a book. 

Mary sat up astonished. She had sacrificed her own plans and come to bedfor Ethelinda's sake, and now here was the electric light blazing fullin her eyes, utterly regardless of _her_ comfort. She was about tosputter an indignant protest when she looked up at the picture. Itseemed to smile back at her as if it were a real person with whom shemight exchange amused glances. "Did you ever see such colossalunconcern?" she whispered, as if the pictured Lloyd could hear. 

For a moment she thought she would get up and do the things she hadintended doing when she came up stairs, but it required too much of aneffort to dress again, and she was more tired than she had realizedafter her exciting day. So she lay still. She began to get drowsypresently, but she could not go to sleep with that irritating light inher eyes. She threw a counterpane over the foot-board, but it was toolow to shield her. Finally in desperation she slipped out of bed and gother umbrella. Then opening it over her she thrust its handle under thepillow to hold it in place, and lay back under its sheltering canopywith a suppressed giggle. 

[Illustration: "LAY BACK UNDER ITS SHELTERING CANOPY WITH A SUPPRESSEDGIGGLE. "]

Again she looked up at Lloyd's picture, thinking, "I'd have been awfullymad if you hadn't been here to smile with me over it. "

The bulb began to sway, throwing shadows across the wall. Ethelinda hadstruck the cord in reaching up to pull her pillows higher. Theflickering shadows made Mary think of something--a verse that Lloyd hadwritten in her autograph album once, because it was the motto of theSeminary Shadow Club. 

 "This learned I from the shadow on a tree That to and fro did sway upon the wall, Our shadowy selves--our influence, may fall Where we can never be. "

She repeated it drowsily, peering out from under her umbrella at theswaying shadows, till something the lines suggested made her sit up, wide awake. 

"Why, I can take _you_ for my chum, of course, " she thought. "Your_shadow-self_. Then it won't make any difference whether MissHaughtiness Hurst talks to me or not, _You'll_ understand and sympathizewith me. "

All her life when Mary's world did not measure up to her expectations, she had been in the habit of making a world of her own; a beautifulmake-believe place that held all her heart's desires. It had given hergilded coaches and Cinderella ball-attire in her nursery days, andenchanted orchards whose trees bore all manner of confections. It hadbestowed beauty and fortune and accomplishments on her, and sent dashingcavaliers to seek her hand when she came to the romance-reading age. Friends and social pleasures were hers at will when the lonely desertlife grew irksome. Whatever was dull the Midas touch of her imaginationmade golden, so now it was easy to close her eyes and conjure up amake-believe chum that for the time was as good as a real one. 

Absorbed in her book, Ethelinda read on until the signal sounded forlights out. Never before accustomed to such restrictions, she looked upimpatiently. She had forgotten where she was for the moment in theinterest of her book. When her glance fell on the umbrella, spread overMary's bed like a tent, she raised herself on her elbow with a look ofastonishment. It took her some time to understand why it had been putthere. 

Never having roomed with any one before, and never having had toconsider any one's convenience besides her own, it had not occurred toher that she might be making Mary uncomfortable. The mute umbrellacalled attention to the fact more eloquently than any protest could havedone. Ethelinda had endured having a room-mate as she endured all theother disagreeable requirements of the school. Now for the first time itdawned upon her that there might be two sides to this story, also thatthis strange girl who seemed so eager to intrude herself on her noticemight be worth knowing after all. If Mary could have seen her bewilderedstare and then the amused expression which twitched her mouth for aninstant, she would have had hopes that the thawing out process hadbegun. 

CHAPTER IV

"AYE, THERE'S THE RUB!"

True to the course she had laid out for herself, Mary was as dumb nextmorning as if she had really lost the power of speech. Judging from hermanner one would have thought that she was alone in the room, and thatshe was having a beautiful time all by herself. She was waiting forEthelinda to make the advances this time, and as she did not see fiteven to say good-morning, the dressing proceeded in a silence soprofound that it could almost be felt. 

There was a broad smile on Mary's face most of the time. She was readyto laugh outright over the absurd situation, and from time to time shecast an amused glance at Lloyd's picture, as if her amusement wereunderstood and shared. It was wonderful how that life-like pictureseemed to bring Lloyd before her and give her a delightful sense ofcompanionship, and she fell into the way of "thinking to it, " as sheexpressed it. The things she would have said aloud had Lloyd been withher, she said mentally, finding a satisfaction in this silent communionthat a less imaginative person could not have experienced. 

"I wish you could go down to breakfast with me, Princess, " she thought, turning for a last glance when she was dressed, and pausing with herhand on the door-knob. "I dread to go down alone before all thosestrangers. "

Dinner, the night before, had been a very stately affair, with Madam atthe head of the table in the long banquet hall, and Hawkins in solemncharge of his corps of waiters. But breakfasts were to be delightfullyinformal, Mary found a few minutes later, when she paused at the diningroom door and saw many small round tables, each cozily set for six: fivepupils and a teacher. Betty, presiding at one, looked up and beckoned toher. 

"You're a trifle early, but come on in. You're to have a seat here byme, with Elise and A. O. Just around the corner. Now tell me what hashappened to give you that 'glorious morning face, ' as Stevenson puts it. You look as if you had found some rare good fortune. "

"I have, but I didn't know I showed it. " Mary's hands went up to herface as if she expected to feel the expression that Betty saw. "I am sohappy to think that I'm to be at your table. And I'm glad that I canstop playing dumb for awhile. Oh, but it has been funny up in our roomthis morning. I took your advice, and I want to tell you about it beforethe other girls come down. "

Betty laughed heartily as Mary pictured herself in bed under theumbrella, and smiled understandingly when she told about finding amake-believe chum in Lloyd's picture. 

"I know, dear, " she answered. "I used to do that way with god-mother'spicture when I was a lonely little thing at the Cuckoo's nest. I'dwhisper my troubles and show her my treasures, and feel that she keptwatch over me while I slept. It comforted me many a time, when there wasno one else to go to, and is one of my dearest recollections now ofthose days when I felt so little and lonesome and uncared for. "

"How Jack would laugh at me, " exclaimed Mary, presently, "if he knewthat one of my air-castles had collapsed. He is always teasing me aboutbuilding sky-scrapers without any foundation. On my way out here Mrs. Stockton told me a lot of stories about her school days. She roomed withthe Judge's sister, and she heard so much about him and he heard somuch about her through this sister, that they got to sending messages toeach other in her letters. Then they exchanged photographs, and finallythey met when he came on the Commencement, and the romance of theirlives grew out of it. I kept thinking how romantic it would be to haveyour brother marry your dearest chum, someone you already loved like asister--and that if my room-mate turned out to be lovely and sweet andcharming, all that I hoped she'd be, how interesting I could make it forJack. There's no society at all in Lone-Rock, and he never can meet anynice girls as long as he stays there. "

"And you don't think he would be interested in Ethelinda?" asked Bettymischievously. "An heiress and a girl with such a distinguished air? Shecertainly has that even if she doesn't measure up to your standard ofbeauty. He might be charmed with her. You never can tell what a man isgoing to like. "

"Not that--that--_clam_!" Mary answered warmly, with an expression ofdisgust. "I know Jack! You've no idea how she can shut herself up in hershell. She never would fit in our family and I know he'd never--"

The signal announcing breakfast made her stop in the middle of hersentence, for at that same instant the girls began to file in. 

"Well, it's good-bye, 'Betty. ' I must begin talking to 'Miss Lewis'now. " Giving Betty's hand a quick squeeze under the table, she drewherself up sedately. 

The Old Girls' Welcome to the New was the chief topic of conversationthat morning. It was to take place that night, and as the invitationswould not be delivered until the opening of the first mail, everyFreshman was in a flutter of expectancy, wondering who her escort was tobe. 

"I hope mine will be either Cornie Dean or Dorene Derwent, " confidedMary to Betty in an undertone, "because I know them so well. But if Ishould have to choose a stranger I'd rather have that quiet girl ingray, over at Miss Chilton's table. She looks like a girl in an Englishstory-book. I mean the one that Ethelinda is talking to now. And I wishyou'd notice how she _is_ talking, " Mary continued in amazement. "Didyou ever see more animation? She's making up for lost time. "

"Oh, that's Evelyn Berkeley, " answered Betty. "She _is_ English; adistant relative of Madam's with such an interesting history. The year Ifinished school she came in the middle of the spring term, such asad-looking creature all in black. Her mother had just died, and herfather, who only a short time before had succeeded to the title andestates, sent her over here to be with Madam for awhile. He didn't knowwhat to do with her, as she seemed to be going into a decline. She isn'tlike the same girl now. "

"Oh, is she a real 'My-lady-the-carriage-waits'?" asked Mary, her eyeswide with interest. 

"Yes, she belongs to a very ancient and noble family, " said Betty, amused at her enthusiasm. "But I thought you were such a littleAmerican-revolution patriot that you would not be impressed by anythinglike that. "

"I'm not impressed, exactly, " Mary answered stoutly, "but this is thefirst girl I ever saw who is own daughter to a lord, and it does add aflavour to one's interest in her. Oh, I see, now. _That_ is whyEthelinda is so friendly, " she added, with sudden intuition of thetruth. "She thinks that Miss Berkeley is somebody worth cultivating, andthat I'm not. "

"Maybe it's a case of 'birds of a feather, '" said Elise, who had heardpart of the conversation. "Ethelinda aspires to a family tree and acoat-of-arms, too. I saw her box of stationery spilled out over yourtable when I was in your room yesterday, and it had quite an imposingcrest on the paper--a unicorn or griffin or something, pawing away at acrown. "

Mary pursed her lips together thoughtfully. "That might explain it. Maybe she thinks I'm only a sort of wild North American Indian becauseour place is named Ware's Wigwam, and that it is beneath her dignity tobe intimate with her inferiors. But if that is what is the matter, she'sjust a snob, and can't be very sure of her own position. "

"She is only sixteen, " Betty reminded her, "even if she does look somature and imposing. I have an idea that the way she has been brought upis responsible for her attitude now. It has given her a false standardof values. Now, Mary, here is a chance for you to do some realmissionary work, and teach her that '_the rank is but the guinea'sstamp_, ' and that we're all pure gold, 'for a' that and a' that, ' nomatter if we are not members of the British peerage. "

"I wouldn't mind telling her anything if she were a real heathen, " wasMary's earnest answer. "But trying to break through her reserve is aharder task than butting a hole through the Chinese wall. You've no ideahow haughty she is. Well, I don't care--much. "

She cared enough, however, to take a lively interest in her room-mate'spedigree, after seeing the crest on her note paper. Later in the morningwhen some literature references made it necessary for her to go to thelibrary, she looked around for a certain fat volume she had pored overseveral times during those idle days before the beginning of school. Itwas Burke's Peerage. She had looked into it because of the story ofEdryn, finding many mottoes as interesting as the one in the great amberwindow on the stairs. Now she turned to the B's and rapidly scanned thecolumns till she came to the Berkeleys. For generations there had beenan Evelyn in the family. What a long, long time they had had to shapetheir lives by their motto, and grow worthy of their family traditions!No wonder that Evelyn had that air of gentle breeding and calm poiselike Madam Chartley's. 

Mary had already on a previous occasion looked in vain for the name ofWare, and when she failed to find it, consoled herself with the thoughtthat for three hundred years it had been handed down with honour in theannals of New England. Staunch patriots the Wares had been in the oldcolony days, sturdy and stern of conscience, and Mary had been taught tobelieve that their struggle to wrest a living from the rocky hillswhile they built up a state was as worthy of honour as any knightly deedof the Round Table. She was prouder of those early ancestors who delvedand spun and toiled with their hands at yeoman tasks, than the laterones, who were ministers and judges and college professors. 

Until now she had never attached any importance to the fact that abranch of her mother's family had been a titled one, because she wassuch a patriotic little American, and because so many years had elapsedsince that particular branch had severed its connection with the familyin the old world. But now Mary felt a peculiar thrill of satisfactionwhen she found the name in the peerage and realized that some of theblue blood which had inspired those great-great-grandfathers to knightlydeeds was coursing through her own veins. The crest was a winged spur, with the motto, "Ready, aye ready. "

"Maybe that is the reason the 'King's call' has come to me as it did toEdryn, " she mused, her chin in her hand and her eyes gazing dreamily outof the window. Then she forgot all about her quest for the literaturereferences, for in her revery she was listening to the Voices again, andseeing herself in a dimly foreshadowed future, the centre of anacclaiming crowd. What great part she was to play she did not know, butwhen the time should come for the fulfilment of her high destiny, shewould rise to meet it like the winged spur, crying "Ready, aye ready, "as all those brave ancestors had done. It was in the blood to respondthus. 

The hunter's horn on the terrace outside, sounding the call torecreation, roused her from her day-dreams, and she came to herself witha start. But before she hurried away to the office where the mail wasbeing distributed, she made a quick survey of the H's. To her surprisethe name of Hurst was not among them. She fairly ran down the stairs toreport her discovery to Elise. 

When the invitations for the evening were all distributed Mary went upstairs wailing out her consternation to A. O. She was to be escorted byJane Ridgeway, the most dignified senior in the school. 

"She's the kind that knows such an awful lot, and you have to be on yourp's and q's with her every single minute. Cornie says her father is inthe Cabinet, and her mother is a shining intellectual light. And nowthat I've been warned beforehand, I'll not be able to utter a syllableof sense; I know that I'll just gibber. "

When she went to her room to dress for the occasion that night therewas a great hunch of hot-house roses waiting for her with Jane's card. She knew from the other girls' description of this opening festivitythat the seniors spared no expense on this occasion, but it ratheroverawed her to receive such an extravagant offering. She looked acrossat the modest bunch of white and purple violets which had come from theWarwick Hall conservatory for Ethelinda, and wondered if there had notbeen some mistake. Then to her surprise, Ethelinda, who had noticed herglance, spoke to her. 

"Sweet, aren't they! Miss Berkeley sent them, or rather Lady Evelyn, Ishould say. She is to be my escort to-night. "

It was Mary's besetting sin to put people right whom, she thought weremistaken, so she answered hastily, "Oh, no! You oughtn't to call herLady Evelyn. She doesn't like it. She wants to be just like the othergirls as long as she is in an American school. "

Ethelinda drew herself up with a stare, and asked in a patronizing tonethat nettled Mary:

"May I ask how _you_ happen to know so much about her?"

Equally lofty in her manner, and in a tone comically like Ethelinda's, Mary answered, "You may. Miss Lewis gave me that bit of information, and for the rest I looked her up in Burke's Peerage. She comes of a veryillustrious and noble family, so of course she feels perfectly sure ofher position, and doesn't have to draw the lines about herself topreserve her dignity as some people do. Cornie Dean was telling me abouta girl who was in the school last year who made such a fuss about herpedigree that she couldn't be friends with more than three of the girls. The rest weren't high enough caste for her. She sported a crest and allthat, and they found out that she hadn't a particle of right to it. Herfather had struck it rich in some lumber deal, and _bought_ a gallery ofancestral portraits, and paid a man a small fortune to fix him up a coatof arms. She had no end of money, but she wasn't the real thing, andCornie says that paste diamonds won't go down with _this_ school. Theycan spot them every time. "

Ethelinda made no comment for a moment, but presently asked in astrained tone, "Did you have any doubts of Miss Berkeley's claims? Isthat why you looked her up in the peerage?"

"No, " said Mary, honestly. "I was looking for my own name. But therewasn't a single Ware in it. And then"--she couldn't resist this thrust, especially as she felt it was a part of the missionary work she hadundertaken--"I looked for Hurst, too, as the girls said you had acrest. "

"Well?" came the question, a trifle defiantly. 

"It's not in the Peerage. "

Ethelinda drew herself up haughtily as if she disdained an explanation, yet felt forced to make one. "It is not my father's crest I use, " sheannounced. "It came from back in my mother's family. "

"Oh!" said Mary, with significant emphasis. "I see!" Then she addedcheerfully, "I could have one, too, on a count like _that_, way backamong my great-grandmothers. But I wouldn't have any real right to it. You have to be in the direct line of descent, you know, and it is sillyfor us Americans to try to hang on by a hair to the main trunk of thefamily tree, when all the world knows we belong on the outsidebranches. "

There was no answer to this and the dressing proceeded in a silence asprofound as the morning's, until Mary saw that Ethelinda was strugglingin a frantic effort to free herself from the hooks of her dress whichhad caught in her hair. 

"Wait, " she called, hurrying to the rescue. "Let me hook it for you. What a perfect dream of a gown it is!" she added in frank admiration, as she deftly fastened it up the back. "It looks like the kind in thefairy tales that are woven out of moon-beams. Here, let me fix yourhair, where the hooks pulled it loose. "

She tucked in the straggling locks with a few soft pats and toucheswhich, with the compliment, mollified Ethelinda a trifle, in spite ofher resentment over the former speech. But it still rankled, and shecould not forbear saying a little spitefully, "Thanks! What a soft, light touch you have. Quite like a maid I had last year. By the way, hername was Mary. And it was awfully funny. It happened at that time thatevery maid in the house was named that, and whenever mamma called 'Mary'five or six of them would come running. I used to tell my maid that if Ihad as common a name as that I'd change it. "

Something in the way she said it set Mary's teeth on edge. She had neverknown any one before who purposely said disagreeable things. She oftensaid them herself in her blundering, impetuous way, but was heartilysorry as soon as they were uttered. Now for the first time in her lifeshe wanted to retaliate by saying the meanest thing she could think of. So she answered, hotly, "Oh, I don't know. I'd rather be named Marythan a name that means _noble snake_, like Ethelinda. "

"Who told you it means that?" was Ethelinda's astonished demand. "Idon't believe it. "

"You've only to consult Webster, " was the dignified reply. "I lookedyour name up in the dictionary the day I first heard it. Ethel meansnoble, but Ethelinda means noble _snake_. I suppose nobody ever callsyou just _Inda_, " she added meaningly. 

Ethelinda's eyes flashed, but she had no answer for this queer girl whoseemed to have the Dictionary and the Peerage and no telling how manyother sources of information at her tongue's end. 

Again the dressing went on in silence. Mary finished first, all but ahook or two which she could not reach, and which she could not muster upcourage to ask Ethelinda to do for her. Finally, gathering up her armfulof roses, she went across the hall to ask Dorene's assistance. 

"Why, of course!" she cried, opening the door wide at Mary's knock. "Youpoor child! Think of having a room-mate who is such a Queen of Sheba shecouldn't do a little thing like that for you!"

"But I didn't ask her, " Mary hurried to explain, eager to be perfectlyhonest. "I had just made such a mean remark to her that I hadn't thecourage to ask a favour. "

"_You!_" laughed Cornie. "I can't imagine a good natured little pusslike you saying anything very savage to anybody. "

"But I did, " confessed Mary. "I _wanted_ to hurt her feelings. I fairlyached to do it. I should have said something meaner still if I couldhave thought of it quick enough. Isn't it awful? Only the second day ofthe term to have things come to such a pass! Everything we do seems torub the other's fur up the wrong way. "

"I'd ask Madam to change me to some other room, " said Dorene, but Maryresented the suggestion. 

"No, indeed! I'll not have it said that I was such a fuss-cat as allthat. I'll make myself get along with her. "

"Well, I don't envy you the task, " was Cornie's rejoinder. "I never canresist the temptation to take people down when they get high and mighty. I heard her telling one of the girls at the breakfast table that she'dnever ridden on a street-car in all her life till she came toWashington. She made Fanchon take her across the city in one instead ofcalling a carriage as they always do. They have a garage full ofmachines at home, and I don't know how many horses. She said it in a wayto make people who had always ridden in public conveyances feel mightyplebeian and poor-folksy, although she insisted that street-cars arelots of fun. 'They give you a funny sensation when they stop. ' Thosewere her very words. "

"Well, of all things!" cried Mary, then after a moment's silent musing, "It never struck me before, what different worlds we have been broughtup in. But if a street-car ride is as much of a novelty to her as anautomobile ride would be to me, I don't wonder that she spoke about it. I know I'd talk about my sensations in an auto if I'd ever been in one, and it wouldn't be bragging, either. Maybe all our other experienceshave been just as different, " she went on, her judicial mind trying tolook at life from Ethelinda's view-point, in order to judge her fairly. 

"I wonder what sort of a girl I would have been, if instead of alwayshaving the Wolf at the door, we'd have had bronze lions guarding theportals, and all the money that heart could wish. "

"Money!" sniffed Cornie. "It isn't that that makes the difference inEthelinda. Look at Alta Westman, a million in her own right. Thereisn't a sweeter, jollier, friendlier girl in the school. "

"Any way, " continued Mary, "I'd like to be able to put myself inEthelinda's place for about an hour, and see how things look toher--especially how _I_ look to her. I'm glad I thought about that. Itwill make it easier for me to get along with her, for it will help me tomake allowances for lots of things. "

The door stood ajar, and catching sight of Jane Ridgeway coming up thehall, Mary started to meet her. 

"Remember, " called Cornie after her. "We've taken you under our wing, and claim you for our sorority. We're not going to have any of theLloydsboro Valley girls imposed on, and if she gets too uppity she'llfind herself boycotted. "

As the door closed behind her Dorene remarked, "She's a dear littlething. I'm going to see that she has so much attention to-night thatEthelinda will wake up to the fact that she's worth having for a friend. I'm going to ask Evelyn Berkeley to make a special point of being niceto her. "

The thought that Cornie considered her one of the Lloydsboro girls sentMary away with a pleasurable thrill that made her cheeks glow allevening. There was something in the donning of party clothes thatalways loosened her tongue, and conscious of looking her best sheplunged into the festivity of the hour with such evident enjoyment thatothers naturally gravitated towards her to share it. 

"Congratulations!" whispered Betty, happening to pass her towards theclose of the evening. "You're quite one of the belles of the ball. "

"Isn't it simply perfect?" sighed Mary, her face beaming. 

Herr Vogelbaum had just come in and was settling himself at the piano, in place of the musicians who had been performing. This was an especialtreat not on the programme, and all that was needed in Mary's opinion tocomplete a heavenly evening. He played the same improvisation that hadcaught her up in its magic spell the day of her arrival, and she went toher room in the uplifted frame of mind which finds everythingperfection. Even her strained relations with Ethelinda seemed a trifle, the tiniest thorn in a world full of roses. Her last waking thought wasa resolution to be so good and patient that even that thorn shoulddisappear in time. 

Mary's popularity was not without its effect upon Ethelinda, especiallythe Lady Evelyn's evident interest in her. It argued that she was worthknowing. Then, too, it would have been a hard heart which could havesteeled itself against Mary's persistent efforts to be friendly. It wasa tactful effort also, making her daily put herself in Ethelinda's placeand consider everything from her view-point before speaking. Many a timeit helped her curb her active little tongue, and many a time it helpedher to condone the one fault which particularly irritated her. 

"Of course it is hard for her to keep her half of the room in order, "she would say to herself. "She's always had a maid to wait on her, andhas never been obliged to pick up even her own stockings. She doesn'tknow how to be neat, and probably I shouldn't, either, if I hadn't beenso carefully trained. "

Then she would hang the rumpled skirts back in the wardrobe where theybelonged, rescue her overturned work-basket from some garment thatEthelinda had carelessly thrown across it, and patiently straighten outthe confusion of books and papers on the table they shared in common. Although there were no more frozen silences between them theirconversations were far from satisfactory. They were totally uncongenial. But after the first week, that part of their relationship did notaffect Mary materially. She was too happily absorbed in the work andplay of school life, throwing herself into every recitation, everyexcursion and every experience with a zest that left no time formourning over what might have been. At bed-time there was always hershadow-chum to share the recollections of the day. One of her letters toJoyce gave a description of the state of resignation to which shefinally attained. 

"Think of it!" she wrote. "Me with my Puritan conscience and big bump oforder, and my r. M. Calmly embroidering this Sabbath afternoon! Herdressing table, her bed and the chairs look like rubbish heaps. Herbed-room slippers in the middle of the floor this time of day make mewant to gnash my teeth. Really it is a disaster to live with some onewho scrambles her things in with yours all the time. The disorder getson my nerves some days till I want to scream. There are times when Ithink I shall be obliged to rise up in my wrath like old Samson, andsmite her 'hip and thigh with a great slaughter. '

"In most things I have been able to 'compromise. ' Margaret Elwood, oneof the Juniors, taught me that. She tried it with one of herroom-mates, now happily a back number. Margaret said this girl lovedcheap perfumes, for instance, and she herself loathed them. So shefilled all the drawers and wardrobes with those nasty camphormoth-balls, which the r. M. Couldn't endure, and when she protested, Margaret offered a compromise. She would cut out the moth-balls, even atthe expense of having her clothes ruined, if the r. M. Would swear off onmusk and the like. 

"I tried that plan to break E. Of keeping the light on when I wassleepy. One night I lay awake until I couldn't stand it any longer, andthen began to hum in a low, droning chant, sort of under my breath, likean exasperating mosquito: '_Laugh_-ing _wa_-ter! _Big_ chief's_daugh_-ter!' till I nearly drove my own self distracted. I could seeher frown and change her position as if she were terribly annoyed, andafter I had hummed it about a thousand times she asked, 'For heaven'ssake, Mary, is there anything that will induce you to stop singing thatthing? I can't read a word. '

"'Why, yes, ' I answered sweetly. 'Does it annoy you? I was only singingto pass the time till you turn off the light. I can't sleep a wink. We'll just compromise. '

"She turned it out in a jiffy and didn't say a word, but I notice thatshe pays attention to the signals now, and does her reading before theysound 'taps. ' All this is teaching yours truly a wonderful amount ofself control, and I have come to the conclusion that everything atWarwick Hall, disagreeables and all, are working together for my good. "

So matters went on for several weeks. Mary meekly hung up Ethelinda'sdresses and put the room in order whenever it was disarranged, andEthelinda, always accustomed to being waited upon, took it as a servicedue her from one whom necessity had placed in a position always toserve. If she had accepted it silently Mary might have gone on to theend of the term making excuses for her, and making good her neglect; butEthelinda remarked one day to one of the Sophomores that if Mary Wareever wanted a recommendation as lady's maid she would gladly give it. She seemed naturally cut out for that. 

The remark was repeated without loss of time, and in the samepatronizing tone in which it was made. Mary's boasted self-control flewto the four winds. She was half way down the stairs when she heard it, but turning abruptly she marched back to her room, her cheeks red andher eyes blazing. Throwing open the door she gave one glance aroundthe room. The disorder happened to be a little worse than usual. Awet umbrella leaned against her bed, and Ethelinda's damp coat layacross the white counterpane, for she had been walking in the rain, andhad thrown them down in the most convenient spot on entering. Otherarticles were scattered about promiscuously, but Mary made no attempt asusual to put them in place. 

[Illustration: "INSTEAD, IT SEEMED AS IF A SMALL CYCLONE SWEPT THROUGHTHE ROOM. "]

Instead, it seemed as if a small cyclone swept through the room. The wetumbrella was sent flying across to Ethelinda's bed. Gloves, coat, andhandsome plumed hat followed, regardless of where they lit, or in whatcondition. Half a dozen books went next, tumbling pell mell into acorner. Then Ethelinda's bed-room slippers, over which Mary was alwaysstumbling, hurtled through the air, and an ivory hair-brush that hadbeen left on her dressing-table. They whizzed perilously nearEthelinda's head. 

"There!" exclaimed Mary, choking back the angry tremble in her voice. "I'm worn out trying to keep this room in order for order's sake! Thenext time I find your things on my side of the room I'll pitch them outof the window! It's no excuse at all to say that you've always hadsomebody to wait on you. You've always had your two hands, too. A_lady_ is supposed to have some sense of her own obligations and ofother people's rights. Now don't you _dare_ get on my side again!"

With her knees trembling under her till she could scarcely move, Maryran out of the room, so frightened by what she had done that she did notventure back till bedtime. Ethelinda refused to speak to her for severaldays, but the outburst of temper had two good results. One was thatthere was no need for its repetition, and Ethelinda treated her withmore respect from then on. 

It had come to her with a shock, that Mary was looking down on _her_, Ethelinda Hurst, pitying her for some things and despising her forothers; and though she shrugged her shoulders at first and was angry atthe thought, she found herself many a time trying to measure up toMary's standards. She couldn't bear for those keen gray eyes to look herthrough, as if they were weighing her in the balance and finding herwanting. 

CHAPTER V

A FAD AND A CHRISTMAS FUND

For a Freshman to start a fad popular enough to spread through theentire school was an unheard of thing at Warwick Hall, but A. O. Miggshad that distinction early in the term. Her birthday was in October, andwhen she appeared that morning with a zodiac ring on her little finger, set with a brilliant fire opal, there was a mingled outcry of admirationand horror. 

"Oh, I wouldn't wear an opal for worlds!" cried one superstitious girl. "They're dreadfully unlucky. "

"Not if it is your birthstone, " announced A. O. , calmly turning her handto watch the flashing of red and blue lights in the heart of the gem. "It's bad luck _not_ to wear one if you were born in October. It says onthe card that came in the box with this:

 "'October's child is born for woe And life's vicissitudes must know, Unless she wears the opal's charm To ward off every care and harm. '

"And they say too that you are beloved of the gods and men as long asyou keep your faith in it. "

"Then I'll certainly have to get one, " laughed Jane Ridgeway, who hadjoined the group, "for I am October's child. Let me see it, A. O. "

She adjusted her glasses and took the plump little hand in hers forinspection. "I always have thought that opals are the prettiest of allthe stones. Write the verse out for me, A. O. , that's a good child. I'llsend it home for the family to see how important it is that I should beprotected by such a charm. "

This from a senior, the dignified and exclusive Miss Ridgeway, put theseal of approval on the fashion, and when, a week later, she appearedwith a beautiful Hungarian opal surrounded by tiny diamonds, with herzodiac signs engraved on the wide circle of gold, every girl in schoolwanted a birth-month ring. 

Elise wrote home asking if agates were expensive, and if she might haveone. Not that she thought they were pretty, but it was the stone forJune, so of course she ought to wear one. The answer came in the shapeof an old heirloom, a Scotch agate that had been handed down in thefamily, almost since the days of Malcolm the Second. It had been asmall brooch, worn on the bosom of many a proud MacIntyre dame, butnever had it evoked such interest as when, set in a ring, it wasdisplayed on Elise's little finger. 

After that there was a general demand for a jeweller's catalogue whichappeared in their midst about that time. One page was devoted toillustrations of such stones with a rhyme for each month. The firm whichissued the catalogue would have been surprised at the rush of orders hadthey not had previous dealings with Girls' Schools. The year beforethere had been almost as great a demand for tiny gold crosses, and theyear before for huge silver horse-shoes. This year the element ofsuperstition helped to swell the orders. When the verse said, "The August born, without this stone, 'Tis said must live unloved and lone, "

of course no girl born in August would think of living a week longerwithout a sardonyx, especially when the catalogue offered the genuinearticle as low as $2. 75. The daughters of April and May, July andSeptember had to pay more for their privileges, but they did it gladly. When Cornie Dean read, "Who wears an emerald all her life Shall be a loved and honoured wife, "

she sold her pet bangle bracelet that afternoon for ten dollars, andadded half her month's allowance to buy an emerald large enough to holdsome potency. 

Mary pored over the catalogue longingly when it came her turn to haveit. She liked her verse:

 "Who on this world of ours their eyes In March first open shall be wise. In days of peril firm and brave, And wear a bloodstone to their grave. "

When she had considered sizes and prices for awhile she took out herbank book and Christmas list and began comparing them anxiously. Betty, coming into the room presently, found her so absorbed in her task thatshe did not notice the open letter Betty carried, and the gay samples ofchiffon and silk fluttering from the envelope. She looked up with alittle puckered smile as Betty drew a chair to the opposite side of thetable, asking as she seated herself, "What's the matter? You seem to bein some difficulty. "

"It's just the same old wolf at the door, " said Mary, soberly. "I haveenough for this term's expenses, all the necessary things, but there'snothing for the extras. There isn't a single person I can cut off myChristmas list. I've put down what I've decided to make for each one, and what the bare materials will cost, and although I've added it up andadded it down, it always comes out the same; nothing left to get thering with. "

She sat jabbing her pencil into the paper for a moment. "I wish therewere ways to earn money here as there are at some schools. There are somany things I need it for. They'll expect me to contribute something tothe mock Christmas tree fund, and I want to get Jack something nice. Icouldn't take his own money to buy him a present even if there wereenough, which there isn't. I've already made him everything I know howto make, that he can use, and men don't care for things they can't use, but that are just pretty, as girls do. Just look what a beauty bright ofa watch-fob I've found in this catalogue. "

She turned the pages eagerly. "It is a bloodstone. The very thing forJack, for his birthday is in March, too, and it is such a dark, unpretentious stone that he would like it. _But_--it costs eightdollars. "

She said it in an awed tone as if she were naming a small fortune. 

"Maybe we can think of some way for you to earn it, " said Betty, encouragingly. "I'll set my wits to work this evening as soon as I'vefinished looking over the A class themes. Because none of the girls hasever done such a thing before in the school is no reason why you shouldnot. Look! This is what I came in to show you. "

It was several pages from Lloyd's last letter, and the samples of somenew dresses she was having made. For a little space the wolf at the doordrew in its claws, and Mary forgot her financial straits. Early in theterm Betty had divined how much the sharing of this correspondence meantto Mary. She could not fail to see how eagerly she followed the winsomeprincess through her gay social season in town, rejoicing over herpopularity, interested in everything she did and wore and treasuringevery mention of her in the home papers. The old Colonel sent Betty the_Courier-Journal_, and the society page was regularly turned over toMary. There was a corner in her scrap-book marked, "My Chum, " rapidlyfilling with accounts of balls, dinners and house-parties at which shehad been a guest. This last letter had several messages in it for Mary, so Betty left the page containing them with her, knowing they would befolded away in the scrap-book with the samples, as soon as her back wasturned. 

"I was out at Anchorage for this last week-end, " ran one of themessages. "And it rained so hard one night that what was to have been aninformal dance was turned into an old-fashioned candy-pull. Not morethan half a dozen guests managed to get there. Tell Mary that I tried todistinguish myself by making some of that Mexican pecan candy that theyused to have such success with at the Wigwam. But it was a flat failure, and I think I must have left out some important ingredient. Ask her toplease send me the recipe if she can remember it. "

"Probably it failed because she didn't have the real Mexican sugar, "said Mary, at the end of the reading. "It comes in a cone, wrapped in aqueer kind of leaf, so I'm sure she didn't have it. I'll write out therecipe as soon as I get back from my geometry recitation, and add afoot-note, explaining about the sugar. "

Somehow it was hard for Mary to keep her mind on lines and angles thatnext hour. She kept seeing a merry group in the Wigwam kitchen. Lloydand Jack and Phil Tremont were all ranged around the white table, cracking pecans, and picking out the firm full kernels, while Joycepresided over the bubbling kettle on the stove. She wondered if Lloydhad enjoyed her grown-up party as much as she had that other one, whenJack said such utterly ridiculous things in pigeon English, like the oldChinese vegetable man, and Phil cake-walked and parodied funnycoon-songs till their sides ached with laughing. 

At the close of the recitation a hastily scribbled note from Betty washanded to her. 

"I have just found out, " it ran, "that Mammy Easter will be unable tofurnish her usual pralines and Christmas sweets to her Warwick Hallcustomers this year. Why don't you try your hand at that Mexican candyLloyd mentioned. If the girls once get a taste it will be 'advertised byits loving friends' and you can sell quantities. I am going to the citythis afternoon, and can order the sugar for you. If they wire the orderyou ought to be able to get it within a week. _E. S. _"

Mary went up stairs two steps at a bound, stepping on the front of herdress at every other jump, and only saving herself from sprawlingheadlong as she reached the top, by catching at A. O. , who ran into heron the way down. She could not get back to her bank book and herChristmas list soon enough, to see how much cash she had on hand, andcompute how much she dared squeeze out to invest in material. 

A week later the Domestic Science room was turned over to her duringrecreation hour, and presently a delicious odour began to steal out intothe halls, which set every girl within range to sniffing hungrily. Bettyexplained it to several, and there was no need to do anything more. Every one was on hand for her share when the samples were passed around, and the new business venture was discussed in every room. 

"Wouldn't you like to know Jack Ware?" asked Dorene of Cornie, her mouthso full of the delicious sweets that she could only mumble. "Any man whocan inspire such adoration in his own sister must be nothing short of awonder. "

"I feel that I do know him, " responded Cornie, "That I am quite wellacquainted with him, in fact. And I quite approve of 'my brother Jack. 'It's queer, too, for usually when you hear a person quoted morning, noonand night you get so that you want to scream when his name is mentioned. Now there's Babe Meadows. Will you ever forget the way she rang thechanges on 'my Uncle Willie'? I used to quote that line from Tennysonunder my breath--'_A quinsy choke thy cursčd note!_' It was 'UncleWillie says this isn't good form' and 'Uncle Willie says they don't dothat in England' till you got worn to a frazzle having that oldAnglomaniac eternally thrown at your head. But the more Mary quotes Jackthe better you like him. "

"I wonder how he feels about Mary taking this way to earn his Christmaspresent. "

"Oh, of course he doesn't know she is doing it, and of course hewouldn't like it if he did. But he'd have hard work stopping her. She isas full of energy and determination as a locomotive with a full head ofsteam on, and I imagine he's exactly like her. She fondly imagines thathe will be governor of Arizona some day. "

"There!" exclaimed Dorene. "That suggests the dandiest thing for us toput on the mock Christmas tree for her. A Jack-in-the-box! She's alwaysspringing him on an unsuspecting public, and just about as unexpectedlyas those little mannikins bob up. She has used him so often to 'pointher morals and adorn her tales' that every girl in school will see thejoke. "

"Well, the future governor of Arizona will get his bloodstone fob allright as far as my patronage will help, " said Cornie, when she hadlaughingly applauded Dorene's suggestion. She carefully picked up thelast crumb. "I shall speak for three pounds of this right off. Papa hassuch a sweet tooth that he'd a thousand times rather have a box of thisthan a dozen silk mufflers and shaving cases and such things thatusually fall to a man's lot at Christmas. "

If the girls in this exclusive school thought it strange that one oftheir number should start a money-making enterprise, no whisper of itreached Mary. Her sturdy independence forbade any air of patronage, andshe was such a general favourite that whatever she did was passed overwith a laugh. The few who might have been inclined to criticize found itan unpopular thing to do. The object for which she was working enlistedevery one's interest. Jack would have ground his teeth withmortification had he known that every girl in school was interested inhis getting a bloodstone watch-fob in his Christmas stocking, and dailydiscussed the means by which it was being procured. 

Orders came in rapidly, and Mary spent every spare moment in crackingpecans, and picking out the kernels so carefully that they fell from theshells in unbroken halves. It was a tedious undertaking and even herstudy hours were encroached upon. Not that she ever neglected a lessonfor the sake of the pecans, for, as she said to Elise, "I've set myheart on taking the valedictory for Jack's sake, and of course Icouldn't sacrifice that ambition for all the watch-fobs in thecatalogue. He wouldn't want one at that price. But I've found that I canpick out nuts and learn French verbs at the same time. If you and A. O. Will come up to the Dom. Sci. This afternoon at four thirty, and not letany of the other girls know, I'll let you scrape the kettle and eat thescraps that crumble from the corners when I cut the squares. But I cannot let any one in while I'm measuring and boiling. I couldn't afford tomake a mistake. "

Promptly at the time set, the girls tapped for admission, for there wasno denying the drawing qualities of Mary's wares. The pun was commonproperty in the school. 

"Elise, " said A. O. , pausing in her critical tasting, when they had beenat it some time. "I really believe that this is better than Huyler's hotfudge Sun-balls. And it is lots better than the candy that LieutenantLogan sent you last week. "

Elise made a face expressing both surprise and reproof. "Consideringthat you ate the lion's share of it, Miss Miggs, that speech is neitherpretty nor polite. "

"I wonder, " continued A. O. , paying no attention to her, "if theLieutenant knows what a public benefactor he is, when he sends youbon-bons and books and things. " She had enjoyed his many offerings toElise as much as the recipient and thought it wise to follow her firstspeech with a compliment. 

"Well, Agnes Olive, if you feel that you have profited so much by hisbenefactions, then you are not playing fair if you don't invite some ofus down to meet your 'special, ' when he comes next week. Mary, what doyou think? A. O. Has a _suitor_! A boy from home. He is to come nextweek, armed with a note from her 'fond payrents, ' giving him permissionto call. After talking about him all term and getting my curiosity up tofever heat about such a paragon as she makes him out to be, she blastsall my hopes by flatly refusing to let me meet him. Pig!" she made agrimace of mock disgust at A. O. 

"I wouldn't care, if you weren't such an awful tease, " admitted A. O. "But I know how you'll criticize him afterward. You'll make a byword ofeverything he said and quote it to me till kingdom come. _You_ know howit would be, don't you, Mary?" turning to her. "You wouldn't want hertaking notes on everything he said if you had a--a--a friend--"

"'Oh, call it by some better name, for friendship sounds too cold, '"interrupted Elise. 

"Well, I haven't any a--a--whatever it is Elise wants to call it, " saidMary, laughing. "I only wish I had. I've always thought it would be niceto have one, but I suppose I'll have to go to the end of my dayssinging: 'Every lassie has her laddie, Nane they say hae I. ' That hasalways seemed such a sad song to me. "

"Oh, oh!" cried Elise, perversely, who seemed to be in a mood forteasing everybody. She pointed an accusing spoon at her before puttingit back in her mouth. 

"What about Phil Tremont, I'd like to know! He saved her from an Indianonce, A. O. , out on the desert. It was dreadfully romantic. And when hewas best man at Eugenia Forbes's wedding, and Mary was flower girl, Marygot the shilling that was in the bride's cake. It was an old Englishshilling, coined in the reign of Bloody Mary, with Philip's and Mary'sheads on it. That is a sure sign they were meant for each other. Philsaid right out at the table before everybody that fate had ordered thathe should be the lucky man. Mary has that shilling this blessed minute, put away in her purse for a pocket piece, and she carries it everywhereshe goes. I saw it yesterday when she was looking in her purse for akey, and she got as red as--as red as she is this minute. "

Elise finished gleefully, elated with the success of her teasing. "My!How you are blushing, Mary. Look at her, A. O. " Her dark eyes twinkledmischievously as she sang in a meaning tone:

 "Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo'e mysel'. But what's his name or where's his hame I dinna choose to tell. "

"I'm not blushing, " protested Mary, hotly. "And it is silly to talk thatway when everybody knows that Phil Tremont never cared anything for anygirl except Lloyd Sherman. "

"Maybe not at one time, " insisted Elise. "And neither did LieutenantLogan care about any girl but my beloved sister Allison at one time. I'mnot mentioning names, but you know very well that she's not the one heis crazy about now. Just wait till fate brings you and Phil togetheragain. You'll probably meet him during the Christmas vacation if you goto New York. "

Mary made no answer, only thrust a knife under the edge of the candy inthe largest plate, as if her sole interest in life was testing itshardness. Then she spread out several sheets of paraffine paper with agreat show of indifference. It had its effect on Elise, and she promptlychanged her target back to A. O. There was no fun in teasing when herarrows made no impression. 

Usually A. O. Enjoyed it, but she had tangled herself in a web of her ownweaving lately, and for the last few days had been in terror lest Eliseshould find her out. Inspired by the picture of the handsome younglieutenant on Elise's desk, and not wanting to seem behind her room-matein romantic experiences, silly little A. O. Had drawn on her imaginationfor most of the confidences she gave in exchange. When Elise talked ofthe lieutenant, A. O. Talked of "Jimmy, " adding this trait and that graceuntil she had built up a beautiful ideal, but a being so different fromthe original on which she based her tales, that Jimmy himself wouldnever have recognized her dashing hero as the bashful fellow he wasaccustomed to confront in his mirror. 

He had carried her lunch basket when they went to school together, hehad patiently worked the sums on her slate with his big clumsy fingerswhen she cried over the mysteries of subtraction. Later, when shy andovergrown, and too bashful to speak his admiration, he had followed heraround at picnics and parties with a dog-like devotion that touched her. He had sent her valentines and Christmas cards, and at the last HighSchool commencement when the graduating exercises marked the parting oftheir ways, he had presented her with a photograph album bound incelluloid, with a bunch of atrociously gaudy pansies and forget-me-notspainted thereon. 

In matching stories with Elise, the album and his awkwardness and hisplodding embarrassed speech somehow slipped into the background, and itwas his devotion and his chivalry she enlarged upon. Elise, impressed byher hints and allusions, believed in the idealized Jimmy as thoroughlyas A. O. Intended she should. 

For several days A. O. Had been in a quandary, for her mother's lastletter had announced a danger which had never entered her thoughts asbeing imminent. "Jimmy Woods will be in Washington soon. He is going upwith his uncle, who has some business at the patent office. I have givenhim a note to Madam Chartley, granting him my permission to call on you. He is in an agony of apprehension over the trip to Warwick Hall. He isso afraid of meeting strange girls. But I tell him it will be good forhim. It is really amusing to see how interested everybody in town isover Jimmy's going. Do be kind to the poor fellow for the sake of yourold childish friendship, no matter if he does seem a bit countrified andodd. He is a dear good boy, and it would never do to let him feelslighted or unwelcome. "

When A. O. Read that, much as she liked Jimmy Woods, she wished that theground would open and swallow him before he could get to Washington, orelse that it had opened and swallowed her before she drew such a pictureof him for Elise to admire. There were only two ways out of the dilemmathat she could see: confession or a persistent refusal to let her seehim. She must not even be allowed to hang over the banister and watchhim pass through the hall, as she had proposed doing. 

The more she persisted in her refusal the more determined Elise was tosee him. A. O. Imagined she could feel herself growing thin and pale fromso much lying awake of nights to invent some excuse to circumvent her. If she only knew what day Jimmy was to be in Washington she couldarrange to meet him there. So she could plan a trip to the dentist withMiss Gilmer, the trained nurse, as chaperon. She wouldn't have mindedintroducing him to Elise if she had never painted him to her in suchglowing colours as her hero. She wished she hadn't told her it was Jimmywho was coming. She could have called him by his middle name, Gordon--Mr. Gordon, and passed him off as some ordinary acquaintance inwhom Elise could have no possible interest. 

It was a relief when Elise turned her attention to Mary's affairs, andwhen she saw that her turn was coming again, she set her teeth togethergrimly, determined to make no answer. 

Presently, to her surprise, Elise relapsed into silence, and stoodlooking out of the window, tapping on the kettle with her spoon in apreoccupied way. Then she laughed suddenly as if she saw somethingfunny, and being questioned, refused to give the reason. 

"I just thought of something, " she said, laughing again. "Something toofunny for words. I'll have to go now, " she added, as if the cause of hermysterious mirth was in some way responsible for her departure. 

"Thanks mightily for the candy, Mary. It's the best ever. You're goingto be overflowed with orders, I'm sure. Well, farewell friends andfellow citizens, I'll see you later. "

"What do you suppose it was that made her laugh so, " asked A. O. , suspiciously. "There's always some mischief brewing when she acts thatway. I don't dare leave her by herself a minute for fear she'll plotsomething against me. I'll have to be going, too, Mary. "

Left to herself, Mary began washing the utensils she had used. By thetime she had removed every trace of her candy-making, the confectionsset out on the window sill in the wintry air were firm and hard, allready to be wrapped in the squares of paraffine paper and packed in theboxes waiting for them. She whistled softly as she drew in the plates, but stopped with a start when she realized that it was Elise's song shewas echoing:

 "Amang the train there is a swain I dearly lo'e mysel'. "

"It must be awfully nice, " she mused, "to have somebody as devoted toyou as the Lieutenant is to Elise and Jimmy is to A. O. If I were A. O. Iwouldn't care if the whole school came down to meet him. I'd _want_ themto see him. I made up my mind at Eugenia's wedding that it was safer tobe an old maid, but I'd hate to be one without ever having had an'affair' like other girls. It must be lovely to be called the Queen ofHearts like Lloyd, and to have such a train of admirers as Mister Roband Mister Malcolm and Phil and all the others. "

There was a wistful look in the gray eyes that peered dreamily out ofthe window into the gathering dusk of the December twilight. But it wasnot the wintry landscape that she saw. It was a big boyish figure, cake-walking in the little Wigwam kitchen. A handsome young fellowturning in the highroad to wave his hat with a cheery swing to thedisconsolate little girl who was flapping a farewell to him with her oldwhite sunbonnet. And then the same face, older grown, smiling at herthrough the crowds at the Lloydsboro Valley depot, as he came to herwith outstretched hands, exclaiming, "Good-bye, little Vicar! Think ofthe Best Man whenever you look at the Philip on your shilling. "

She was thinking of him now so intently that she lost count of thepieces she had packed into the box she was filling with the squares ofsweets, and had to empty them all out and begin again. But as sherecalled other scenes, especially the time she had overheard aconversation not intended for her about a turquoise he was offeringLloyd, she said to herself, "He is for Lloyd. They are just made foreach other, and I am glad that the nicest man I ever knew happens tolike the dearest girl in the world. And I hope if there ever should be'a swain amang the train' for me, he'll be as near like him as possible. I don't know where I'd ever meet him, though. Certainly not here andmost positively not in Lone-Rock. "

"Not like other girls, " she laughed presently, recalling the title ofthe book Ethelinda was reading. "That fits me exactly. No Lieutenant, noJimmy, and no birthstone ring, and no prospect of ever having any. But Idon't care--much. The candy is a success and Jack is going to have hisbloodstone fob. "

With her arms piled full of boxes, she started down to her room. As sheopened the door a burst of music came floating out from the gymnasiumwhere the carol-singers were practising for the yearly service. This onewas a new carol to her. She did not know the words, but to the swingingmeasures other words fitted themselves; some lines which she had readthat morning in a magazine. She sang them softly in time with thecarol-singers as she went on down the stairs:

 "For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill And come not by the far sea way, _yet come he surely will_. Close all the roads of all the world, _love's road is open still_. "

CHAPTER VI

JACK'S WATCH-FOB

Elise spent Saturday and Sunday in Washington with the Claiborne family, and A. O. Almost prayed that Jimmy would make his visit in her absence. On her return she had so much to tell that she did not mention his name, and A. O. Hoped that he was forgotten. All Monday afternoon she wentaround in a flutter of nervousness, "feeling in her bones" that Jimmywould be there that night, and afraid that Elise would find some way inwhich to carry out her threat of seeing him at all hazards. One of theways she had suggested trying, was to sound a burglar or a fire alarm, so that every one would rush out into the hall. But when the dreadedmoment actually arrived and A. O. Stood in the middle of the floor withhis card in her hand, Elise merely looked up from her book with aprovoking grin. 

"Oh, haven't I had you going for the last week!" she exclaimed. "Reallymade you believe that I wanted to see your dear Jimmy-boy! A. O. , youare dead easy! I haven't had so much fun out of anything for ages. "

Almost giddy with the sense of relief, A. O. Hurried away, leaving Eliseporing over her French lesson. At the lower landing she paused to tearJimmy's card to atoms and drop them in a waste basket which was standingthere. Even his card might betray him, for it was not an elegant correctbit of engraved board like the Lieutenant's. It was a large square cardinscribed by a professional penman; the kind who sets up stands onstreet corners or in convenient doorways, and executes showy scrolls andtendrils in the way of initial letters "while you wait. "

As the door closed behind A. O. , Elise sent her book flying across theroom, and the next moment was groping under the bed for a dress-boxwhich she had hidden there. A blond wig that she had bought while inWashington for next week's tableaux tumbled out first, with a motleycollection of borrowed articles, which she had been at great pains toprocure. 

Laughing so that she could hardly dress, Elise began to make a hurriedchange. Five minutes later she stood before the glass completelydisguised. Cornie Dean's long black skirt trailed around her. A. O. 'sown jacket fitted her snugly, with Margaret Elwood's new black featherboa, which had just been sent her from home, hiding the cut of itsfamiliar collar. Jane Ridgeway's second best spectacles covered hermischievous eyes, and a black veil was draped over the small toque andblond hair in such a way that its broad band of crape hid the lower partof her face. As a finishing touch a piece of gold-leaf, pressed overpart of an upper front tooth, gave the effect of a large gold filling, whenever she smiled. 

She had provided herself with a pair of black gloves, but at the lastmoment the left-hand glove could not be found. When all her franticoverturnings failed to bring it to light, she gave up the search, notwanting to lose any more valuable time. The little flat feather muffwhich went with the boa would hide the fact that she had only one glove. Thrusting her bare hand into it, she stopped for only one thing more, ablack bordered card, which bore the name in old English type, _Mrs. Robertson Redmond_. It was one which had been sent up to her by one ofher mother's friends, who called at the Claiborne's, and was partlyresponsible for this disguise. It had suggested the black veil with thecrape border. 

Dodging past several open doors she reached the south corridor in safetyand raising the window that opened on a back court, she stepped out onthe fire escape. Cornie's long skirt nearly tripped her, and it was noeasy matter to cling to the rounds of the iron ladder, with a muff inone hand and her skirts constantly wrapping around her. Luckily she hadonly one flight to descend. Stopping a moment to smooth her ruffledplumage and get her breath, she walked around to the front of the house, climbed the steps, and boldly lifted the great knocker. 

It was a dark, cold night, and the sudden appearance of a lady on thedoorstep, so far from the station, astonished the footman who opened thedoor. He had heard no sound of wheels, and he peered out past her, expecting to see some manly escort emerge from the night. None came. Butshe was unmistakably a lady, and her mourning costume seemed to furnishthe necessary credentials. When she handed him a black-bordered card andasked for Miss Mary Ware of Arizona, with an air of calm assurance andwith the broadest of English accents, he bowed obsequiously and usheredher into the drawing room. 

In the far end of it Herr Vogelbaum was talking lustily in German to twoyoung men, evidently fellow musicians. Otherwise it was deserted, except for A. O. , and a bashful, overgrown boy of seventeen, who satopposite her on a chair far too low for him. It gave him the effect ofsprawling, and he was constantly drawing in his long legs and thrustingthem out again. The teacher who was to be drawing room chaperon for theevening had not yet come down. 

The lady in black glided into the room with the air of being so absorbedin her own affairs that she looked upon the other occupants as she didthe furniture. Without even a direct glance at the young people in thecorner she swept up to a chair within a few feet of them and sat down towait. Jimmy, in the midst of some tale about a prank that the HighSchool Invincibles had played on a rival base-ball team, faltered, grewconfused and finished haltingly. For all her spectacles and crape thegolden haired stranger was fascinatingly young and pretty. 

A. O. Was provoked that her visitor should show to such disadvantage evenbefore this unknown lady who apparently was taking no notice of them. But when he paused she could think of nothing to say herself for amoment or two. Then, to break the silence which was growing painful, sheplunged into an account of one of the last escapades of her wickedroom-mate, whom she pictured as a most fascinating, but a desperatelyreckless creature. It was funny, the way she told it, and it sent Jimmyoff into a spasm of mirth. But she would almost rather have bitten hertongue out than to have caused Jimmy to explode in that wild bray of alaugh. He slapped his knee repeatedly, and doubled up as if he couldlaugh no longer, only to break out in a second bray, louder than thefirst. It made the gentlemen in the other end of the room look aroundinquiringly. 

A. O. Was so mortified she could have cried. Jimmy, feeling the instantchange in her manner, and not able to account for it, grew selfconscious and ill at ease. The conversation flagged, and presentlystopped for such a long time that the lady in black turned a slow glancein their direction. 

Meanwhile, Mary Ware, up in the Domestic Science room, was anxiouslywatching a kettle which refused to come to the proper boiling point, where it could be safely left. What was to be the last batch of herChristmas candy was in that kettle, for she had emptied the last poundof Mexican sugar into it. If it wasn't cooked exactly right it wouldturn to sugar again when it was cold, and not be of the properconsistency to hold the nuts together. She did not know what effect itmight have on the mixture to set it off the fire while she went down toreceive her unknown visitor, and then bring it to the boiling pointagain after it had once grown cold. She was afraid to run any risks. Ifthe watch-fob was to reach Jack on time, it would have to be started onits way in a few days, and on the success of this last lot of candydepended the getting of the last few dollars necessary to its purchase. She wished that she had ordered more of the sugar in the first place. There wouldn't be time now. She had twice as many orders as she had beenable to fill. It would have been so delightful to have gone shoppingwith a whole pocket full of money which she had earned herself. 

She looked at the clock and then back again at the black-bordered cardon the table. "Mrs. Robertson Redmond. " She had never heard of her. Burning with curiosity, she tried to imagine what possible motive thestranger had for calling. It was unpardonable that a mere school-girlshould keep a lady waiting so long; a lady in mourning, too, who sinceshe could not be making social calls, must have a very important reasonfor coming. Fidgeting with impatience she bent over the kettle, testingthe hot liquid once more by dropping a spoonful into a cup of coldwater. Still it refused to harden. Finally with a despairing sigh sheslipped off her apron and turned down the gas so low that only a thinblue circle of flame flickered under the kettle. "In that way it can'tboil over and it can't get cold, " she thought. Then she washed her handsand hurried down to the drawing room. 

Until that moment she had forgotten that A. O. Was there with her"suitor, " but one hasty glance was all she had time to give him. Thetall lady in black was rising from her chair, was trailing forward tomeet her, was exclaiming in that low full voice which had so impressedthe footman. "Ah! Joyce Ware's own little sister! You've probably neverheard of me, dear, but I've heard of _you_, often. And I knew that Joycewould want me to take back some message direct from you, so I just cameout to-night for a glimpse. "

Not giving the bewildered Mary opportunity to speak a word, she drew herto a seat beside her and went on rapidly, talking about Joyce and thesuccess she was making in New York, and the many friends she had amongfamous people. Mary grew more and more bewildered. She had not heardthat at the studio receptions which Joyce and her associates in the flatgave fortnightly, that all these world-known artists and singers andwriters were guests. It was strange Joyce had never mentioned them. ButMrs. Redmond named them all so glibly and familiarly, that she could notdoubt her. 

Almost petrified at seeing Mary walk into the room, A. O. Had relapsedinto a silence which she could not break. Jimmy, too, sat tongue-tied, staring in fascination at the strange blonde lady whose fluent, softlymodulated speech seemed to exert some kind of hypnotic influence overhim. Even through Mary's absorbing interest in Mrs. Robertson Redmond'stales, came the consciousness that A. O. And her friend were sittingthere, perfectly dumb, and she stole a curious glance in theirdirection, wondering why. 

"And I have just learned, " said Mrs. Redmond, her gold tooth gleamingthrough her smile, "overheard it, in fact, quite by accident, that adear little friend of mine is in the school--General Walton's youngestdaughter, Elise. I should be so glad to see her also this evening. Ishould have sent up a card for her, too, had I known. Would it be toomuch trouble for you to send word to her now?"

A. O. Blushed furiously, knowing full well how and where the stranger hadoverheard that Elise was in the school. She tried frantically to recalljust what it was she had said about her, in her endeavour to amuseJimmy. Something extravagant, she knew, or he would not have laughed sohorribly loud. 

As Mary rose to send the message to Elise the lady dropped her muff. They both stooped to pick it up. Mary was first to reach it, and as shegave it back two things met her astonished gaze. On the little finger ofthe bare hand held out for the muff shone the agate that none butMacIntyres had owned since the days of Malcolm the Second. And throughthe parted lips, where an instant before a gold-crowned tooth hadgleamed, shone only perfect little white teeth, with not a glint ofdentist's handiwork about them. The gold-leaf had slipped off. 

Mary gasped, but before the others had a chance to see her amazed face, the lady had risen and linked her arm through hers, and was drawing hertowards the door, saying. "Let me go with you. I am sure that Elise willnot mind receiving such a very old friend as I am up in her room. "

Although the lady in black clung to her, shaking hysterically withrepressed laughter, behind her crape-bordered veil, it was not till theyhad passed the footman, climbed the stairs and paused at Elise's doorthat Mary was sure of the identity of her guest. The disguise had beenso complete that she could not believe the evidence of her own eyes, until the blond wig was torn off and the spectacles laid aside. ThenElise threw herself across her bed, laughing until she gasped forbreath. Her mirth was so contagious that Mary joined in, laughing alsountil she was weak and breathless, and could only cling to the bedpost, wiping her eyes. 

"And wasn't Jimmy a whole menagerie!" Elise exclaimed as soon as shecould speak. "You should have been there to have heard him howl and tearhis hair at something A. O. Told him about me. And I sat there with aperfectly straight face through the whole of it, while she made updreadful things about me. I'm going away off in the pasture to-morrowand practise that bray all by myself till I can do it to perfection. Then when A. O. Begins to sing his praises again, I won't say a word. I'll just give her Jimmy's laugh. Won't she be astonished? She's boundto recognize it, for it's the only one of its kind in the world. I shallkeep her guessing until after Christmas, where I heard it. "

"Don't _you_ tell her till then!" she exclaimed, sitting up on the sideof the bed. "She would be so furious she wouldn't speak to me. But afterthe holidays, it won't be so fresh in her mind. Promise you won't tellher. "

Still laughing, Mary promised, and Elise began to gather up the variousarticles of her disguise, saying, "It was worth a five-pound box ofchocolates to hear her describe me as a reckless scape-grace in thatsorority racket we had. "

The mention of candy had the effect of an electric shock on Mary. "Mercy!" she cried. "I forgot all about that stuff I left upstairs. "

Instantly sobered, she hurried away to its rescue. She had intended togo down only long enough to discover the caller's errand, and thenexcuse herself until the candy could be safely left. But more than aquarter of an hour had gone by. Somewhere about the premises, and forsome reason unknown to her, a greater pressure of gas had been turnedon, and the thin blue flame under the kettle had shot up to a fullblazing ring. A smell of burnt sugar greeted her as she opened the door. There was no need to look into the kettle. She knew before she did sothat the candy was burnt black, and Jack's fob no longer attainable. 

Her first impulse was to run to Betty for comfort. It would be easyenough to borrow the money she needed from her, and pay her back afterthe holidays, but--a sober second thought stopped her. Probably thegirls wouldn't want her candy then. Each of the boxes had been orderedas a special Christmas offering for some relative with a well-knownsweet tooth. And Mary had a horror of debt, that was part of herheritage from her grandfather Ware. It was his frequent remark that "whogoes a-borrowing goes a-sorrowing, " and it lay heavy on the conscienceof every descendant of his who stepped aside even for a moment from thepath of his teachings. She felt that it would be dishonest to send Jacka present that wasn't fully paid for, and yet the disappointment of notbeing able to send it was so deep, that she could not keep the tearsback. They splashed down like rain into the kettle as she scraped awayat the scorched places on the bottom. 

It was a long time before she went back to her room. Ethelinda looked upcuriously. 

"Where's your candy?" she asked. 

"Spoiled. It scorched and I had to throw it out. " Her face was turnedaway, under pretence of searching for a book, but her voice was subduedand not altogether steady. 

"Too bad, " was the indifferent answer, and Ethelinda went on with herlesson, but presently a faint sniff made her glance up to see that Marywas not studying, only staring at her book with big tears droppingquietly on the page. In all the weeks they had been together she hadnever seen Mary in this mood before, and it seemed as strange that sheshould be crying as that rain should drop from a cloudless sky. 

The sight of Mary in trouble awakened a feeling that seldom came to thesurface in Ethelinda. She felt moved to pick her up and comfort her andput her out of harm's way as she would have done to a helpless littlekitten. But she did not know how to begin. Naturally undemonstrative, any expression of sympathy was hard for her to make. They had grown intovery friendly relations this last month. Warwick Hall had widenedEthelinda's horizon, until she was able to take an interest in manythings now outside of her own narrow self-centred circle. 

As they started to undress she managed to ask, "Well, have you sent forthat watch-fob yet?"

Mary shook her head, trying hard to swallow a sob, as she bent over anopen bureau drawer. "I've decided not to order it. "

Then Ethelinda, putting two and two together, guessed the reason. IfMary could have known how long she lay awake that night, devising somescheme to help her out of her difficulty, she would not have been sosurprised next morning when a hesitating voice spoke up from theopposite bed, just after the rising bell. 

"Mary, will you promise not to get mad and throw things at me if I askyou something?" She went on hurriedly, for they both recalled a scenewhen such a thing had happened. She felt she had blundered by alludingto it. 

"I wouldn't dare ask it at all if I didn't know that you had failed withyour candy, and might want to raise your Christmas funds some other way. No, I guess I'd better not ask you, after all. It might make youfurious. "

Mary sat up in bed, not only curious to know what it is Ethelinda wasafraid to ask, but wondering at her hesitancy. Heretofore she hadstopped at nothing; the most cutting allusions to Mary's appearance, behaviour and friends. They had both been appallingly frank at times. Their growing friendship seemed to thrive on this outspokenness. 

"Oh, go on!" begged Mary. "I'd rather you'd make me furious than to keepme so curious, and I'll give you my word of honour I won't get mad. "

"Well, then, " began Ethelinda, slowly, "you know I had such a cold lastweek when the hair-dresser came, that I couldn't have my usual shampoo, and she always charges a dollar when she makes an extra trip just forone head. She wouldn't come this week anyhow, no matter how much I paidher, because she is so busy, and I simply must have my hair washedbefore the night of the tableaux. So I thought--if you didn't mind doinga thing like that--for me--you might as well have the dollar. "

There was a pause. A long one. Ethelinda knew that Mary was recallingher speech about a lady's maid, and felt that the silence, so long andoppressive, was ominous. If she had asked it as a favour, Mary would nothave hesitated an instant. The other girls often played barber for eachother, making a frolic out of the affair. But for _Ethelinda_, and for_money_! That made a menial task of it, and her pride rose up in arms atthe thought. 

"Now you _are_ mad! I knew you'd be!" came in anxious tones from theother bed. "I wish I had kept my mouth shut. "

"No, I'm not, " asserted Mary, stoutly. "I'm making up my mind. I wasjust thinking that you wouldn't do it if you were in my place, and Iwouldn't do it to keep myself from starving, if it were just for myself, but it's for _Jack_. I'd get down and black the shoes of my worst enemyfor Jack, and under the circumstances, I'm very glad to accept youroffer, and I think it is very sweet of you to give me such a chance. Youshall have the best shampoo in my power to give as soon as you are readyfor it. "

Later, she paused in her dressing, thinking maybe she had not beengracious enough in expressing her appreciation, and said emphatically, "Ethelinda, that was awfully good of you to think of a way to help meout of my difficulty. Last night I was so down in the dumps, and sodisappointed over Jack's Christmas present, that I thought I never couldsmile again. But now I'm so sure it is coming out all right that I am aslight-hearted as a bit of thistledown. "

Ethelinda made some trivial reply, but immediately began to hum in ahappy undertone. She was feeling surprisingly light-hearted herself. Therôle of benefactor was an unusual one, and she enjoyed the sensation. 

For all her appreciative speeches, Mary approached her task thatafternoon with inward reluctance. Only a grim determination to do herbest to earn that dollar was her motive at first, and she helped herselfby imagining it was the Princess Winsome's sunny hair which she waslathering and rubbing so vigorously. Ethelinda closed her eyes, enjoying the touch of the light fingers, and wishing the operationcould be prolonged indefinitely. Somehow this intimate, personal contactseemed to create a friendliness for each other they had never knownbefore. Presently Mary was chatting away almost as cordially as if itwere Elise's dusky curls she had in her fingers, or A. O. 's brown braids. 

Under promise of secrecy she told of Elise's masquerade the nightbefore, and of A. O. 's wild curiosity about the lady in black. She hadpersecuted them all morning with questions, and they were almost wornout trying to evade them and to baffle her. Ethelinda appreciated beingtaken into her confidence, for she had been more lonely than her pridewould allow her to admit. Her patronizing airs and ill-guarded speechabout being exclusive in the choice of friends had offended most of thelower-class girls. Slowly she was learning that her old standards wouldnot bear comparison with Madam Chartley's and the Lady Evelyn's and thatshe must accept theirs if she would have any friends at Warwick Hall. Her friendship with Mary took a long stride forward that afternoon. 

The rest of the money came in various ways. Mary found appropriatequotations for a set of unique dinner cards, to fit the pen and inkillustrations which one of the Seniors bought to give her sister, aprominent club-woman, whose turn it was to give the yearly club dinner. She did some indexing for the librarian and some copying for MissChilton, and by the end of the week not only was Jack's fob on its wayto Arizona, with presents for the rest of the family, but there wasenough left in her purse to pay her share towards the mock Christmastree. 

It gave her a thrill to think that out of the entire school she had beenchosen as one of the committee of nine for the delightful task of tyingup the parcels for that tree. It was such bliss to share all the secretsand anticipate the surprise and laughter each ridiculous gift would callforth. And when all the joking and rollicking was over there was thecarol service on the last night of the term, so sweet and solemn andfull of the real Christmas gladness, that it was something to rememberalways as the crowning beauty of that beautiful time. 

Old Bishop Chartley came down as usual for the service, and the chapel, fragrant with pine and spicy cedar boughs and lighted only by tall whitecandles, was just as Lloyd had described it, when she told of theBishop's talk about keeping the White Feast on the birthday of the King. When the great doors swung wide for the white-robed choir to enter, Mary knew that it was only the Dardell twins leading in the processionalwith flute and cornet. But as they came slowly up the dim aisle underthe arches of Christmas greens, their wide, flowing sleeves falling backfrom their arms, they made her think of two of Fra Angelico'strumpet-blowing angels, and she clasped her hands with a quick indrawingof breath. The high silvery flute notes and the mellow alto of the deephorn were like the voices of the Seraphim, leading all the others intheir pean of "Glad tidings of great joy. " Oh, it was good to be at aschool like this she thought with a throb of deep thankfulness. And itwas so good to know that all her plans had worked out happily, and herChristmas gifts for the girls were just what she wanted them to be. Herthoughts strayed away from the service a moment to recall the littlebundles she had hidden in Elise's and A. O. 's suit-cases, and the packageshe had ready for Ethelinda, a prettily scalloped linen cover for herdressing-table with her initials, worked in handsome block letters inthe centre. 

No regrets clouded her face next morning, when she stood at the door, watching the last 'bus load of merry girls start home for the holidays. She was not going home herself. Arizona was too far away. But she hadsomething more thrilling than that in prospect--a visit to Joyce in NewYork, she and Betty, and Christmas day with Eugenia, at the beautifulTremont home out on the Hudson. She had been hearing about it for thelast two years. And there was Eugenia's baby she was eager to see, themischievous little year-old Patricia, "as beautiful as her father and asbad as her naughty Uncle Phil, " Eugenia had written, in her letter ofinvitation. 

And Phil himself would be there, --_maybe_. He was trying to get his workin shape so that he could be home at Christmas time. Mary did notrealize how much her anticipations of this visit were tinged by the glowof that maybe. Her thoughts ran ahead to that day at Eugenia's oftenerthan to any other part of the grand outing. There was to be a whole weekof sight-seeing in New York sandwiched in between the cozy hours at homewith Joyce in her studio, and then on the roundabout way back to schoola stop-over at Annapolis, for a few hours with Holland. 

Filled with such an ineffable spirit of content that she would not haveexchanged places with any one in the whole world, she watched the last'bus load drive away, waving their handkerchiefs all down the avenue, and singing:

 "O Warwick Hall, dear Warwick Hall, The joys of Yule now homeward call. Yet still we'll keep the tryst with you, Though for a time we say adieu. Adieu! Adieu!"

[Illustration: "THE GIRLISH FIGURE ENVELOPED IN A LONG LOOSE WORKINGAPRON. "]

CHAPTER VII

IN JOYCE'S STUDIO

The short winter day was almost at an end. High up in the top flat of aNew York apartment house, Joyce Ware sat in her studio, making the mostof those last few moments of daylight. In the downstairs flats theelectric lights were already on. She moved her easel nearer the window, thankful that no sky-scraper loomed between it and the fading sunset, for she needed a full half hour to complete her work. 

There were a number of good pictures on the walls, among them somereally fine old Dutch interiors, but any artist would have turned fromthe best of them to study the picture silhouetted against the westernwindow. The girlish figure enveloped in a long loose working apron wasall in shadow, but the light, slanting across the graceful head bendingtowards the easel, touched the brown hair with glints of gold, and gavethe profile of the earnest young face, the distinctive effect of aRembrandt portrait. 

Wholly unconscious of the fact, Joyce plied her brush with capablepractised fingers, so absorbed in her task that she heard nothing of theclang and roar of the streets below, seething with holiday traffic. Theelevator opposite her door buzzed up and down unheeded. She did not evennotice when it stopped on her floor, and some one walked across thecorridor with a heavy tread. But the whirr of her door bell brought herto herself with a start, and she looked up impatiently, half inclined topay no attention to the interruption. Then thinking it might be somebusiness message which she could not afford to delay, she hurried to thedoor, brush and palette still in hand. 

"Why, Phil Tremont!" she exclaimed, so surprised at sight of the tallyoung man who filled the doorway that she stood for an instant inopen-mouthed wonder. "Where did _you_ drop from? I thought you were inthe wilds of Oregon or some such borderland. Come in. "

"I got in only a few hours ago, " he answered, following her down thehall and into the studio. "I have only been in town long enough to makemy report at the office. I'm on my way out to Stuart's to spendChristmas with him and Eugenia, but I couldn't resist the temptation ofstaying over a train to run in and take a peep at you. It has beennearly six months, you know, since I've had such a chance. "

Joyce went back to her easel, as he slipped off his overcoat. "Don'tthink that because I keep on working that I'm not delighted to see you, but my orders are like time and tide. They wait for no man. This must befinished and out of the house to-night, and I've not more than fifteenminutes of good daylight left. So just look around and make yourself athome and take my hospitable will for the deed till I get through. In themeantime you can be telling me all about yourself. "

"There's precious little to tell, no adventures of any kind--just theplain routine of business. But _you've_ had changes, " he added, lookingaround the room with keen interest. "This isn't much like the bare barnof a place I saw you in last. You must have struck oil. Have you taken apartner?"

"Several of them, " she replied, "although I don't know whether theyshould be called partners or boarders or adopted waifs. They are allthree of these things in a way. It began with two people who sat at thesame table with me those first miserable months when I was boarding. Onewas a little cheerful wren of a woman from a little Western town, aMrs. Boyd. That is, she is cheerful now. Then she was like a bird in acage, pining to death for the freedom she had been accustomed to, andmoping on her perch. She came to New York to bring her niece, Lucy, whois all she has to live for. Some art teacher back home told her thatLucy is a genius--has the makings of a great artist in her, and theybelieved it. She'll never get beyond fruit-pieces and maybe a dab atchina-painting, but she's happy in the hope that she'll be aworld-wonder some day. Neither of them have a practical bone in theirbody, whereas I have always been a sort of Robinson Crusoe at furnishingup desert islands. 

"So I proposed to these two castaways that we go in together and make ahome to suit ourselves. We were so dead tired of boarding. About thattime we picked up Henry, and as Henry has a noble bank account we wentinto the project on a more lavish scale than we could have doneotherwise. "

"_Henry!_" ejaculated Phil, who was watching the silhouette against thewindow with evident pleasure. 

"Yes, Miss Henrietta Robbins, a bachelor maid of some--well, I won'ttell how many summers, but she's 'past the freakish bounds of youth, 'and a real artist. She's studied abroad, and she's done things worthwhile. That group of fishermen on the Normandy coast is hers, " noddingtowards the opposite wall, "and that old woman peeling apples, and thosethree portraits. Oh, she's the real thing, and a constant inspiration tome. And she's brought so much towards the beautifying of our Crusoecastle: all these elegant Persian rugs, and those four "old masters, "and the bronzes and the teakwood carvings--you can see for yourself. Lucy wasn't quite satisfied with the room at first. She missed thefish-net draperies and cozy corners and the usual clap-trap of amateurstudios. But she's educated up to it now, and it's a daily joy to me. Onthe other hand my broiled steaks and feather-weight waffles andfirst-class coffee are a joy to poor Henry, who can't even boil an eggproperly, and who hasn't the first instinct of home-making. "

"You don't mean to say that you do the cooking for this happy family!"

Joyce laughed at his surprised tone. "That's what makes it a happyfamily. No domestic service problems. With a gas range, a firelesscooker and all the conveniences of our little kitchenette, it's mereplay after my Wigwam experiences. We have a woman come several times aweek to clean and do extras, so I don't get more exercise than I need tokeep me in good condition. "

"But doesn't all this devotion to the useful interfere with your pursuitof the beautiful? Where do you find time for your art?"

"Oh, my art is all useful, " sighed Joyce. "I used to dream of greatthings to come, but I've come down to earth now--practical designing. Magazine covers and book plates and illustrating. I can do things likethat and it is work I love, and work that pays. Of course I'd _rather_do Madonnas than posters, but since the pot must boil I am glad thereare book-covers to be done. And _some_ day--well, I may not always haveto stay tied to the earth. My wings are growing, in the shape of acallow bank account. When it is full-fledged, then I shall take to mydreams again. Already Henry and I are talking of a flight abroadtogether, to study and paint. In two years more I can make it, if allgoes well. "

The striking of a clock made her glance up, exclaiming over the latenessof the hour. "Phil, " she asked, "would you mind telephoning down to thestation to find out if that Washington train is on time? That's a goodboy. That little sister of mine will think the sky has fallen if I'm notat the station to meet her. "

"You don't mean to tell me that _Mary_ is on her way here, " exclaimedPhil, as he rose to do her bidding. "Then I certainly have something tolive for. Her first impressions of New York will be worth hearing. " Hescanned the pages of the telephone directory for the number he wanted. 

"Yes, she and Betty are to spend their vacation with me. We are goingout to Eugenia's to-morrow afternoon to spend Christmas eve and part ofChristmas day. "

"Then that was the surprise that Eugenia wrote about, " said Phil, takingout his watch. "She wouldn't tell what it was, but said that it would beworth my while to come. Yes, the train is on time. "

He hung up the receiver. "I won't be able to wait for it, if I get outto Eugenia's for dinner, but I can see you safely to the station on myway. It is about time we were starting if you expect to reach it. "

Joyce made a final dab at her picture, dropped the brush and hurriedinto the next room for her wraps. It seemed to Phil that he had scarcelyturned around till she was back again, hatted and gloved. The artist inthe long apron had given place to a stylish tailor-made girl in a brownstreet-suit. Phil looked down at her approvingly as they stepped outinto the wintry air together. 

The great show windows were ablaze with lights by this time, and therush of the crowds almost took her off her feet. Phil at her elbowpiloted her along to a corner where they were to take a car. 

"I'm glad that I happened along to take you under my wing, " he said. "You ought not to be out alone on the streets at night. "

"It isn't six o'clock yet, " she answered. "And this is the first timethat I had no escort arranged for. Mrs. Boyd always comes with me. She'slittle and meek, but her white hair counts for a lot. She would havegone to the station with me, but she and Lucy are dining out. We girlswill be all alone to-night. I wish they were not expecting you out atEugenia's to dinner. I'd take you back with me. I have prepared quite acompany spread, things that you especially like. "

"There's a telephone out to the place, " he suggested. "I could easilylet them know if I missed my train, and I could easily miss it--if myinvitation were pressing enough. "

"Then _do_ miss it, " she insisted, smiling up at him so cordially thathe laughed and said in a complacent tone, "We'll consider it done. I'lltelephone Eugenia from the station, that I'll not be out till morning. Really, " he added a moment later, "it will be more like a sure-enoughhome-coming to come back to you and that little chatterbox of a Marythan to go out to my brother's. Eugenia is a dear, but I've never knownher except as a bride or a dignified young matron, so of course we haveno youthful experiences in common to hark back to together. That is thevery back-bone of a family reunion in my opinion. Now that year inArizona, when you all took me in as one of yourselves, is about all thatI can remember of real home-life, and somehow, when I think of home, itis the Wigwam that I see, and the good cheer and the jolly times that Ialways found there. "

Joyce looked up again, touched and pleased. "I'm so glad that you feelthat way, for we always count you in, right after Jack and the littleboys. Mamma always speaks of you as 'my other' boy, and as for Mary, shequotes you on all occasions, and thinks you are very near perfection. She is going to be so delighted when she sees you, that I'd not be a bitsurprised if she should jump up and down and squeal, right in thestation. "

The mention of this old habit of Mary's brought up to each of them themental picture of the child, as she had looked on various occasions whenher unbounded pleasure was forced to find expression in that way. Inthe year that Joyce had been away from her she had been in her thoughtsoftener as that quaint little creature of eight, than the sixteen-yearold school girl she had grown into. 

Phil, too, accustomed to thinking of Mary as he had known her at theWigwam, could hardly believe he saw aright, when the train pulled in andshe flew down the steps to throw her arms around Joyce. It was the same, lovable, eager little face that looked up into his, the same impetuousunspoiled child, yet a second glance left him puzzled. There was someintangible change he could not label, and it interested him to try toanalyze it. 

She was taller, of course, almost as tall as Joyce, with skirts almostas long, but it was not that which impressed him with the sense ofchange. It was a certain girlish winsomeness, something elusive, whichcannot be defined, but which lends a charm like nothing else in all theworld to the sweet unfolding of early maidenhood. 

If Phil had been asked to describe the girl that Mary would grow into, he never would have pictured this development. He expected her desertexperiences to give her a strong forceful character. She would be likethe pioneer women of early times, he imagined; rugged and energetic andfull of resources. But he had not expected this gentleness of manner, this unconscious dignity and a certain poise that reminded him of--hewas puzzled to think of what it _did_ remind him. Later, it came to him, as he continued to watch her. Not for naught had Mary set up a shrine toher idolized Princess Winsome and striven to grow like her in every waypossible. Not in feature, of course, but often in manner there was afleeting, shadowy undefinable something that recalled her. 

In her younger days she would have appropriated Phil as her rightfulaudience, and would have swung along beside him, amusing him with heroriginal and unsolicited opinions of everything they passed. But astrange shyness seized her when she looked up and saw how much older hewas in reality than he had been in her recollections. She had no answerready when he began his accustomed teasing. Instead she clung to Joycewhen they left the street-car, leaving Betty to walk with Phil as theythreaded their way through the crowded thoroughfares. It was so good tobe with her again, and as they hurried along she squeezed the arm linkedin hers to emphasize her delight. 

For the time, Joyce found no change in her, for with child-like abandonshe exclaimed over the strange sights. "Oh, Joyce! Snow!" she cried, when a falling flake brushed her face. "After all these years oforange-blossoms and summer sun at Christmas, how good it seems to havereal old Santa Claus weather! I can almost see the reindeer and smellthe striped peppermint and pop-corn. And oh, _oh_! look at thatshop-window. It is positively dazzling! And the racket--" she put herhands over her ears an instant. "I feel that I've never really heard aloud noise till now. "

Joyce laughed indulgently, and stopped with her whenever she wanted togaze in at some particularly attractive show window. When they reachedthe flat, Mary still kept near her, "tagging after her, " as she wouldhave expressed it in her earlier days, so much like the little sister ofthat time, that Joyce still failed to see how much she had changedduring their separation. 

"You see it's just like a doll-house, " Joyce said as she led themthrough the tiny rooms on a tour of inspection. "All except the studio. We had a partition taken out and two rooms thrown together for that. Nowthe company will have to go in there and entertain themselves while Iput the finishing touches to the dinner. The kitchenette will only holdone at a time. "

Betty and Phil obediently went into the studio to renew theiracquaintance of two years before, begun at Eugenia's wedding, andwandered around the room looking at the various specimen's of Joyce'shandicraft pinned about on the walls. One of the first pauses was beforea sketch of Lloyd, done from memory, a little wash drawing of her. Mary, standing in the doorway, heard Phil say, "Tell me about her, Miss Betty. She writes so seldom that I can only imagine her conquests. "

For a moment Mary watched him, as he studied the sketch intently. Thenshe turned away to the kitchenette to help Joyce, thinking how lovely itmust be to have a handsome man like that bend over your picture soadoringly, and speak of you in such a fashion. 

It was a merry little dinner party, and afterwards it was almost likeold times at the Wigwam, for Phil insisted on helping wipe the dishes, and was so boyish and jolly with his teasing reminiscences that shealmost forgot her new awe of him. But afterward when they sat around thewoodfire in the studio ("a piece of Henry's much enjoyed extravagance, "Joyce explained, "and only lighted on gala occasions like this") theywere suddenly all grown up and serious again. Joyce talked about herwork, and the friends she had made among editors and illustrators, andambitious workaday people whose acquaintance was both a delight and aninspiration. It was Henrietta who brought them to the studio, along withthe Persian rugs and the "old masters, " and Joyce could never get donebeing thankful that she had found such a friend in the beginning of hercareer. 

Phil told of his work too, and his travels, and in the friendly shadowscast by the flickering firelight talked intimately of his plans andambitions, and what he hoped ultimately to achieve. 

Betty confessed shyly some of her hopes and dreams, warranted now, bythe success of several short flights in essay writing and verse, andthen Phil said laughingly, "Do you remember what Mary's dearest wishused to be? How we roared the day she gravely informed us that it washer highest ambition to be 'the toast of two continents, ' Is it stillthat, Mary?"

"No, " she answered, laughing with the rest, but blushing furiously. "Ihad just been reading the biography of a great Baltimore belle who wascalled that, and it appealed to me as the most desirable thing on earthto be honoured with such a title. But that was away back in the darkages. Of course I wouldn't wish such a silly thing now. "

"But aren't you going to tell us what _is_ your greatest ambition?"persisted Phil. "We have all confessed. It isn't fair for you towithhold your confidence when we've given ours. "

Mary shook her head. "I've had my lesson, " she declared. "You'll neverhave the chance to laugh twice, and this one is such a sky-scraper itwould astonish you. "

When she spoke, she was thinking of that moment on the stair, under theamber window, when through the music she heard the king's call, and wasfirst awakened to the knowledge that a high destiny awaited her. What itwas to be was still unrevealed to her, but of the voice and the visionshe had no doubt. Whatever it was she was sure it would be higher andgreater than anything any one she knew aspired to. Yet somehow, sittingthere in the friendly shadows, with the firelight shining on the earnestmanly face opposite, she did not care so much about a Joan of Arc careeras she had. It would be glorious, of course, but it might be lonesome. People on pedestals were shut off from dear delightful intimacies likethis. 

And then those lines began running through her head that she had notbeen able to get rid of, since the morning she read them in themagazine:

 "For if he come not by the road, and come not by the hill, And come not by the far seaway--"

She wished that she was certain that she could add that last part of theline, "_Yet come he surely will!_" Just then, to have one strong trueface bending towards hers in the firelight, with a devotion all for her, seemed worth a lifetime of public plaudits, and having one's name handeddown to posterity on monoliths and statues. 

 "For if he come not by the road, and come not by the hill, And come not by the far seaway--"

"Yes, it certainly would be lonesome, " she decided. She would miss thebest that earth holds for a home-loving, hero-worshipping woman. 

CHAPTER VIII

CHRISTMAS DAY AT EUGENIA'S

"Although this is only the twenty-fourth of December, my Christmas hasalready begun, " wrote Mary in her diary next day; "for this morning whenI looked out of the window everything was white with snow. It has beenso long since I have seen such a sight, all the roofs and chimney topsa-glisten, that I could hardly keep away from the window long enough todress. 

"Phil stayed quite late last night. Just as he was leaving, Mrs. Boydand Miss Lucy came home, and of course we had to stay up a little whilelonger to meet them. By the time Joyce had turned the davenport in thestudio into a bed for me, it was past midnight, and I couldn't go tosleep for hours. There was so much to think about. 

"The next thing I knew I smelled coffee, and heard Joyce whistling justas she used to at home when she was getting breakfast, and I didn'twaste many minutes in going out to her in that cunning kitchenette. Itis all white tiling and shining nickel-plate, as easy to keep clean as achina dish, and just a delight to work in. I never thought so before, but now it seems to me that it is just as nice to know how to serve adelicious meal as easily as Joyce does as it is to put a picture oncanvas. I can see now what a good thing it was for both of us that wehad to serve such a long apprenticeship in work and housekeeping, evenif it did seem hard at the time. 

"'It gives a girl a sort of Midas touch, ' Phil said last night; 'makesher able to gild even a garret and to turn any old place into a home, 'He was so charmed with everything about the flat that he said he wantedto move into one right away, and make biscuits himself on a glass-toppedtable, and do stunts with the fireless cooker like Joyce. He has had asurfeit of cafés and hotels and boarding-houses. 

"While we were at breakfast the postman came, and there were letters andpackages for everybody. Lloyd sent a present to each of us. Mine was adarling little lace fan all spangled, like a cobweb with dew-dropscaught in its meshes. We opened everything then and there, as we hadalready had part of our presents. Jack's to me was this holiday trip, and Mamma's was the shirt-waist that I travelled in from Washington. 

"Joyce got a check that she hadn't expected before next month, andanother one that she hadn't expected at all. It was for some initialletter sketches and tail-pieces that had been travelling around todifferent magazines for months. Besides, there was an order for afrontispiece for a child's magazine. She was so happy she could hardlyfinish her breakfast, and said now she could give me the present she hadplanned to give me in the beginning. She had been disappointed aboutsome other work she had counted on, and thought she would have to cut mypresent down to some gloves and a book, but now she could play SantaClaus in fine style, and carry out her original intention. Just as soonas things were in order, she would take me down town and let me chooseit. 

"It was so exciting, not knowing what it was going to be, and hurryingalong with the crowds of shoppers; everybody so smiling and happy andgood-natured, no matter how much they were bumped into. I feltChristmasey down to my finger-tips, although they were nearly frozen. Last night's snow was almost a blizzard, and left it stinging cold. 

"At last, after buying a lot of little things to put on the tree atEugenia's, and keeping me guessing for over an hour about my present, Joyce took us into a furrier's, and bought me a beautiful set of furs;a lovely long boa and a muff like the one Lloyd had her picture taken inthe first year she was at Warwick Hall. I've always wanted furs likethem. They look so opulent and luxurious. And maybe I wasn't proud andhappy when I saw myself in the mirror! They just _make_ my costume, andthey made a world of difference in my comfort when we went out into theicy air again. I certainly would have squealed if I hadn't rememberedthat we were on Broadway, when Joyce told me that I looked so stunningthat she could not keep her eyes off me. I knew just how happy it madeher to be able to give me such a present, for I remembered what pleasureI had in sending Jack the watch-fob that I had earned all myself. 

"Then we went to Wanamaker's and by that time it was so late she saidwe'd better go up stairs and take lunch there. There wouldn't be time togo home and prepare it ourselves. There was music playing, and it wasall so gay and lively that I kept getting more and more excited everymoment. Finally, while we were waiting for our orders to be filled, Betty said, 'It is so festive, I believe I'll give Mary my present now, instead of waiting till we get to Eugenia's. ' Then she took a jeweller'sbox from her shopping bag, and, lo and behold, when I opened it, thelittle _bloodstone ring_ that I'd been longing for all these weeks! Iwas so happy I nearly cried. 

"After lunch we came back to the flat to get our suit-cases. Joyce ispacking hers now. In just a few minutes she will be ready, and then wewill turn the key in the door and be off for Eugenia's. Mrs. Boyd andMiss Lucy have gone to Brooklyn to spend Christmas, and Miss Henriettais away on a month's vacation. "

The suburban train was crowded when the girls reached it. Even theaisles were full of bundle-laden passengers, until the first fewstations were past. Then Betty and Joyce found seats together, and a fatold lady good-naturedly drew herself up as far as possible, in orderthat Mary might squeeze past her to the vacant seat next the window. 

"I can't set there myself, on account of the cold coming in the cracksso, " she wheezed apologetically. "But young people don't feel draughts, and anyway, you can put your muff up between you and it if you do. "

"Mary has a travelling companion after her own heart, " laughed Joyce toBetty, as they watched the old lady's bonnet bobbing an energeticaccompaniment to her remarks. "She's always picking up acquaintances onthe train. She can get more enjoyment out of a day's railroad journeythan some people get in a trip around the world. "

"It is the same way at school, " answered Betty. "You have no idea howpopular she is, just because she is interested in everybody in thatsweet friendly way. "

They went on to talk of other things, so absorbed in their ownconversation that they thought no more about Mary's. So they did not seethat presently she turned away from her garrulous companion, and, wrapped in her own thoughts, sat gazing at the flying landscape. It wasnot at the snowy fields she was smiling with that happy light in hereyes, nor at the gleaming river. She was only dimly conscious of themand had forgotten entirely that it was the famous Hudson whoseshore-line they were following. For once she was finding her ownthoughts more interesting than the conversation of an unexploredstranger, although the old lady had taken her generously into herconfidence during the first quarter of an hour. Indeed, it was one ofthose very confidences which had sent Mary off into her revery. 

"I tell Silas that no one ever does keep Christmas just right till theyget to be grand-parents like us, and have the children bringing _their_children home to hang up their stockings in the old chimney corner. 'Peared like, that first Christmas that Silas and me spent together inour own house couldn't be happier, but it didn't hold a candle to themthat came afterwards, when there was little Si and Emmy and Joe to buytoys for. Silas says we get a triple extract out of the day now, becausewe not only have _our_ enjoyment of it, but what we get watching ourchildren enjoy watching _their_ children's fun. "

She reached forward and with some difficulty extracted a toy from thecovered basket on the floor at her feet, a wooden monkey on a stick. "I'm just looking forward to seeing Pa's face when he drops that intoJoe's baby's little sock. "

Her own kindly old face was a study, as she slid the grotesque monkey upand down the rod, chuckling in pleased anticipation. And Mary, with herreadiness to put herself into another's place, smiled with her, sharingsympathetically the anticipation of her return. Straightway in herimagination, she herself was a grandmother, going home to some adoringold Silas, who had shared her joys and troubles for over half a century. 

Up to this moment she had been thinking that it could not be possiblefor any one to have a happier Christmas than she was having. A dozentimes she had smoothed the soft fur of her boa with a caressing hand, and slipped back her glove to delight her eyes with the sight of herbloodstone ring, while her thoughts ran on ahead to the house-partytowards which they were speeding. But the old lady's words had opened upa vista that set her to day-dreaming. 

If by the road or by the hill or by the far seaway "he" should reallycome, some day, then of course the Christmases they would spend togetherwould be happier than this. Jack had always said that she would have her"innings" when she was a grandmother. All her life Mary had beendreaming romances about other people, now in a vague sweet way thosedreams began to centre around herself. 

It was almost dark when they left the train. Phil was at the station tomeet them with a sleigh and a team of spirited black horses. 

"Oh, sleighbells!" sighed Joyce, ecstatically, as she climbed into theback seat beside Betty. "I haven't been behind any since I leftPlainsville. I wish we had forty miles to go. Nothing makes me feel solarky as the sound of sleighbells. "

Phil glanced back over his shoulder. "It is a bare mile and a half tothe house, but I told Eugenia I'd bring you home the roundabout way tomake the drive longer, if you all were not cold. What do you say?"

"The long way by all means!" cried Joyce and Betty in the same breath. 

Phil laughed. "The ayes have it. Even Mary's eyes, although she doesn'tsay anything, " he added, seeing the beaming smile that crossed her faceat the prospect of a longer drive. "They are shining like two stars, " hewent on mischievously, amused to see the colour flame up into hercheeks, and noticing how becoming it was. Then his mettlesome horsesclaimed his attention for awhile. 

Later, as he looked back from time to time, in conversation with theolder girls, his glance rested on Mary, sitting beside him as contentedand happy as a kitten in those becoming furs, and he thought withsatisfaction that the little Vicar was growing up to be a very prettygirl after all. Her eyes were positively starry under her long, curlinglashes. 

That Eugenia regarded their coming as a great event, they felt from themoment the sleigh drew up to the house. From every window streamed awelcoming light, and the front door, flung open at their approach, showed that the wide reception hall had been transformed into a bower ofChristmas greens. Eugenia, radiant in her most becoming dinner gown ofholly red, came running down the steps to meet them. 

Ever since she had been established as mistress of this beautifulcountry place, she had longed for them to visit her. Guests she had inplenty, for young Doctor Tremont and his wife were noted for theirlavish hospitality, but the welcome accorded her new friends andneighbours was nothing to the one reserved for these old friends of hergirlhood. She wanted them to see for themselves that she had made nomistake in her weaving, and that marriage had indeed brought her the"diamond leaf" that Abdallah found only in Paradise. 

"Patricia had just dropped asleep, " she told them as she led the way upstairs. Not that it was the proper time, but she was always doingunexpected things. That very day she had surprised them with four newwords which they had not dreamed she could say. Eliot had orders tobring her in the moment that she awakened, so they could soon see themost remarkable child in the world. Yes, Eliot was still with her, goodold Eliot. She intended to keep her always. Not as a maid, however. Shehad earned the position of guardian angel to Patricia by all her yearsof devoted service, and she played her part to perfection. 

While the girls opened their suit-cases and changed their dresses tocostumes more suitable for evening, Eugenia stood in the door betweenthe two rooms, turning first one way and then the other to answer thequestions rapidly propounded. Mary, thankful that her white pongee hadnot wrinkled, divided her attention between the donning of that, and theinformation that Eugenia was imparting. 

She had named the baby for Stuart's great-aunt Patricia, who for so manyyears had been like a mother to the boys and Elsie. She felt that sheowed the dear, prim old lady that much as a sort of reparation for allshe had suffered at the hands of the boys whom she had loved so dearlyin spite of her inability to understand them. Father Tremont had been sotouched and pleased when she proposed it. No, he could not be with themthis Christmas. He had taken Elsie to the south of France. She was notvery strong. Yes, Phil approved of her choice of names, but he said justas soon as she was old enough he intended to buy her a monkey and nameit Dago, so that there would be one Patricia who was not afraid of sucha pet. [1]

FOOTNOTES:

[1: See "The Story of Dago" for an account of Phil's andStuart's childhood. ]

Mary, who had watched with keen interest the unwrapping of the dozens ofbeautiful wedding gifts at The Locusts, took a peculiar pleasure inlooking around for them now, and recognizing them among the handsomefurnishings of the different rooms. Heretofore the Locusts had been herideal of all that a home should be, but this far surpassed anything shehad ever seen in luxurious fittings. 

As the girls followed their hostess over the house, with admiringexclamations for each room, Mary thought with inward amusement of thecold shivers she had had, as she stood with the bridal party between theRose-gate and the flower crowned altar, listening to the solemn vow: "I, Eugenia, --take thee, Stuart--for better, for worse--" There had been noworse. It was all better, infinitely better, and the shivers had beenentirely unnecessary. 

Stuart came in presently, from a long round of professional visits. Theyoung doctor had nearly as large a practise as his father, and had beenriding all afternoon. Mary caught a glimpse of his meeting with Eugenia, in the hall, and when he came in, cordial as a boy in his welcome, andby numberless little courtesies showing himself the most considerate ofhosts and husbands, she thought again, "This is one time it was_certainly_ all 'for better. '"

[Illustration: "SHE WAS A FASCINATING LITTLE CREATURE, ALL SMILES ANDDIMPLES. "]

"Where is 'Pat's Pill'?" he asked, looking around for Phil. "That isPatricia's name for him, as near as she can say it. Wouldn't you knowthat she was a doctor's daughter, by giving her doting uncle a pillfor a name?"

Phil and Mr. Forbes came in together. To Betty, one of the pleasantestparts of her visit was this meeting with the "Cousin Carl, " who hadadded such vistas of delight to her life by taking her to Europe theyear she was threatened with blindness. His hair was grayer now thanthen, and the years had added a few lines to his kind face, but he wasnot nearly so grave. He smiled oftener, and she noticed withsatisfaction his evident pride in Eugenia since she had blossomed intosuch a happy, enthusiastic housewife, and his devotion to littlePatricia, when she was brought in for awhile just after dinner. 

She was a fascinating little creature, all smiles and dimples andcoquettish shrugs, and she held royal court the few moments she wasallowed to monopolize the attention of the company. It was her secondChristmas eve, and she had been brought down for the first publicceremony of hanging her stocking in the great chimney corner. Even aftershe was carried away it was plain to be seen how the interest of thehouse centred around her. There was a tender glow in Eugenia's eyesevery time she looked at the tiny white stocking hanging from the hollywreathed mantel. And it was also plain to be seen that the littlestocking gave a deeper meaning to the words carved underneath, to everyone gathered around the fire: "East or West, Home is best. " When thetrimming of the great tree in the library began, it was found that eachmember of the household had bought her enough toys to stock ashow-window. 

"There is really too much for one kid, " said Phil gravely, surveying hisown lavish contributions. "What can she do with them when it is allover?"

Eugenia glanced from the long row of dolls she was counting, to theassortment of stuffed animals and toys already weighting thetinsel-decked branches. "She shall keep them only a day. I have made upmy mind that she shall not grow up to be the selfish child that I wasbefore Betty came along with her Tusitala story and her Road of theLoving Heart. She is to begin to build one now, even before she is oldenough to understand. This is her first Christmas tree. To-morrow sheshall choose one gift from each person's assortment of offerings. To-morrow night the tree and all the rest of the presents are to beturned over to the little orphans of St. Boniface Refuge. "

"Daddy's name for her is Blessing, '" explained Stuart. "So you seeshe is in a fair way to be trained up to fit it. "

Since the tree was for children only, no gifts for the older peopleappeared among its branches, but in the night some silent-footed KrissKringle made his stealthy rounds, and left a gay little red and whitestocking by every bedside. Mary discovered hers early in the morning, after the maid had been in to turn on the heat in the radiator, andclose the windows. She wondered how it could have been placed therewithout her knowledge, for the slightest motion set the tiny bells onheel and toe a-jingling. She touched it several times just to start thesilvery tinkle, then sitting up in bed emptied its treasures out on thecounterpane. It was filled with bon-bons and many inexpensive trifles, but down in the toe was a little gold thimble, from Patricia. 

It was in the chair under the stocking that she found the gloves fromEugenia, the book from "Cousin Carl" and a long box that she opened withbreathless interest because Phil's card lay atop. On it was scribbled, "The 'Best Man's' best wishes for a Merry Christmas to Mary. "

Tearing off the ribbons and the tissue paper wrappings she lifted thelid, and then drew a long rapturous breath, exclaiming, "Roses! AmericanBeauty roses! The first flowers a man ever sent me--and from the _Best_Man!"

She laid her face down among the cool velvety petals and closed hereyes, drinking in the fragrance. Then she lifted each perfect bud andhalf blown flower to examine it separately, revelling in the sweetnessand colour. Then the uncomfortable thought occurred to her that she washappier over this gift than she had been over the furs or thelong-wished-for ring, and she began to make excuses to herself. 

"Maybe if I'd always had them sent to me as Lloyd and Betty and theother girls have, it wouldn't seem such a big thing. But this is thefirst time. Of course it doesn't mean anything as it would if he hadsent them to Lloyd. He is in love with _her_. Still--I'm glad he choseroses. "

She touched the last one to her lips. It was so cool and sweet that sheheld it there a moment before she slipped out of bed and ran across theroom to thrust the long stems into the water pitcher. She would ask themaid for a more fitting receptacle after awhile, but in the meantime shewould keep them fresh as possible. 

When she went down to breakfast she wore one thrust in her belt, andsome of its colour seemed to have found its way into her cheeks whenshe thanked Phil for his gift. The same rose was pinned on her coat, when later in the morning they went to a Christmas service at St. Boniface, the little stone church in the village, a mile away. Eugeniahad suggested their going. She said it would be such a picture with thesnow on its ivy-covered belfry, and the icicles hanging from the eaves. Some noted singer was to be in the choir, and would sing several solos. The walking would be fine through the dry crunching snow, and as theyhad right of way through all of the neighbouring estates between themand the village, it would be like going through an English park. 

Stuart had an urgent round of professional visits to make and could notjoin them, and at the last moment some message came from the Orphanagein reference to the tree, which kept Eugenia at home to make somealteration in her plans. So when the time came to start only the fourguests set out across the snowy lawn, down the woodland path leading tothe village. They went Indian file at first in order that Phil mightmake a trail through the snow, until they reached the beaten path. 

It was colder than they had expected to find it, and presently Marydropped back to the rear, so that she might hold her muff up, unobserved, to shield the rose she wore. She could not bear to have itslovely petals take on a dark purplish tinge at the edges where the frostcurled them. In the church the steam-heated atmosphere brought out itsfragrance till it was almost overpoweringly sweet, but when she glanceddown she saw that it was no longer crisp and glowing. It had wilted inthe sudden change, and hung limp and dying on its stem. 

"I'll put it away in an envelope when I get back to the house, " thoughtMary. "When they all fade I'll save the leaves and make a potpourri ofthem like we made of Eugenia's wedding roses, and put them away in mylittle Japanese rose-jar, to keep always. "

Then the music began, and she entered heartily into the beautifulChristmas service. The offering was to be divided among the variouscharities of the parish, it had been announced, and Mary, rememberingthe bright new quarter in her purse, was glad that she had earned thatbit of silver herself. It made it so much more of a personal offeringthan if she had saved it from her allowance. She slipped her purse outof her jacket pocket as the prelude of the offertory filled the aislesand rose to the arches of the vaulted roof. 

The man who carried the plate was slowly making his way towards the pewin which she sat, and with her gaze fixed on him, she began fumblingwith the clasp of her purse, under cover of her muff. She had never seensuch a rubicund portly gentleman, with two double chins and expansivebald spot on his crown. She held the coin between her fingers awaitinghis slow approach. Just as he reached the end of their pew where Philwas sitting, she sneezed. Not a loud sneeze, but one of those inwardconvulsions that makes the whole body twitch spasmodically. 

It sent a handful of petals from the wilted rose showering down into herlap. The coin dropped back into her purse as she made an instinctivegrab to save them from going to the floor. Then blushing and embarrassedas the plate paused in front of her, she fumbled desperately in herpurse to regain the dropped quarter. The instant the coin left herfingers she saw the mistake she had made, and reached out her hand as ifto snatch it back. But it was too late, even if she had had the courageto reclaim it. She had dropped her English shilling into the plateinstead of the quarter! Her precious talisman from the bride's cake, that she had carried as a pocket piece ever since Eugenia's wedding. 

Betty, who sat next to her, was the only one who saw her confusion, andher sudden movement towards the plate after it passed. She glanced ather curiously, wondering at her agitation, but the next moment forgot itin listening to the wonderful voice that took up the solo. 

But the solo, as far as Mary was concerned, might have been a sirenwhistle or a steam calliope. She was watching the man of the bald headand the double chins, who had walked off with her shilling. Down thecentral aisle went the pompous gentleman at last in company with twoothers, and the three plates were received by the rector and blessed anddeposited on the altar, all in the most deliberate fashion, while Marytwisted her fingers and thought of desperate but impossible plans torescue her shilling. 

If she had been alone she would have hurried to the front at the closeof the service, and watched to see who became the custodian of the alms. Then she could have pounced upon him and begged to be allowed to rectifyher mistake. But Phil and the girls would think she had lost her mind ifthey should see her do such a thing, unless she explained to them. Somehow she shrank from letting anybody know how highly she valued thatshilling. All at once she had grown self-conscious. She had not knownherself, just how much she cared for it until it was gone beyond recall. Aside from the sentiment for which she cherished it she had asuperstitious feeling that her fate was bound up with it in such a waythat the gods would cease to be propitious if she lost the talisman thatinfluenced them. 

No feasible plan occurred to her, however. The choir passed out in slowrecessional. The congregation as slowly followed. Mary loitered as longas possible, even going back for her handkerchief, which she hadpurposely dropped in the pew to give her an excuse to return. But heranxious glances revealed nothing. The vestry door was closed, and nobodywas inside the chancel rail. 

As they passed down the steps Phil turned to glance at a small bulletinboard outside the door, on which the hours of the service were printedin gilt letters. "Dudley Eames, Rector, " he read in a low tone. "StrangeI never can remember that man's name, when Stuart is always quoting him. They are both great golf players, and were eternally making engagementswith each other over the phone, when I was here last summer. I heard itoften enough to remember it, I'm sure. "

He did not see the expression of relief which his remark brought toMary's face. It held a suggestion which she resolved to act upon as soonas she could find opportunity. She would telephone to the rector aboutit. 

CHAPTER IX

THE BRIDE-CAKE SHILLING COMES TO LIGHT

All the way home she kept nervously rehearsing to herself theexplanation which she intended to make, so absorbed in her thoughts, that she started guiltily when the girls laughed, and she found thatPhil had asked her a question three times without attracting herattention. When they reached the house it was some time before she couldslip upstairs unobserved. No amateur burglar, afraid of discovery, evermade a more stealthy approach towards his booty than she made towardsthe telephone. At any moment some one might come running up to thenursery. Three times she started out of her door, and each time theupstairs maid came through the hall and she drew back again. 

When she finally screwed up her courage to sit down at the desk and findthe rector's number, her heart was beating so fast that her voicetrembled, as if she were on the verge of tears. Luckily the ReverendEames had just returned to his study and answered immediately. In herembarrassment she plunged as usual into the middle of her carefullyprepared speech, explaining so tremulously and incoherently that for amoment her puzzled listener was doubtful of his questioner's sanity. Finally, when made to understand, he was very kind and very sympathetic, but his answer merely sent her on another quest. She would have to applyto the treasurer, he told her, Mr. Charles Oatley, who always tookcharge of all collections of the church, depositing them in the bank inthe city, in which he was a director. That was all the information hecould give her about it. Yes, Mr. Oatley lived in the country, near thevillage, at Oatley Crest. As this was a holiday, probably he would nottake the money to the bank until the following morning. 

Hastily thanking him, Mary listened a moment for coming footsteps, thencalled up Oatley Crest. To her disappointment a maid answered her. Thefamily had all gone to take dinner with the James Oatleys, and would notbe home until late at night. No, she did not know where the placewas--some twenty miles away she thought. They had gone in a touring-car. 

Baffled in her pursuit, Mary turned away, perplexed and anxious. She hadforgotten to ask the name of the bank. But the glimpse she caught ofher worried face in a mirror in the hall made her pause to smooth thepucker out of it. 

"It is foolish of me to let it spoil my Christmas day like this, " shereasoned with herself. "If I can't keep inflexible any better than thisI don't deserve to have fortune change in my favour. "

So armed with the good vicar's philosophy, she went down to the group inthe library. Almost immediately she had her reward. 

"Well, what did _you_ think of the offertory, Miss Mary?" asked Stuart, who had just come in, and was listening to the account that the girlswere giving Eugenia of the morning's music. "Your sister thinks thesoloist had the voice of an angel. "

"I'll have to confess that I didn't pay as much attention to that as Idid to the first solos, " said Mary honestly. "I was so busy staring atthe fat man who took up the collection in our aisle. He had at leastfour chins and was so bald and shiny he fascinated me. His poor headlooked so bare and chilly I really think that must have been what mademe sneeze--just pure sympathy. "

"Oh, you mean Oatley, " laughed Stuart. "He considers himself the biggestpillar in St. Boniface, if not its chief corner-stone. Awfully pompousand important, isn't he? But they couldn't get along without him verywell. He is a joke at the bank, where he is a sort of fifth wheel. Theymade a place for him there, because he married the president's daughter, and it was necessary for him to draw a salary. "

One question more and Mary breathed easier. She had learned the name ofthe bank, and early in the morning she intended to start out to find it. With that matter settled it was easy for her to throw herself into thefull enjoyment of all that followed. The Christmas dinner was served inthe middle of the day instead of at night, and the afternoon flew by sofast that Eugenia protested against their going when the time came, saying that she had had no visit at all. Joyce explained that she hadpromised Mrs. Boyd to help with an entertainment that night for a freekindergarten over on the East Side, and that she must get to work againearly in the morning to fill an order for some menu cards she hadpromised to have ready for the twenty-seventh. 

Betty, also, had promised to go back. Mrs. Boyd was sure she would findmaterial and local colour for several stories, and she felt that it wasan opportunity that she could not afford to miss. 

"Then Mary must stay with me, " declared Eugenia, and Mary found it hardto refuse her hospitable insistence. Had it not been for the lostshilling she would have stayed gladly, and once, she was almost on theverge of confessing the real reason to Eugenia. 

"I don't see why I should mind her knowing how much I think of it, " shemused. "But I don't want anybody to know. They'd remember about itsbeing a 'Philip and Mary shilling, ' and they'd smile at each otherbehind my back as if they thought I attached some importance to it onthat account. "

To the delight of each of the girls, the invitation which they feltobliged to decline was changed to one for the week-end, so when theywaved good-bye from the sleigh on their way to the station, it was withthe prospect of a speedy return. 

"'And they had feasting and merry-making for seventy days and seventynights, '" quoted Mary, as the train drew into the city. "I used towonder how they stood it for such a long stretch, but I know now. Wehave been celebrating ever since the mock Christmas tree at WarwickHall--ages ago it seems--but there has been such constant change andvariety that my interest is just as keen as when I started. "

Mrs. Boyd and Lucy were at the flat waiting for them when they arrived, and after a light supper, eaten picnic fashion around the chafing-dish, they started off for the novel experience of a Christmas night among thechildren of the slums. Betty did find the material which Mrs. Boyd hadpromised, and came home so eager to begin writing the tale, that she wasimpatient for morning to arrive. Joyce found suggestions for twopictures for a child's story which she had to illustrate the followingweek, and Mary came home a bundle of tingling sympathies and burningdesires to sacrifice her life to some charitable work for neglectedchildren. 

She was also a-tingle with another thought. At the corner where theychanged cars on the way to the Mission, she had made a discovery. Thebank where St. Boniface deposited its money loomed up ahead of them, massive and grim. The name showed so plainly on the brilliantlyilluminated corner, that it almost seemed to leap towards them. It wouldbe an easy matter to find by herself. Now she need not ask anybody, butcould slip away from the girls early in the morning, and be on the stepsfirst thing when the doors opened. 

Fortunately for her plans, Joyce announced that they would have an earlybreakfast, in order that she might begin work as soon as possible. Mrs. Boyd and Lucy had not returned with them the night before, but had goneback to Brooklyn to finish their visit with their friends immediatelyafter the exercises at the Mission. So only a small pile of dishesawaited washing when their simple breakfast was over. Mary insisted onattending to them by herself so that Betty could begin her story atonce. 

"Strike while the iron is hot!" she commanded dramatically. "Open whileopportunity knocks at the door, lest she never knock again! I'll gladlybe cook-and-bottle-washer in the kitchen while genius burns for artistand author in the studio! Scat! Both of you!"

So they left her, glad to be released from household tasks when othersmore congenial were calling. They heard her singing happily in thekitchenette, as she turned the faucet at the sink, and then forgot allabout her, in the absorbing interest of the work confronting them. Withso many conveniences at hand the washing of the dainty china was apleasure to Mary, after her long vacation from such work. Quickly anddeftly, with the ease of much practise, she polished the glasses tocrystal clearness, laid the silver in shining rows in its allottedplace, and put everything in spotless order. 

Joyce heard her go into the bath-room to wash her hands, and thoughtcomplacently of Mary's wonderful store of resources for her ownentertainment, wondering what she would do next. She had been askingquestions about the roof garden, and how to open the scuttle. Probablyshe would be investigating that before long, getting a bird's-eye viewof the city from the chimney tops. 

"I believe she could find some occupation on the top of a churchsteeple, " thought Joyce, recalling some of the things with which she hadseen Mary amuse herself. There was the time in Plainsville when a burnedfoot kept her captive in the house, and she couldn't go to theneighbours. Always an indefatigable visitor, she amused herself with apile of magazines, visiting in imagination each person and placepictured in the illustrations, and on the advertising pages. She playedwith the breakfast-food children, talked to the smiling tooth-powderladies, and invented histories for the people who were so particularabout their brands of soap and hosiery. 

There was always something her busy fingers could turn to when tired ofhousehold tasks; bead-work and basket-weaving, embroidery, knitting, even strange feats of upholstering, and any repair work that called fora vigorous use of hammer and saw and paint-brush. A girl who could sitby the hour watching ants and spiders and bees, who could quote poems bythe yard, who loved to write letters and could lose herself to the worldany time in a new book, was not a difficult guest to entertain. Shecould easily find amusement for herself even in the top flat of a NewYork apartment house. So Joyce went on with her painting with acare-free mind. 

Meanwhile Mary was slipping into her travelling suit, hurrying on hatand gloves and furs, and with her heart beating loud at her own daring, boldly stepping out into the strange streets by herself. It was easy tofind the corner where they had taken the car the night before. Only oneblock to the right and then one down towards a certain building whosemammoth sign served her as a landmark. But the night before she had notnoticed that the track turned and twisted many times before it reachedthe corner where they changed for the East Side car, and she had notnoticed how long it took to travel the distance. Rigid with anxiety lestshe should pass the place she kept a sharp look-out, till she began tofear that she must have already done so, and finally mustered up courageto tell the conductor the name of the bank at which she wished to stop. 

"Quarter of an hour away, Miss, " he answered shortly. So she relaxed hertension a trifle, but not her vigilance. There were a thousand things tolook at, but she dared not become too interested, for fear the conductorshould forget her destination, and she should pass it. 

At last she spied the grim forbidding building for which she waswatching, and almost the next instant was going up the steps, just threeminutes before the clock inside pointed to the hour of opening. Shecould not see the time, however, as the heavy iron doors were closed, and the moments before they were swung open seemed endless. It seemed toher that people stared at her curiously, and her face grew redder thaneven the cold wind warranted. Then she heard the porter inside shoot thebolts back and turn the key, and as the door swung open she darted pasthim so suddenly that he fell back with a startled exclamation. 

In her confusion all she saw was the teller's window, with a shrewd-eyedman behind its bars, looking at her so keenly that she was covered withconfusion, and forgot the name of the man she wanted to see. 

[Illustration : "ALL SHE SAW WAS THE TELLER'S WINDOW, WITH A SHREWD-EYEDMAN BEHIND ITS BARS"]

"I--I--think it is Wheatley, " she stammered. "Any way he is awfully fat, and has two double chins, and married the president's daughter, and hetakes up the collection at St. Boniface. "

The man's mouth twitched under his bristling moustache, but he only saidpolitely, "You probably mean Mr. Oatley. He's just come in. " Then toMary's horror, the man she had described rose from a desk somewherebehind the teller, and came forward pompously. It seemed to Mary thatshe stood there a week, explaining and explaining as one runs in anightmare without making any progress, about dropping the wrong coin inthe St. Boniface collection; an old family heirloom, something she wouldnot have parted with for a fortune; then about telephoning to therectory and to Oatley Crest. The perspiration was standing out on herforehead when she finished. 

But in a moment the ordeal was over. A clerk was at that instant in theact of counting the money which Mr. Oatley had brought in to deposit. The shilling rolled out from among the quarters, and as she hurriedlyrepeated the date and inscription to prove her story, the coin waspassed back to her with a polite bow. 

She looked into her purse for the quarter which she had started to putinto the collection, then remembered that she had loaned it to Joyce forcar-fare the night before. There was a dollar in the middle compartment, and eager to get away, she plumped it down on the marble slab, sayinghastily, "That's for the plate--what I should have put in instead of theshilling, and I can never begin to tell you how grateful I am to getthis back. "

In too great haste to see the amused glances that followed her, shehurried out to the corner to wait for a home-going car. While she stoodthere she opened her purse again for one more look at the rescuedshilling. Then she gave a gasp. When she left the house the purse hadheld a nickel and a dollar. She had spent the nickel for car fare andleft the dollar at the bank. Nothing was in it now but the shilling, andthat was not a coin of the realm, even had she been willing to spend it. She would have to walk home. 

"Now I _am_ in for an adventure, " she groaned, looking helplessly aroundat the hundreds of strange faces sweeping past her. "It's like 'water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink. ' People, people everywhere, and not a soul that I dare speak to. "

Knowing that she could never find her way home should she undertake towalk all those miles, and that she would attract unpleasant attention ifshe stood there much longer, she started to stroll on, trying to decidewhat to do next. One block, two blocks and nearly three were passed, andshe had reached no decision, when she came upon a motherly-looking womanand two half-grown girls, who had stopped in front of a window to lookat a display of hats, marked down to half price. Mary stopped too. Notthat she was interested in hats, but because she felt a sense ofprotection in their company. 

"No, mamma, " one of the girls was saying, "I'm _sure_ we'll findsomething at Wanamaker's that will suit us better, and it's only a fewblocks farther. Let's go there. "

Wanamaker's had a familiar sound to Mary. The place where she hadlunched only two days before would seem like home after thesebewildering stranger-filled streets. So when the bargain-hunting triostarted in that direction, she followed in their wake. They paused oftento look in at the windows, and each time Mary paused too, as far fromthem as possible, since she did not want to call attention to the factthat she was following them. 

The last of these stops was before a window which looked so familiarthat Mary glanced up to see the name of the firm. Then she felt that shehad indeed reached a well-known haven, for the name was the same thatwas woven in gold thread in the tiny silk tag inside her furs. It wasthe place where Joyce had brought her to select her Christmas present, and there inside the window was the pleasant saleswoman who had soldthem to her. She had been so nice and friendly and seemed to take suchan interest in pleasing them that Joyce had spoken of it afterward. 

Then the woman recognized her--looked from the furs to the eager littleface above them and smiled. It seemed incredible to Mary that she shouldhave been remembered out of all the hundreds of customers who must passthrough the shop every day, but she did not know that the sight of herdelight over her gift had been the one bright spot in the saleswoman'stiresome day. 

Instantly her mind was made up, and darting into the shop in herimpetuous way, she told her predicament to the amused woman, and askedpermission to telephone to her sister. 

Joyce, painting away with rapid strokes, in a hurry to finish the stentshe had set for herself, looked up a trifle impatiently at the ringingof the telephone bell. Her first impulse was to call Mary to answer it, but reflecting that probably the call would require her personalattention sooner or later, laid down her brush and went to answer itherself. She could hardly credit the evidence of her own ears when ameek little voice called imploringly, "Oh, Joyce, could you come and getme? I'm at the furrier's where you bought my Christmas present, and Ihaven't a cent in my pocket and don't know the way home. "

"What under the canopy!" gasped Joyce, startled out of herself-possession. All morning she had been so sure that Mary was in thenext room that it was positively uncanny to hear her voice coming fromso far away. 

"I've never known anything so spooky, " she called. "I can't be sure itsyou. "

"Well, I wish it wasn't, " came the almost tearful reply. "I'm awfullysorry to interfere with your work, and you needn't stop till you getthrough. They'll let me wait here until noon. I've got a comfortableseat where I can peep out at the people on the street, and I don't feellost now that you know where I am. " Then with a little giggle, "I'm likethe Irishman's tea-kettle that he dropped overboard. It wasn't lostbecause he knew where it was--in the bottom of the sea. "

"Well, you're Mary, all right, " laughed Joyce. "That speech certainlyproves it. Don't worry, I'll get you home as soon as possible. "

"Telephones are wonderful things, " confided Mary to the saleswoman. "They are as good as genii in a bottle for getting you out of trouble. Ishould think the man who invented them would feel so much like a wizard, that he'd be sort of afraid of himself. "

The woman answered pleasantly, and would, gladly have continued theconversation, but was called away just then to a customer. Hidden fromview of the street by a large dummy lady in a sealskin coat andfur-trimmed skirt, Mary peeped out from behind it at the panoramarolling past the window. At first she was intensely interested in theendless stream of strange faces, but when an hour had slipped by andstill they came, always strange, always different, a sense of littlenessand loneliness seized her, that amounted almost to panic. She longed toget away from this great myriad-footed monster of a city, back tosomething small and familiar and quiet; to neighbourly greetings andfriendly faces. The loneliness caused by the strange crowds depressedher. It was like a dull ache. 

The moments dragged on. She had no way to judge how long she waited, but the hour seemed at least two. Then suddenly, through the mass ofpeople came a well-known figure with a firm, athletic tread. A man, whoeven in this crowd of well-dressed cosmopolitans attracted a secondlook. 

"Oh, it's Phil!" she exclaimed aloud, her face brightening as if the sunhad suddenly burst out on a cloudy day. She wondered if she dared dosuch a thing as to tap on the window to attract his attention. She wouldnot have hesitated in Plainsville or Phoenix, but here everything wasso different. Somebody else might look and Phil never turn his head. 

While she waited, half-rising from her chair, he stopped, looked up atthe sign, and then came directly towards the door. Wondering at thestrange coincidence that should bring him into the one shop in all NewYork in which she happened to be sitting, she started up, thinking tosurprise him. Then the surprise was hers, for she saw that he was insearch of _her_. With a word to the obsequious salesman who met him, hecame directly towards her hiding-place behind the dummy in sealskin. Hisface lighted with a merry smile that was good to see as he crossed overto her with outstretched hand, saying laughingly:

"The lost is found! Well, young lady, this is a pretty performance! Whatdo you mean by shocking your fond relatives and friends almost intocatalepsy? I happened to drop in at the studio just as Joyce got yourmessage, and she and Betty were at their wits' end to account for yourdisappearance. "

"Oh, I'm so _glad_ to see you, " answered Mary. "You can't imagine! I'meven as glad as I was that time you happened along when the Indianchased me. " She ignored his question as entirely as if he had not askedit. 

He asked it again when they were presently seated on a homeward boundcar. "What I want to know is, what made you wander from your ownfireside?"

Mary felt her cheeks burn. She was prepared to make a full confession tothe girls, but not for worlds would she make it to him. Quickly turningher back on him as if to look at something that had attracted herattention in the street, she groped frantically around in her mind foran answer. He leaned forward, peering around till he could see her face, and repeated the question. 

"Oh, " she answered indifferently, bending slightly to examine the toe ofher shoe with a little frown, as if it interested her more than thequestion. "I just went out into the wide world to seek my fortune. Youknow I never had a chance before. "

"And did you find it?"

She laughed. "Well, some people might not think so, but I'm satisfied. "

"Did you have any adventures?" he persisted. 

"Yes, heaps and heaps, but I'm saving them to go in my memoirs, so youneedn't ask what they were. "

"Lost on Broadway, or Arizona Mary's Mystery!" exclaimed Phil. "I shallnever rest easy until I unearth it. "

"Then you'll have a long spell of uneasiness, " was the grim reply. "Horses couldn't drag it from me. "

He had begun his questioning merely in a spirit of banter, but as shestubbornly persisted in her refusals, he began to think that she reallyhad had some ridiculous adventure, and was determined to find out whatit was. So he set traps for her, and cross-questioned her, secretlyamused at the quick-witted way in which she continually baffled him. 

"I see that you are sadly changed, " he said finally, with a shake of thehead. "The little Mary I used to know would have given the whole thingaway by this time--would have blurted out the truth before she knew whatshe was doing. She was too honest and straight-forward to evade aquestion. But you've grown as worldly-wise as an old trout--won't biteat any kind of bait. Never mind, though, I'll get you yet. "

Thus put on her guard, Mary refused to tell even the girls what hadpossessed her to take secret leave that morning, but as she passed Joycein the hall she whispered imploringly, "_Please_ don't ask me to tellnow. It isn't much, but I don't want to tell while he's in the house. Hehas been teasing me so. "

"I'd stay to lunch if anybody would ask me three times, " announced Phil, presently. "I have to have my welcome assured. "

"I'll ask you if Mary is willing, " said Joyce, who had gone back to herwork. "She has promised to be chef to-day. "

Mary regarded him doubtfully, as if weighing the matter, then said, "I'mwilling if he'll promise not to mention what happened this morninganother single time. And he can order any two dishes in the cook-bookthat can be prepared in an hour, and I'll make them; that is, of course, if the materials are in the house. "

"Then I choose doughnuts, " was the ready answer. "Doughnuts with holesin them and sugar sprinkled over the top, and light as a feather; thekind you used to keep in a yellow bowl with a white stripe around it, onthe middle shelf in the Wigwam pantry. Gee! But they were good! I'venever come across any like them since except in my dreams. And for thesecond choice--let me see!" He pursed up his lips reflectively. "Ibelieve I'd like that to be a surprise, so Mistress-Mary-quite-contrary, you may choose that yourself. "

"All right, " she assented. "But if it is to be a surprise I must have aclear coast till everything is ready. "

Arrayed in a long apron of Joyce's, Mary stood a moment considering theresources of refrigerator and pantry. There were oysters on the ice. Anoyster stew would make a fine beginning this cold day. There was achicken simmering in the fireless cooker. Joyce had put it on while theywere getting breakfast, intending to make some sort of bonelessconcoction of it for dinner. But it would be tender enough by the timeshe was ready for it, to make into a chicken-pie. In the days when Philhad been a daily guest at the Wigwam, chicken-pie was his favouritedish. That should be the surprise for him. 

It was queer how all his little preferences and prejudices came back toher as she set about getting lunch. He preferred his lemon cut intriangles instead of slices, and he liked the cauliflower in mixedpickles, but not the tiny white onions, and he wanted his fried eggshard and his boiled eggs soft. But then, after all, it wasn't so queerthat she should remember these things, she thought, for the likes anddislikes of a frequent guest would naturally make an impression on anobservant child who took part in all the household work. It was just thesame with other people. She'd never forget if she lived to be a hundredhow Holland put salt in everything, and Norman wouldn't touchapple-sauce if it were hot, but would empty the dish if it were cold. 

"I can't paint like Joyce, and I can't write like Betty, " she thought asshe sifted flour vigorously, "but thank heaven, I can cook, and givepleasure that way, and I like to do it. "

An hour would have been far too short a time for inexperienced hands todo what hers accomplished, and even Joyce, who knew how quickly shecould bring things to pass, was surprised when she saw the table towhich they were summoned. The oyster stew was the first success, andgood enough to be the surprise they all agreed. Then the chicken-piewas brought in, and Phil, cutting into the light, delicately brownedcrust, declared it a picture in the first place, and a piece ofperfection in the second place, tasting the rich, creamy gravy, andthirdly "a joy for ever, " to remember that once in life he had partakenof a dish fit for the gods. 

"Honestly, Mary, it's the best thing I ever ate, " he protested, "and I'myour debtor for life for giving me such a pleasure. "

Mary laughed at his elaborate compliments and shrugged her shoulders athis ridiculous exaggerations, but in her heart she knew that everythingwas good, and that he was enjoying each mouthful. A simple salad camenext, with a French dressing. She had longed to try her hand atmayonnaise, but there wasn't time, and lastly the doughnuts, crisp andfeather-light and sugary, with clear, fragrant coffee, whose very aromawas exhilarating. 

"Here's a toast to the cook, " said Phil, lifting the fragile little cup, and smiling at her through the steam that crowned it:

"_Vive Marie!_ Had Eve served her Adam ambrosia half as good as this, raw apples would have been no temptation, and they would have stayed onin Eden for ever!"

It certainly was pleasant to have scored such a success, and to have itappreciated by her little world. 

They might have lingered around the table indefinitely had not a knockon the door announced that Mrs. Maguire had come. It was her afternoonto clean. 

"So don't cast any anxious eyes at the dishes, Mary, " announced Phil. "We planned other fish for you to fry, this afternoon. I proposed to thegirls to take all three of you out for an automobile spin for awhile, winding up at a matinee, but Joyce and Betty refuse to be torn fromtheir work. They've seen all the sights of New York and they've seenPeter Pan, and they won't 'play in my yard any more. ' The only thingthey consented to do was to offer your services to help me dispose ofthis last day of my vacation. Will you go?"

"Will I _go_!" echoed Mary, sinking back into the chair from which shehad just risen. "Well, the only thing I'm afraid of is that my enjoyerwill be totally worn out. It has stood the wear and tear of so many goodtimes I don't see how it can possibly stand any more. Why, I've beenfairly _wild_ to see Peter Pan, and I've felt so green for the last fewyears because I've never set foot in an automobile that you couldn'thave chosen anything that would please me more. "

"Hurry, then, " laughed Phil. "You've no time to lose in getting ready. And don't you worry about your 'enjoyer'--it's the strongest part ofyour anatomy in my opinion. I've never known any one with such acapacity. It's forty-horse power at the very least. "

Only a matinee programme was all that she brought back with her fromthat memorable outing, but long after it had grown yellowed and old, thesight of it in her keepsake box brought back many things. One was thatsensation of flying, as they whirled through snowy parks and alongRiverside drive, past historic places and world-famous buildings. Andthe delightful sense of being considered and cared for, and entertained, quite as if she had been a grown lady of six and twenty instead of justa little school-girl, six and ten. 

How different the streets looked! Not at all as they had that morning, when she wandered through them, bewildered and lost. It was a gayholiday world, as she looked down on it from her seat beside Phil. Shewished that the drive could be prolonged indefinitely, but there wasonly time for the briefest spin before the hour for the matinee. Morethan all, the programme brought back that bewitching moment when, keyedto the highest pitch of expectation by the entrancing music of theorchestra, the curtain went up, and the world of Peter Pan drew her intoits magic spell. 

It was a full day, so full that there was no opportunity until nearlybedtime to explain to the girls the cause of her morning disappearance. It seemed fully a week since she had started out to find her lostshilling, and such a trivial affair now, obscured by all that hadhappened afterward. But the girls laughed every time they thought aboutit while they were undressing, and Mary heard an animated conversationbegin some time after she had gone to bed in the studio davenport. Shewas too sleepy to take any interest in it till Betty called out:

"Mary, your escapade has given me the finest sort of a plot for a_Youth's Companion_ story. I'm going to block it out while I am here, and finish it when we get back to school. If it is accepted I'll dividethe money with you, and we'll come back on it to spend our Eastervacation here. "

Mary sat up in bed, blinking drowsily. "I'm honestly afraid my enjoyer_is_ wearing out, " she said in a worried tone. "Usually the bare promiseof such a thing would make me so glad that I'd lie awake, half thenight to enjoy the prospect. But somehow I can't take it all in. "

Fortunately it was a tired body instead of a tired spirit that broughtthis sated feeling, and after a long night's sleep and a quiet day athome, Mary was ready for all that followed: a little more sight-seeing, a little shopping, another matinee, and then the week-end at Eugenia's. The short journey to Annapolis and the few hours with Holland did nottake much time from the calendar, but judged by the pages they filled inher journal, and all they added to her happy memories, they prolongedher holidays until it seemed she had been away from Warwick Hall formonths, instead of only two short weeks. 

CHAPTER X

HER SEVENTEENTH BIRTHDAY

"Please, Miss Lewis, _please_ do, " came in a chorus of pleading voices, as half a dozen Freshmen surrounded Betty in the lower hall, one snowymorning late in January. "I think you _might_ consent when we all wantone so tremendously. "

"Come on down, Mary Ware, " called A. O. , catching sight of a wonderingface peering over the bannister, curious to see the cause of thecommotion. "Come down here and help us beg Miss Lewis to bephotographed. There's a man coming out from town this morning to takesome snow scenes of the place, and we want her to pose for him. Sittingat the desk, you know, where she wrote her stories, with the editor'sletter of acceptance in her hand. Some day when her fame is world-wide apicture of her wearing her first laurels will be worth a fortune. "

"Oh, Betty! Have they really been accepted?" cried Mary, almost tumblingdown the stairs in her excitement, and forgetting the respectful "Miss"with which she always prefaced her name when with the other girls. 

Betty waved a letter which she had just received. "Yes, the editor tookthem both, and wants more--a series of boarding-school stories. One ofthese girls heard me telling Miss Chilton about it, " she added, laughing, "and to hear them you would think it is an event of nationalimportance. "

"It is to us, " insisted A. O. "We are so proud to think it is _our_teacher, our special favourite one, who's turned out to be a sure-enoughauthor, and we aren't going to let you go until you promise to sit for apicture for us. "

"Then I suppose I shall be forced to promise, " said Betty, smiling downinto the eager faces which surrounded her, and breaking away from theencircling arms which held her determinedly. It was good to feel thatshe had the ardent admiration of her pupils, though it was burdensomesometimes to contemplate that so many of them took her as a model. 

"I'm going to write too, some day, " she overheard one of them say as shemade her laughing escape. "I'd rather be an author than anything else inthe world. It's so nice to dash off a new book every year or so and havea fortune come rolling in, and everybody praising you and trying tomake your acquaintance and begging for your autograph. "

"It is not so easy as it sounds, Judith, " Betty paused to say. "There'sa long hard road to travel before one reaches such a mountain top asthat. I've been at it for years, and I can only count that I've made avery small beginning of the journey. "

Still, it seemed quite a good-sized achievement, when later in themorning she beckoned Mary into her room, and watched her eyes grow wideover the check which she showed her. 

"One hundred dollars for just two short stories!" Mary exclaimed. "Andyou wrote most of them during Christmas vacation. Oh, Betty! Howsplendid!" Then she looked at her curiously. "How does it feel to be sosuccessful at last, after being so bitterly disappointed?"

Betty, leaning forward against the desk, her chin in her hand, lookedthoughtfully out of the window. Then after a pause she answered, "Gladand thankful--a deep quiet sort of gladness like a bottomless well, anda queer, uplifted buoyant feeling as if I had been given wings, andcould attempt anything. There's nothing in the world, " she added slowly, as if talking to herself, "quite so sweet as the realization of one'sambitions. I was almost envious of Joyce when I saw her established in astudio, at last accomplishing the things she has always hoped to do. Andit was the same way when I saw Eugenia so radiantly happy in therealizing of _her_ ambition, to make an ideal home for Stuart and herfather and to be an ideal mother to little Patricia. In their eyes sheis not only a perfect house-keeper, but an adorable home-maker. 

"Lloyd, too, is having what she wanted this winter, the social triumphthat godmother and Papa Jack coveted for her. Her ambition is to measureup to all their fond expectations, and to leave a Road of the LovingHeart in every one's memory. And she is certainly doing that. Herpopularity is the kind that cannot be bought with lavish dinners andextravagant balls. She's just so winsome and dear and considerate ofeverybody that she's earned the right to be called the Queen of Hearts. "

"And now all four of you are happy, " remarked Mary, "for your dreamshave come true. And seeing that makes me all the more determined to makemine come true. "

"Oh, the valedictory that you are to win for Jack's sake, " said Betty, coming out of the revery into which she had fallen for a moment. 

"That's only one of the things, " began Mary. "The others--" Then shestopped, hesitating to put in words the future she foresaw for herself. Sometimes in the daylight it seemed presumptuous for her to aspire tosuch heights. It was only when she lay awake at night with the moonlightstealing into the room, that such a future seemed reasonable and sure. 

Unknowing that the hesitation held a half-escaped confidence, Betty didnot wait for her to go on, but held up the check, saying, "You know thisis a partnership story, and you are to get another trip to New York outof it. Putting your shilling in the Christmas offering was a goodinvestment for both of us. If you hadn't I never would have thought ofthe plot which your adventure suggested. "

"But you've made your story so different from what actually happened, that I don't see how I can have any claim on it at all, " said Mary. "It's just your sweet way of giving me Easter Vacation with Joyce. "

"Indeed it is not, " protested Betty. "Some day I'll follow out the wholetrain of suggestions for you, how your shilling made me think of an oldrhyme, and that rhyme of something else, and so on, until the wholeplot lay out before me. There isn't time now. It is almost your Latinperiod. "

Mary rose to go. "Once I should have been doubtful about accepting sucha big favour from any one, " she said slowly. "But I've found out now howdelightful it is to do things for people you love with money you'veearned yourself. Now Jack's watch-fob, for instance. He was immenselypleased with it. I know, not only from what he wrote himself, but fromwhat mamma said. Yet his pleasure in getting it was not a circumstanceto mine in giving it. Not that I mean it will be that way about the NewYork visit, " she added hastily, seeing the amused twinkle in Betty'seyes. "Oh, _you_ know what I mean, " she cried in confusion. "Thatusually it's that way, but in this case it will be a thousand timesblesseder to _receive_, and I never can thank you enough. "

Throwing her arms around Betty's neck she planted an impetuous kiss oneach cheek and ran out of the room. 

Part of that first check went to the photographer, for every one of thefifteen Freshmen claimed a picture, and many of the Seniors who hadworshipped her from afar when they were Freshmen, and she the star ofthe Senior class, begged the same favour. The one which fell to Mary'sshare stood on her dressing-table several days and then disappeared. Shefelt disloyal when some of the other girls who kept theirs prominentlydisplayed, came in and looked around inquiringly. She evaded theirquestions but was moved to confess to Betty herself one day. 

"I--I--sent your picture to Jack. Just for him to look at and send rightback, you know, but he won't send it, I hope you don't mind. He says heneeds it to keep him from forgetting what the ideal American girl islike. They don't have them in Lone-Rock. There isn't any young societythere at all. And he was so interested in hearing about your literarysuccesses. You know he has always been interested in you ever sinceJoyce came back from the first house-party and told us about you. "

That Betty blushed when Mary proceeded to further confessions and quotedJack's remarks about her picture is not to be wondered at, and that Maryshould see the blush and promptly report it in her next letter to Jackwas quite as inevitable. She had no idea how many times during his busydays his glance rested on the photograph on his desk. 

It was not the typical American girl as portrayed by Gibson or Christy, but it pleased him better in every way. He liked the sweet seriousnessof the smooth brows, the steady glance of the trustful brown eyes, andthe little laughter lines about the mouth. Back in God's country, hesometimes mused, fellows knew girls like that. Played golf and tenniswith them, rode with them, picnicked with them, sat out in the moonlightwith them, talking and singing in a spirit of gay comradery that theyonly half-appreciated, because they had never starved for want of it ashe was doing. 

It hadn't been so bad at the Wigwam, for Joyce was always doingsomething to keep things stirred up; making the most of the material athand. It wasn't that he minded the grind and the responsibility of hiswork. He would gladly have shouldered more in his zeal to push ahead. Itwas the thought that all work and no play was making him the proverbialdull boy, and that he would be an old man before his time, if he went onwithout anything to relieve the deadly monotony. The spirit of youth inhim was crying out for kindred companionship. 

All unconscious of the interest she was arousing, Mary filled herletters with reference to Betty; how they all adored her, and how shewas always in demand as a chaperon, because she was just a girl herselfand could understand how they felt and was such good fun. Presentlywhen word came that she had scored another triumph, that one of theleading magazines had accepted a short story, Jack was moved to send hera note of congratulation. 

Now Jack had been as well known to Betty as she to him since the days ofthe long-ago house-party. When he made his brief visit to The Locustsjust before she left for Warwick Hall, they had met like old friends, each familiar with the other's past Unquestioningly she had acceptedPapa Jack's estimate of him as the squarest young fellow he had evermet--"true blue in every particular, and a hustler when it comes tobringing things to pass. "

Now for five months Mary had talked of him so incessantly, especiallywhile they were visiting Joyce, that Betty had it impressed upon hermind beyond forgetting, that no matter what else he might be he wasquite the best brother who had ever lived in the knowledge of man. Inanswer to her cordial little note of acknowledgment came a letterexplaining in a frank straightforward way why he had kept her picture, and how he longed sometimes for the friendships and social life he couldnot have in a little mining-town. And because there was a question in itabout Mary, asking the advisability of her taking some extra course shehad mentioned, Betty answered it promptly. 

Thus it came about without her realizing just how it happened, that shewas drawn into a regular correspondence. Regular on Jack's side, atleast, for no matter whether she wrote or not, promptly every Thursdaymorning a familiar looking envelope, addressed in his big businesslikehand, appeared on her desk. 

February came, not only with its George Washington tea and Valentineparty, but musicales and receptions and many excursions to the city. Noday with any claim to celebration was allowed to pass unheeded. Marchheld fewer opportunities, so Saint Patrick was made much of, and Mary'ssorority planned a spread up in the gymnasium in his honour. She hadnever once mentioned that her birthday fell on the seventeenth also, noteven when she first proudly displayed her bloodstone ring, which theyall knew was the stone for March. 

Nobody would have known that she had any especial interest in the date, had not Jack mentioned in one of his letters to Betty that Mary would beseventeen on the seventeenth, and he was afraid that his remembrancewould not reach her in time, as he had forgotten the day was so nearuntil that very moment of writing. 

The whisper that went around never reached Mary. She helped decoratethe table with sprigs of artificial shamrock and Irish flags, hunted upverses from various poets of Erin to write on the little harp-shapedplace cards, and suggested a menu which typified the "wearin' o' thegreen" in every dish, from the olive sandwiches to the creme de menthe. To further carry out the colour scheme, the girls all came in theirgymnasium suits of hunter's green, and the unconventional attire tendedto make the affair more of a frolic than the elegant function which thesorority yearly aspired to give. 

A huge birthday cake had been ordered in the jovial saint's honour, butnobody could tell how many candles it ought to hold since no one knewhow many years he numbered. But Dorene solved the difficulty by saying, "Let X equal the unknown quantity, and just make a big X across the cakewith the green candles. "

Never once did Mary suspect that the spread was in her honour also, tillshe was led to the seat at the head of the table, where another birthdaycake stood like a mound of snow with seventeen green candles alla-twinkle. She was overwhelmed with so much distinction at first. Themusical little acrostic by the sorority poet gratified her beyondexpression. Cornie Dean's toast almost brought the tears it was sosweet and appreciative, and the affectionate birthday wishes thatcircled around the table at candle-blowing time made her feel with athankful heart that this early in her college life she had reached thebest it has to offer, the inner circle of its friendships. 

Each one told the funniest Irish bull she had ever heard, and then allsorts of conundrums and foolish questions were propounded, like, "Whichwould you prefer, to be as green as you look or to look as green as youare?" When the conversation touched on the birthstone for March, someone suggested that Mary ought to be made to do some stunt to show thatshe was worthy to wear a bloodstone, since it called for such highcourage. 

"Make her kiss the Blarney stone!" cried Judith Ettrick. 

"At Blarney castle they let you down by the heels. That's the only wayyou can kiss the real stone. But Mary can hang by her knees from one ofthe turning-pole bars, and we'll build up a pyramid under her to put theBlarney stone on, so that she can barely reach it, you know. Make ashaky one that will topple over at a breath. That will make it harder toreach. "

The suggestion was enthusiastically received by all but Mary, who feltsomewhat dubious about making the attempt, when she saw them begin tocatch up glasses and plates from the table with which to build thepyramid. But by the time the structure was completed and topped by alittle china match-safe in the shape of a cupid, to represent theBlarney stone, she was ready for her part of the performance. 

"That's what you get for being born in Mars' month, " said Elise, as Marybalanced herself a moment on the bar, and then made a quick turn aroundit to limber herself. 

"You wouldn't be expected to do such things if the signs of your zodiacwere different. "

"Look out!" warned Cornie. "You'll see more stars than the ones in yourhoroscope if you lose your grip. "

"Abracadabra!" cried Mary gamely. "May I hold on to the pole, and thepole hold on to me till we've done all that's expected of us. "

It was a dizzy moment for Mary, and a breathless one for all of them asshe swung head downward over the tottering pile of china and glass ware. The china cupid was almost beyond her reach, but by a desperate effortshe managed to swing a fraction of an inch nearer, and seizing its headin her mouth came up gasping and purple. 

"Now what about being born in Mars' month!" she demanded triumphantly ofElise as soon as she could get her breath. "A bloodstone will do morefor you any day than an agate. "

Taking this as a challenge, all sorts of feats were attempted to provethe superior virtues of each girl's birthstone charm, so that theperformance ended in a gale of romping and laughter. Then at the last, to the tune of "They kept the pig in the parlour and that was Irishtoo, " Mary was gravely presented on behalf of the sorority with the giftit had chosen for her. 

"For your dowry, " it was marked. It was a toy savings-bank in the formof a china pig, with a slit in its back, into which each member droppedseventeen pennies, as they sang in jolly chorus, "Because it's your seventeenth birthday, March seventeen shall be mirth-day. Oh, may you long on the earth stay, With pence a-plenty too. "

"That's an example in mental arithmetic, " cried A. O. "Quick, Mary! Tellus how much your dowry amounts to. Seventeen times sixteen--"

But Mary was occupied with a discovery she had just made. "There arejust seventeen of us counting me!" she cried. "I never knew such astrange coincidence in numbers. "

"If you save all your pennies till you have occasion for a dowry you'llhave enough to buy a real pig, " counselled Cornie wisely. 

"More like a whole drove of them, " laughed Mary. "That time is so faroff. "

"Not necessarily so far, " was Cornie's answer. "Sometimes it is only afew steps farther when you are seventeen. Come on, before they turn outthe lights on us. "

Mary stopped in the door to look back at the room in which they hadspent such a jolly evening. "I'd like to stop the clock right here, " shedeclared, "and stay just at this age for years and years. It's so niceto be as _old_ as seventeen, and yet at the same time to be as _young_as that. "

Then she went skipping off to her room with the dowry pig in one handand a green candle from the cake in the other, to report the affair toEthelinda. They were not members of the same sorority, but they had manyinterests in common now. They had learned how to adjust themselves toeach other. Mary still reserved her deepest confidences for hershadow-chum, but Ethelinda shared the rest. 

CHAPTER XI

TROUBLE FOR EVERYBODY

Up in Joyce's studio, Easter lilies had marked the time of year fornearly a week. They had been ordered the day that Betty and Mary arrivedto spend the spring vacation, and still stood fresh and white at all thewindows, in the glory of their newly opened buds. They were Henrietta'scontribution. Mrs. Boyd and Lucy were away. 

On the wall over the desk the calendar showed a fanciful figure ofSpring, dancing down a flower-strewn path, and Mary, opening her journalfor the first time since her arrival, paused to read the couplet at thebottom of the calendar. Then she copied it at the top of the page whichshe was about to fill with the doings of the last five days. 

 "How noiseless falls the foot of time That only treads on flowers. "

"That must be the reason that I can hardly believe that three wholemonths have gone by since the Christmas holidays. I've trodden onnothing _but_ flowers. Even though the school work was a hard digsometimes, I enjoyed it, and there was always so much fun mixed up withit, that it made the time fairly fly by. As for the five days we havebeen here in New York, they have simply whizzed past. Miss 'Henry' hasdone so much to make it pleasant for us. She is great. She calls herselfa bachelor maid, and if she is a fair sample of what they are, I'd liketo be one. The day after we came she gave a studio reception, so that wecould meet some of her famous friends. She wrote on a slip of paper, beforehand, just what each one was famous for, and the particular statueor book or painting that was his best known work, and instead of copyingit, I'll paste the page in here to save time. 

"It was a great event for Betty. Mrs. LaMotte, who does such beautifulillustrating for the magazines had seen Betty's last story, and askedher for her next manuscript. If _she_ illustrates it, the pictures willbe an open sesame to any editor's attention. She gave her so muchencouragement too, and made some suggestions that Betty said would helpher tremendously. 

"One of the best parts of the whole affair to me was to see Joyceplaying hostess in such a distinguished company. They all seem so fondof her, and so interested in her work, that Miss Henrietta calls her'Little Sister to the Great. '

"I thought that I'd be so much in awe of them that I couldn't say aword. But I wasn't. They were all so friendly and ordinary in theirmanners and so extraordinary in the interesting things they talked aboutthat I had a beautiful time. I helped serve refreshments and poured tea. After they had all gone Joyce came over and took me by the shoulders, and said 'Little Mary, is it Time or Warwick Hall that has made such achange in you? You are growing up. You've lost your self-consciouslittle airs with strangers and you are no longer a chatter-box. I was_proud_ of you!'

"Maybe I wasn't happy! Joyce never paid me very many compliments. Noneof my family ever have, so I think that ought to have a place in my goodtimes book. 

"I've had a perfect orgy of sight-seeing--gone to all the placesstrangers usually visit, and lots besides. We've been twice to thematinee. Phil has been here once to lunch, and is coming this afternoonto take us away out of town in a big touring-car. We're to stop at somewayside inn for dinner. Then we'll see him again when we go out toEugenia's for a day and night. We've saved the best till the last. "

"Letters, " called Joyce, coming into the room with a handful. "Thepostman was good to every one of us. " She tossed two across the room toBetty, who sat reading on the divan, and one to Henrietta, who had justfinished cleaning some brushes. 

"Oh, mine is from Jack!" cried Mary joyfully. "But how queer, " she addedin a disappointed tone, when she had torn open the envelope. "There areonly six lines. " Then exclaiming, "I wish you'd listen to this!" Sheread aloud:

"Mamma thinks that your clothes may be somewhat shabby by this time, sohere's a little something to get some fine feathers with which to makeyourself a fine bird. You will find check to cover remainder of year'sexpenses waiting for you on your return to school. Glad you are havingsuch a grand time. Keep it up, little pard. --_Jack_. "

If Mary had not been so carried away with her good fortune, and soimmediately engrossed in discussing the best way to spend the check shewould have noticed that the envelope in Betty's lap was exactly like theone in her own, and that the same hand had addressed them both. Betty'sfirst impulse was to read her letter aloud. It was so unusually breezyand amusing. But remembering that she had never happened to mention hercorrespondence with Jack to Mary, and that her surprise over it mightlead her to say something before Henrietta that would be embarrassing, she dropped it into her shopping bag as soon as she had read it, andsaid nothing about it. 

That is how it happened to be with her when she accompanied Mary thatafternoon on her joyful quest of "fine feathers. " They went to manyplaces, and at last found a dress which suited her and Joyce exactly. Some slight alteration was needed, and while the two were in the fittingroom, Betty passed the time by taking out the letter for a secondreading. A glance at the post-mark showed that it had been delayedsomewhere on the road. It should have reached her the day that she leftWarwick Hall. It had been forwarded from there. She had grown soaccustomed to his weekly letter that she missed it when it did not come, and had wondered for several days why he had failed to write. Now sheconfessed to herself that she was glad the fault was with some postalclerk, and that Jack had not forgotten. She turned to the last page. 

"I don't know why I should be telling you all this. I hope it does notbore you. I usually wait till my hopes and plans work out into somethingpractical before I mention them; but lately everything has gone so wellthat I can't help being sanguine over these new plans, and it makestheir achievement seem nearer to talk them over with you. It certainlyis good to be young and strong and feel your muscle is equal to thestrain put upon it. This old world looks just about all right to me thismorning. "

When Mary came dancing out of the fitting room a few minutes later herfirst remark was so nearly an echo of Jack's that Betty smiled at thecoincidence. 

"Oh, isn't this a good old world? Everybody is so obliging. They aregoing to make a special rush order of altering my dress, and send it outby special messenger early in the morning, so that I can have it to takeout to Eugenia's. I'm holding fast to my new spring hat, though. I can'trisk that to any messenger boy. Phil will just have to let me take it inthe automobile with us. "

Promptly at the hour agreed upon, Phil met them at the milliner's. AsBetty predicted he did laugh at the huge square bandbox which Mary clungto, and inquired for the bird-cage which was supposed to be itscompanion piece. But Mary paid little heed to his teasing, upheld by thethought of that perfect dream of a white hat which the derided boxcontained. Her only regret was that she could not wear it for him tosee. Joyce and the mirror both assured her that it was the most becomingone she ever owned, and it seemed a pity that it was not suitable formotoring. The wearing of it would have added so much to her pleasure. However, the thought of it, and of the new dress that was to be sent upin the morning, ran through her mind all that afternoon, like a happyundercurrent. She said so once, when Phil asked her what she was smilingabout all to herself. 

"It's just as if they were singing a sort of alto to what we are doingnow, and making a duet of my pleasure; a _double_ good time. Oh, I_wish_ Jack could be here to see how happy he has made me!"

The grateful thought of him found expression a dozen times during thecourse of the drive. When they stopped for dinner at the quaint waysideinn she wished audibly that he were there. Somehow, into the keenenjoyment of the day crept a wistful longing to see him again, and theache that caught her throat now and then was almost a homesick pang. Going back, as they sped along in the darkness towards the twinklinglights of the vast city, she decided that she would write to him thatvery night, before she went to sleep, and make it clear to him how muchshe appreciated all he had done for her. He was the best brother in theworld, and the very dearest. 

Phil went up with them when they reached the entrance to the flats. Hecould not stay long, he said, but he must see the contents of thatbandbox. The air of the studio was heavy with the fragrance of theEaster lilies, and he went about opening windows at Joyce's direction, while she and the other girls unwound themselves from the veils in whichthey had been wrapped, and put a few smoothing touches to theirwind-blown hair. Joyce was the first to come back to the studio. Shecarried a letter which she had picked up in the hall. 

"This seems to be a day for letters, " she remarked. "This is a goodthick one from home. " She made no movement to open it then, thinking toread it aloud after Phil had taken his leave. But when Mary joined them, and he seemed absorbed in the highly diverting process they made oftrying on the new hat, she opened the envelope to glance over the firstfew pages. She read the first paragraph with one ear directed to theamusing repartee. Then the smile suddenly left her face, and with astartled exclamation she turned back to re-read it, hurrying on to thebottom of the page. 

"Oh, what is it?" cried Mary in alarm. Joyce had looked up with a groan, her face white and shocked. She was trembling so that the letter shookperceptibly in her hand. 

"There has been an accident out at the mines, " she answered, trying tosteady her voice, "and Jack was badly hurt. So very badly that mammadidn't telegraph us, but waited to see how it would terminate. Oh, he'sbetter, " she hurried to add, seeing Mary grow faint and white, and sitdown weakly on the floor beside the bandbox. "He is going to live, thedoctors say, but they're afraid--" Her voice faltered and she began tosob. "They're afraid he'll be a cripple for life! Never walk again!"

Throwing herself across the couch, she buried her face in the cushions, crying chokingly, "Oh, I can't _bear_ to think of it! Oh, Jack! howcould such an awful thing happen to _you_!"

Sick and trembling, Mary sat as if dazed by a blow on the head, herstunned senses trying to grasp the fact that some awful calamity hadbefallen them; that out of a clear sky had dropped a deadly bolt toshatter all the happiness of their little world. For an instant thethought came to her that maybe she was only having a dreadful dream, and in a few moments would come the blessed relief of awakening. Butinstead came only the sickening realization of the truth, for Joyce, with an imploring gesture, held the letter out to Phil for him to readaloud. 

Mrs. Ware had written as bravely as she could, trying not to alarm ordistress them unduly, but there could be no disguising or softening oneterrible fact. Jack, strong, sinewy, broad-shouldered Jack, whosestrength had been his pride, lay as helpless as a baby, and all the hopethe physicians could give was that in a few months he might be able togo about in a wheeled chair. They had had three surgeons up fromPhoenix for a consultation. A trained nurse was with him at presentand they must not worry. Of course they mustn't think of coming home. Joyce could do most good where she was, if later on they should have todepend on her partly, as one of the bread-winners. And Mary must makethe most of the rest of the year at school. Jack had sent the check forthe balance of her expenses only the morning before the accidentoccurred. 

Mary waited to hear no more. With the tears streaming down her face, andher lips working pitifully, she scrambled up from the floor, and raninto the next room, shutting the door behind her. The hurt was too deepfor her to bear another moment, in any one's presence. She must go offwith it into the dark alone. 

There was a page or two more, giving some details of the accident. Someheavy timbers had fallen while they were making some extensions, andJack had been crushed under them. The blow on the spine had causedparalysis of both limbs. When Phil finished the last sentence, he satstaring helplessly at the floor, wishing he could think of something tosay; something comforting and hopeful, for Joyce's shoulders stillheaved convulsively, and Betty was crying quietly over by the window. But he could find no grain of comfort in the whole situation. Mrs. Warehad rejoiced in the fact that his life had been spared, but to Phil, death seemed infinitely preferable to the crippled helplesshalf-existence which the future held out for poor Jack. 

Of all the young fellows of his acquaintance, he could think of none onwhom such a blow would fall more crushingly. He had counted so much onhis future. Phil got up and began to pace back and forth at the end ofthe long studio, his hands in his pockets, recalling the days of theirold intimacy on the desert. Scene after scene came up before him, tillhe felt a tightening of the throat that made him set his teeth togethergrimly. Then Joyce sat up and began to talk about him brokenly, withgushes of tears now and then, as one recalls the good traits of thosewho have passed out of life. 

"He was so little when papa died, but he's tried to take his place inevery way possible, ever since. So unselfish and uncomplaining--alwaystaking the brunt of everything! _You_ know how it was, Phil. You saw hima thousand times giving up his own pleasure to make life easier for us. And it doesn't seem right that just when things were getting where hecould reach out for what he wanted most, it should be snatched away fromhim!"

"I wish Daddy were home, " sighed Phil. "I'd take him out for a look athim. I can't believe that it is so hopeless as all that. And anyhow, I've always felt that Daddy could put me together again if I were allbroken to bits. He has almost performed miracles several times wheneverybody else gave the case up. But he won't be back for months andmaybe a whole year. "

"Oh, it's no use hoping, when the three best surgeons in Phoenix givesuch a report, " said Joyce gloomily. "If it was anything but his spine, it wouldn't be so bad. We've just got to face the situation andacknowledge that it means he'll be a life-long invalid. And I know he'drather have been killed outright. "

"And it was just before his accident, " said Betty, wiping her eyes, "that he wrote to me so jubilantly about his plans. He said he couldn'thelp being sanguine over them. It was so good to be young and strong andfeel that your muscle was equal to the strain put upon it, and that theold world looked about all right to him that morning. It is going to besuch a disappointment to him not to be able to send Mary back toschool. "

"Poor little Mary!" said Phil. "All this is nearly going to kill her. She is so completely wrapped up in Jack, I am afraid that it will makeher bitter. "

"Isn't it strange?" asked Betty. "I was wondering about that while wewere out at the Inn this evening. She was in such high spirits, that Ithought of that line from Moore:

 "'The heart that is soonest awake to the flowers, Is always the first to be touched by the thorns, '

and thought if she should take sorrow as intensely as she does herpleasures, any great grief would overwhelm her. "

They had been discussing the situation for more than an hour, when thedoor from the bedroom opened, and Mary came out. Her eyes were red andswollen as if she had been crying a week, but she was strangely calm andself-possessed. She had rushed away from them an impetuous child in anuncontrollable storm of grief. Now as she came in they all felt thatsome great change had taken place in her, even before she spoke. Sheseemed to have grown years older in that short time. 

"I am going home to-morrow, " she announced simply. "I would startto-night if it wasn't too late to get the Washington train. I shall haveto go back there to pack up all my things. "

"But, Mary, " remonstrated Joyce, "mamma said not to. She said positivelywe were to stay here and you were to make the most of what is left toyou of this year at school. "

"I know, " was the quiet answer. "I've thought it all over, and I've madeup my mind. Of course _you_ mustn't go back. For no matter if thecompany does pay the expenses of Jack's illness and allows him a pensionor whatever it was mamma called it, for awhile, you couldn't make fiftycents there where you could make fifty dollars here. So for all oursakes you ought to stay. But as long as I can't finish my course, a fewweeks more or less can't make any difference to me. And I know very wellI am needed at home. "

"But Jack--he'll be so disappointed if you don't get even one fullyear, " argued Joyce, who had never been accustomed to Mary's decidinganything for herself. Even in the matter of hair-ribbons she had alwaysasked advice as to which to wear. 

"Oh, I can make it all right with Jack, " said Mary confidently. "Iwouldn't have one happy moment staying on at school knowing I was neededat home. And I _am_ needed every hour, if for nothing more than to keepthem all cheered up. When I think of how busy Jack has always been, andthen those awful days and weeks and years ahead of him when he can't doanything but lie and think and worry, I'm afraid he'll almost lose hismind. "

"If mamma only hadn't been so decided, " was Joyce's dubious answer. "Itdoes seem that you are right, and yet--we've never gone ahead and donethings before without her consent. I wish we could talk it over withher. "

"Well, I don't, " persisted Mary. "I'm going home and I'm perfectly surethat down in her heart she'll be glad that I took matters in my ownhands and decided to come--for Jack's sake if nothing else. "

"Then we'd better telegraph her to-night--"

"No, " interrupted Mary, "not until I'm leaving Washington. Then it willbe too late for her to stop me. "

"Oh, dear, I don't know what to do about it, " sighed Joyce wearily, passing her hand over her eyes. 

"Just help me gather up my things, " was the firm reply. The big bandboxstill stood open in the middle of the floor and the hat with its wreathof white lilacs lay atop just as Mary had dropped it. She stooped topick it up with a pathetic little smile that hurt Phil worse than tears, and stood looking down on it as if it were something infinitely dear. 

"The last thing Jack ever gave me, " she said as if speaking to herself. "It doesn't seem possible that it was only this afternoon we bought it. It seems months since then--my last happy day!"

Henrietta's latch-key sounded in the lock of the front door, and Philrose to go, knowing the situation would all have to be explained to her. No, there was nothing he could do, they assured him. Nothing anybodycould do. And promising to come around before train-time next morninghe took his leave, heart-sick over the tragedy that had ruined Jack'slife, and would always shadow the little family that had grown as dearto him as his own. 

CHAPTER XII

THE GOOD-BYE GATE

Fortunately they were so late in getting to the station that there wasno time for a prolonged leave-taking. Phil hurried away to thebaggage-room to check their trunks. Henrietta made a move as if tofollow. Her overwrought sympathies kept her nervously opening andshutting her hands, for she dreaded scenes, and would not have putherself in the way of witnessing a painful parting, had she not thoughtshe owed it to Joyce to stand by her to the last. 

Joyce noticed the movement, and divining the cause, said with a littlesmile, as she laid a detaining hand on her arm, "Don't be scared, Henry. We are not going to have any high jinks, are we, Mary. We made the oldVicar's acquaintance too early in the game and have been practising hismotto too many years to go back on him now. We're going to keepinflexible, no matter what happens. Aren't we, Mary?"

For several minutes Mary had been seeing things through a blur of tears, which came at the thought of what a long parting this might be. Therewas no telling when she would see Joyce again. It might be years. Butshe answered a resolute yes, and Joyce went on. 

"Why, we taught it even to Norman when he wasn't more than a baby. 'Swallow your sobs, and stiffen, ' we'd say, and he'd gulp them downevery time, and brace up like a little soldier. Oh, if I'd just flop andlet myself go I could cry myself into a shoestring in five minutes. Butthanks to early discipline we're not going to do it. Are we, Mary?"

By this time Mary could only shake her head in reply, but she did itresolutely, and the determination carried her safely through the partingwith Joyce. But Phil almost broke down the self-control she wasstruggling to maintain, when he came back with the checks and hurriedaboard the train with her and Betty. Taking both her hands in his helooked down with both voice and face so full of tender sympathy, thather lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears. 

"You brave little thing!" he exclaimed in a low tone. "If there is everanything that I can do to make it easier, let me know, and I'll come. Promise me now. You'll let me know. "

"I--I promise, " she answered, faltering over the sob that rose in herthroat as she tried to speak, but smiling bravely up at him. 

With one more hand-clasp that spoke sympathy and understanding even morethan his words had done, and somehow left her with a sense of beingcomforted and protected, he went away. But half way down the aisle heturned and dashed back, drawing a little package from his pocket as hecame. 

"Something to read on the way, " he explained. "Wait till you get to thatlonesome stretch of desert, " Then with a smile that she carried in hermemory for years, he said once more, "Good-bye, little Vicar! Remember, I'll come!"

He swung down the steps at the front end of the car just as the trainstarted, and through the open window she had one more glimpse of him, ashe stood there lifting his hat. Farther back, at the station gate Joycewaited with her arm linked in Henrietta's, for the moment when Mary'slast glance should be turned to seek her. She met it with a blithe waveof her handkerchief, and Mary waved vigorously in response. It was along time before she turned away from the window. When she did she hadnearly recovered her self-control, and grateful for Betty's consideratesilence, she busied herself with her suit-case a few minutes, fumblingwith the lock, and making a pretence of repacking, in order to find roomfor the book that Phil had brought. 

The night before, in the first numb apathy of the shock, it had seemedto her that nothing mattered any more. Nothing could make the dreadfulstate of affairs more bearable; but now she acknowledged to herself thatsome things did help. How wonderfully comforting Phil's assurance ofsympathy had been; the silent assurance of that firm, tender hand-clasp. It was easier to be brave since he had called her so and expected it ofher. 

Betty, in a seat across the aisle, opened a magazine, but Mary could notsettle down to read. A nervous unrest kept her going over and over inher mind, as she had done through the previous night, the scenes thatlay ahead of her. There was the packing, and she checked off on herfingers the many details that she must be sure to remember. There werethose borrowed books she mustn't forget to return. Her scissors were inCornie's room. Miss Gilmer had her best basketry patterns. There were somany things that finally she made a memorandum of them, dully wonderingas she did so how she could think of them at all. One would havesupposed that the awful disaster that was continually in her thoughtswould have blotted out these little commonplace trivial concerns. Butthey didn't. She couldn't understand it. 

Presently the sound of a low crooning in the seat behind her made herglance over her shoulder. An old coloured mammy, in the whitest offreshly starched aprons and turbans, was rocking a child to sleep in herarms. He was a dear little fellow, pink and white as an apple-blossom, with a Teddy bear hugged close in his arms. One furry paw rested on hisdimpled neck. The bit of Uncle Remus song the nurse was singing had asoothing effect on him, but it fell dismally on Mary's ears:

 "Oh, don't stay long! Oh, don't stay late! My honey, my love. Hit ain't so mighty fur ter de Good-bye Gate, My honey, my love!"

"The Good-bye Gate!" she repeated to herself. That was what they hadcome to now, she and Jack. Not a little wicket through which one mightpush his way back some day, but a great barred thing that was clangingbehind them irrevocably, shutting them away for ever from the fair roadalong which they had travelled so happily. Shutting out even theslightest view of those far-off "Delectable Mountains, " towards whichthey had been journeying. In the face of Jack's misfortune and all thathe was giving up, her part of the sacrifice sank into comparativeinsignificance. Her suffering for him was so great that it dulled thesharpness of her own renunciations, and even dulled her disappointmentfor Joyce. The year in Paris had meant as much to her as the course atWarwick Hall had meant to Mary. 

All through the trip she sat going round and round the same circle ofthoughts, ending always with the hopeless cry, "Oh, _why_ did it have tobe? It isn't right that _he_ should have to suffer so!" Once when thetrain stopped for some time to take water and wait on a switch for thepassing of a fast express, she opened her suit-case and took out herjournal and fountain-pen. Going on with the record from the place whereshe had dropped it the day before when Jack's letter interrupted it, shechronicled the receipt of the check, the shopping expedition thatfollowed, and the gay outing afterward in the touring-car. Then downbelow she wrote:

"But now I have come to the Good-bye Gate. Good-bye to all my goodtimes. So good-bye, even to you, little book, since you were to markonly the hours that shine. Here at the bottom of the page I must writethe words, '_The End_. '"

When they reached Warwick Hall she was too tired to begin anypreparations that night for the longer journey, and still so dazed withthe thought of Jack's calamity to be keenly alive to the fact that thiswas the last night she would ever spend in the beloved room. She wasthankful to have it to herself for these last few hours, and thankfulwhen Betty and Madam Chartley finally went out and left her alone. Shewas worn out trying to keep up before people and to be brave as theybade her. It was a relief to put out the light and, lying there alone inthe dark, cry and cry till at last she sobbed herself to sleep. 

Not till the next morning did she begin to feel the wrench of leaving, when the fresh fragrance of wet lilacs awakened her, blowing up from theold garden where all the sweetness of early April was astir. Then sheremembered that she would be far, far away when the June roses bloomedat Commencement, and that this was the last time she would ever bewakened by the blossoms and bird-calls of the dear old garden. 

She sat up and looked around the room from one familiar object toanother, oppressed and miserable at the thought that she would never seethem again. Then her glance rested on Lloyd's picture, and for once themake-believe companionship of Lloyd's shadow-self brought a comfort asdeep as if her real self had spoken. She held out her arms to it, whispering brokenly:

"Oh, _you_ understand how hard it is, don't you, dear? You're the onlyone in the world who does, because you had to give up all this, too. "

Gazing at the pictured face through her tears, she recalled how Lloydhad met _her_ disappointment, trying to live each day so unselfishlythat she could go on, stringing the little pearls on her rosary. 

"If you could do it, I can too, " she said presently. "And the best ofhaving such a chum is I needn't leave you behind when I leave school. You are one thing that I don't have to give up. "

That picture was the last thing she put into her trunk. She left ithanging on the wall while she did all the rest of her packing, that shemight glance at it now and then. It helped wonderfully to remember thatLloyd had had the same experience. Madam Chartley came in while she wasin the midst of her preparations for leaving, glad to find her makingthem with her usual energy and interest When in answer to her offers ofassistance Mary assured her there was nothing any one could do, shesaid, "I'll not stay then, except to say one thing that I may not haveopportunity for later. " She paused and laid her hands on Mary'sshoulders, looking down at her searchingly and kindly. 

"I want you to know this--that I have never had a pupil whom I partedfrom as reluctantly as I shall part from you. Your enthusiasm and loveof school have been a joy to your teachers and an inspiration to everygirl in Warwick Hall. If it were merely a matter of expense I would notlet you go, but under the circumstances I have no right to interfere. You ought to go. And my dear little girl, remember this, wheneverregrets come up for the school days brought so suddenly to a close, thatschool is only to prepare us to meet the tests of life, and already youhave met one of its greatest--'_To renounce when that shall benecessary, and not be embittered_!' And you are doing that so bravelythat I want you to know how much I admire and love you for it. "

To Madam's surprise the words of praise did not carry the comfort sheintended. Mary's arms were thrown around her neck and a tearful facehidden on her shoulder, as leaning against her she sobbed, "Oh, MadamChartley! I wish you could feel that way about me, but honestly Ihaven't stood the test. I can renounce for myself, and not feel bitter, but I can't renounce for Jack! It makes me _wild_ whenever I think ofall he has to give up. It isn't right! How could God let such an awfulthing happen to him, when he has always lived such a beautiful unselfishlife?"

Drawing her to a seat beside the window, Madam sat with an arm aroundher, until the sobs grew quiet, and then began to answer herquestion--the same old cry that has gone up from stricken souls eversince the world began. And Mary, listening, felt the comfort and theuplift of a strong faith that had learned to go unfaltering through thesorest trials, knowing that out of the worst of them some compensatinggood should be wrested in the end. For months afterwards, whenever thatbitter cry rose to her lips again, she stilled it with the remembranceof those words. Sometime, somehow, even this terrible calamity should bemade the stepping-stone to better things. How such a thing could come topass Mary could not understand, but Madam's faith that such would be so, comforted her. It was as if one little glimmering star struggled outthrough the blackness of the night, and in the light of that she pluckedup courage to push on hopefully through the dark. 

That afternoon just as her trunk was being carried out, the 'bus droveup, bringing back its first instalment of returning pupils. Cornie Deanwas among them, and Elise and A. O. Mary, looking out of the window, heard the familiar voices, and feeling that their questions and sympathywould be more than she could bear, caught up her hat and hand-baggage, and ran over to Betty's room to wait there until time to go. 

"No, I can't see any of them, _please_. " she begged, when Betty came into say how distressed and shocked they all were to hear about Jack, andto know that she was leaving school. They were all crying over it, andwanted to see her, if only for a moment. 

"No, " persisted Mary. "It would just start me all off again to hear onesympathetic word, and my eyes are like red flannel now. I've alreadysaid good-bye to Madam, and I'm going to slip out without speaking toanother soul. "

"You'll have to speak to Hawkins, " said Betty. "For he is lying in waitfor you with such a box of lunch as never went out of this establishmentbefore. He asked Madam's permission to put it up for you himself. Hetold her about your binding up his hands the day the chafing-dish turnedover and burned him so badly, and about the letter you wrote for one ofthe maids that got her sister into a school for the blind, and severalother things, winding up with 'There's a young lady with a _'eart_ in'er, Ma'am!'"

Betty mimicked his accent so well that Mary laughed for the first timesince her return. "Well, he's got a 'eart in _'im_!" she answered, "though I never would have imagined it the day I made my entrance here. He was like a grand, graven image. Oh, Betty, it _is_ nice to know thatpeople like you and are sorry that you are going. Even if it does makeyou feel sort of weepy it takes a big part of the sting out of leaving. "

Betty went with her in to Washington, and stayed with her until thetrain left. Hawkins was the only one they encountered on their way out, and Mary took the proffered lunch-box with a smile that was very closeto tears. Her voice faltered over her words of thanks, and when she hadbeen handed into the 'bus she dared not trust herself to look back atthe faithful old servitor in the doorway. Once, just as they swungaround the curve that hid the beautiful grounds from sight, she leanedout for one more look, then hastily pulled down her veil. 

At the station, as they sat waiting for her train, Betty said, "I'llwrite every week and tell you all the news, but don't feel that you mustanswer regularly. I know how your time will be occupied. But I shouldlike a postal now and then, telling me how Jack is. You know, " she wenton, stooping to retie her shoe, "he and I have been corresponding forsome time, and I think of him as one of my oldest and best friends. Ishall always be anxious for news of him. "

Betty could fairly feel the surprise in Mary's face, even though she wasstooping forward too far to see it, and she heard with inward amusementher astonished exclamations. "Well, of all things! I didn't know youwere writing to each other! Jack never said a word about it, and yet hesent you a message nearly every time he wrote to me!"

She was still puzzling about it when her train was called, and she hadto take leave of Betty. All too soon the last familiar face was out ofsight, and the long, lonely journey home was begun. 

It was near the close of the third day's journey when she rememberedPhil's book and took it out of its wrappings. She was not in a readinghumour, but time hung heavy, and he had said to open it when she reachedthe desert. Besides, she was a trifle curious to see what kind of a bookhe had chosen for her. It was a very small one. She could soon skimthrough it. 

"_The Jester's Sword_" was the title. Not a very attractive subject forany one in her mood, she thought. It would be a sorry smile at best thatthe gayest of jesters could bring to her. She turned the leaveslistlessly, then sat up with an air of attention. There on thetitle-page was a line from Stevenson, the very thing Madam Chartley hadsaid to her the day she left Warwick Hall. "_To renounce when that shallbe necessary, and not be embittered. _"

Phil had chosen wisely after all if his little tale were to tell her howto do it. Then a paragraph on the first page claimed her attention. "_Because he was born in Mars' month, the bloodstone became his signet, sure token that undaunted courage would be the jewel of his soul. _"

Why, she and Jack were both born in Mars' month, and each had abloodstone, and each had to answer to an awful call for courage. It wasdear of Phil to choose such an appropriate story. Settling herselfcomfortably back in the seat, she began to read, never dreaming what adifference in all her after life the little tale was to make. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE JESTER'S SWORD

Because he was born in Mars' month, which is ruled by that red war-god, they gave him the name of a red star--Aldebaran; the red star that isthe eye of Taurus. And because he was born in Mars' month, thebloodstone became his signet, sure token that undaunted courage would bethe jewel of his soul. 

Now all his brothers were as stalwart and as straight of limb as he, andeach one's horoscope held signs foretelling valorous deeds. ButAldebaran's so far out-blazed them all, with comet's trail and planetsin most favourable conjunction, that from his first year it was knownthe Sword of Conquest should be his. This sword had passed from sire toson all down a line of kings. Not to the oldest one always, as did thethrone, though now and then the lot fell so, but to the one to whom thesigns all pointed as being worthiest to wield it. 

So from the cradle it was destined for Aldebaran, and from the cradleit was his greatest teacher. His old nurse fed him with such tales ofit, that even in his play the thought of such an heritage urged him togreater ventures than his mates dared take. Many a night he knelt besidehis casement, gazing through the darkness at the red eye of Taurus, whispering to himself the words the old astrologers had written, "_AsAldebaran the star shines in the heavens, so Aldebaran the man shallshine among his fellows_. "

Day after day the great ambition grew within him, bone of his bone andstrength of his sinew, until it was as much a part of him as the strongheart beating in his breast. But only to one did he give voice to it, tothe maiden Vesta, who had always shared his play; Now it chanced thatshe, too, bore the name of a star, and when he told her what theastrologers had written, she repeated the words of her own destiny:

"_As Vesta the star keeps watch in the heavens above the hearths ofmortals, so Vesta the maiden shall keep eternal vigil beside the heartof him who of all men is the bravest. _"

When Aldebaran heard that he swore by the bloodstone on his finger thatwhen the time was ripe for him to wield the sword he would show theworld a far greater courage than it had ever known before. And Vestasmiling, promised by that same token to keep vigil by one fire only, thefire that she had kindled in his heart. 

One by one his elder brothers grew up and went out into the world to wintheir fortunes, and like a restless steed that frets against the rein, impatient to be off, he chafed against delay and longed to follow. Fornow the ambition that had grown with his growth had come to be more thanbone of his bone and strength of his sinew. It was an all-consumingdesire which coursed through him even as his heart's blood; for with theyears had come an added reason for the keeping of his youthful vow. Onlyin that way could Vesta's destiny be linked with his. 

When the great day came at last for the Sword to be put into his hands, with a blare of trumpets the castle gates flew open, and a longprocession of nobles filed through. To the sound of cheers and ringingof bells, Aldebaran fared forth on his quest. The old king, his father, stepped down in the morning sun, and with bared head Aldebaran knelt toreceive his blessing. With his hand on the Sword he swore that he wouldnot come home again, until he had made a braver conquest than had everbeen made with it before, and by the bloodstone on his finger the oldking knew that Aldebaran would fail not in the keeping of that oath. 

With the godspeed of the villagers ringing in his ears, he rode away. Only once he paused to look back, when a white hand fluttered at acasement, and Vesta's sorrowful face shone down on him like a star. Thenshe, too, saw the bloodstone on his finger as he waved her a farewell, and she, too, knew by that token he would fail not in the keeping of hisoath. 

'Twas passing wonderful how soon Aldebaran began to taste the sweets ofgreat achievement. His name was on the tongue of every troubador, hisdeeds in every minstrel's song. And though he travelled far to alienlands, scarce known by hearsay even to the folk at home, his fame wascarried back, far over seas again, and in his father's court his namewas spoken daily in proud tones, as they recounted all his honours. 

Young, strong, with the impetuous blood begotten of success tinglingthrough all his veins, he had no thought that dire mishap could seize on_him_; that pain or malady or mortal weakness could pierce _his_ armour, which youth and health had girt about him. From place to place he went, wherever there was need of some brave champion to espouse a weak one'scause. It mattered not who was arrayed against him, whether a tyrantking, a dragon breathing fire, or some hideous scaly monster that preyedupon the villages. His Sword of Conquest was unsheathed for each; and ashis courage grew with every added victory, he thirsted for some greaterfoe to vanquish, remembering his youthful vow. 

And as he journeyed on he pictured often to himself the day of hisreturning, the day on which his vow should find fulfilment. How wide thegates would be thrown open for his welcome! How loud would swell thecheers of those who thronged to do him honour! His dreams were always ofthat triumphal entrance, and of Vesta's approving smile. Never once theshadow of a thought stole through his mind that it might be farotherwise. Was not he born for conquest? Did not the very stars foretellsuccess?

One night, belated in a mountain pass, he sought the shelter of ashelving rock, and with his mantle wrapped about him lay down to sleep. Upon the morrow he would sally forth and beard the Province Terror inhis stronghold; would challenge him to combat, and after long andglorious battle would rid the country of its dreaded foe. Alreadytasting victory, he fell asleep, a smile upon his lips. 

But in the night a storm swept down the mountain pass with sudden fury, uprooting trees a century old, and rending mighty rocks with swordthrusts of its lightning. And when it passed Aldebaran lay prone uponthe earth borne down by rocks and fallen trees. Lay as if dead until twopassing goat-herds found him and bore him down in pity to their hut. 

Long weeks went by before the fever craze and pains began to leave him, and when at last he crawled out in the sun, he found himself a poormisshapen thing, all maimed and marred, with twisted back and face alldrawn awry, and foot that dragged. One hand hung nerveless by his side. Never more would it be strong enough to use the Sword. He could not evendraw it from its scabbard. 

As in a daze he looked upon himself, thinking some hideous nightmare hadhim in its hold. "This is not _I_!" he cried, in horror at the thought. Then as the truth began to pierce his soul, he sat with starting eyesand lips that gibbered in cold fear, the while they still persisted intheir fierce denial. "This is not _I_!"

Again he said it and again as if his frenzied words could work amiracle and make him as he was before. Then when the sickening sense ofhis calamity swept over him like a flood in all its fulness, he casthimself upon the earth and prayed to die. Despair had seized him. ButDeath comes not at such a call; kind Death, who waits that one may havea chance to rise again and grapple with the foe that downed him, andconquering, wipe the stigma coward from his soul. 

So with Aldebaran. At first it seemed that he could not endure to facethe round of useless days now stretching out before him. An eagle, broken-winged and drooping in a cage, he sat within the goat-herd's hutand gloomed upon his lot, and cursed the vital force within that wouldnot let him die. 

To fall asleep with all the world within one's grasp and wakenempty-handed--that is small bane to one who may spring up again, and bysheer might wrest all his treasures back from Fortune. But to wakehelpless as well as empty-handed, the strength for ever gone from armsthat were invincible; to crawl, a poor crushed worm, the mark for allmen's pity, where one had thought to win the meed of all men's praise, ah, then to live is agony! Each breath becomes a venomed adder's sting. 

Most of all Aldebaran thought of Vesta. The stroke that marred hiscomeliness and took his strength had robbed him of all power to win hishappiness. It was written "by the hearth of him who is the bravest sheshall keep eternal vigil. " As yet he had not risen above the level ofhis forbears' bravery, only up to it. Now 'twas impossible to show theworld a greater courage, shorn as he was of strength. And even had herhoroscope willed otherwise, and she should come to him all filled withmaiden pity to share his ruined hearth, he could not say her yea. Hisman's pride rose up in him, rebellious at the thought of pity from onein whose sight he fain would be all that is strong and comely. Lookingdown upon his twisted limbs, the pain that racked him was greatertorture than mere flesh can feel. Although 'twas casting heaven fromhim, he drew his mantle closer, hiding his disfigured form, and prayedwith groans and writhings that she might never look on him again. Sodays went by. 

There came a time when, even through his all-absorbing thought of self, there pierced the consciousness that he no longer could impose upon thegoat-herds' bounty. Food was scarce within the hut, and even though hegroaned to die, the dawns brought hunger. So at the close of day hedragged him down the mountainside, thinking that under cover of thedusk he would steal into the village and seek a chance to earn hisbread. 

But as he neared the little town and the sound of evening bells broke onhis ear, and lighted windows marked the homes where welcome waited othermen, he winced as from a blow. This was the village he had thought toenter in the midst of loud acclaims, its brave deliverer from theProvince Terror. Then every window in the hamlet would have blazed forhim. Then every door would have been set wide to welcome Aldebaran, theroyal son of kings, fittest to bear the Sword of Conquest. And nowAldebaran was but the crippled makeshift of a man, who could not evendraw that Sword from out its scabbard; at whose wry features all mustturn away in loathing, and some perchance might even set the dogs tosnarling at his heels, in haste to have him gone. 

"In all the world, " he cried in bitterness, "there breathes no other manwhom Fate hath used so cruelly! Emptied of hope, robbed of my all, lifedoth become a prison-house that dooms me to its lowest dungeon! Whystruggle any longer 'gainst my lot? Why not lie here and starve, andthus force Death to turn the key, and break the manacles which bind meto my misery?"

While he thus mused, footsteps came up the mountainside, a lusty voicewas raised in song, and before he could draw back into cover, a head ina fantastic cap appeared above the bushes. It was the village Jestercapering along the path as if the world were thistledown and every day aholiday. But when he saw Aldebaran he stopped agape and crossed himself. Then he pushed nearer. 

Now those who saw the Jester only on a market day or at the country fairplying his trade of merriment for all 'twas worth knew not a sage washid behind that motley or that his sympathies were tender as a saint's. Yet so it was. The motto written deep across his heart was this: _"Toease the burden of the world!"_ It was beyond belief how wise he'd grownin wheedling men to think no load lay on their shoulders. Now he stoodand gazed upon the prostrate man who turned away his face and would notanswer his low-spoken words: "What ails thee, brother?"

It boots not in this tale what wiles he used to gain Aldebaran's ear andtongue. Another man most surely must have failed, because he shrank frompity as from salt rubbed in a wound, and felt that none could hear hiswoeful history and not bestow that pity. But if the Jester felt itsthrobs he gave no sign. Seated beside him on the grass he talked in thelight tone that served his trade, as if Aldebaran's woes were but aflight of swallows 'cross a summer sky, and would as soon be gone. Andwhen between his quirks he'd drawn the piteous tale entirely from him, he doubled up with laughter and smote his sides. 

"And I'm the fool and thou'rt the sage!" he gasped between his peals ofmirth. "Gadzooks! Methinks it is the other way around. Why, look ye, man! Here thou dost go a-junketing through all the earth to find achance to show unequalled courage, and when kind Fate doth shove itunderneath thy very nose, thou turn'st away, lamenting. I've heard ofthose who know not beans although the bag be opened, and now I laugh tosee one of that very kind before me. "

Then dropping his unseemly mirth and all his wanton raillery, he stoodup with his face a-shine, and spake as if he were the heaven-sentmessenger of hope. 

"Rise up!" he cried. "_Knowest thou not it takes a thousandfold morecourage to sheathe the sword when one is all on fire for action than togo forth against the greatest foe?_ Here is thy chance to show theworld the kingliest spirit it has ever known! Here is a phalanx thoumayst meet all single-handed--a daily struggle with a host of hurts thatcut thee to the quick. This sheathed sword upon thy side will stab theehourly with deeper thrusts than any adversary can give. 'Twill be adaily 'minder of thy thwarted hopes. For foiled ambition is thehydra-headed monster of the Lerna marsh. Two heads will rise for everyone thou severest. 'Twill be a fight till death. Art brave enough tolift the gauntlet that Despair flings down and wage this warfare to thyvery grave?"

Such call to arms seemed mockery as Aldebaran looked down upon histwisted limbs, but as the bloodstone on his finger met his sight hiskingly soul leapt up. "I'll keep the oath!" he cried, and struggling tohis feet laid hand upon the jewelled hilt that decked his side. 

"By sheathčd sword, since blade is now denied me, " he swore. "I'll winthe future that my stars foretold!"

In that exalted moment all things seemed possible, and though his bodylimped as haltingly he followed on behind his new-found friend, hisspirit walked erect, and faced his future for the time, undaunted. 

His merry-Andrew of a host made festival when they at last came to hisdwelling; lit a great fire upon the hearth, brewed him a drink thatwarmed him to the core, brought wheaten loaves and set a bit of savourymeat to turning on the spit. 

"Ho, ho!" he laughed. "They say it is an ill wind that blows good tonone. Now thou dost prove the proverb. The tempest that didst blow theefrom thy course mayhap may send me on my way rejoicing. I long havewished to leave this land and seek the distant province where my kindreddwell, but there was never one to take my place. And when I spake ofgoing, my townsmen said me nay. 'Twas quite as bad, they vowed, as ifthe priest should suddenly desert his parish, with none to shepherd hisabandoned flock. 'Who'll cheer us in our doldrums?' they demanded. 'Who'll help us bear our troubles by making us forget them? Thou canstnot leave us, Piper, until some other merry soul comes by to set ourfeet a-dancing. ' Now thou art come. "

"Yes, _I_! A merry soul indeed!" Aldebaran cried in bitterness. 

"Well, maybe not quite that, " his host admitted. "But thou couldst passas one. Thou couldst at least put on my grotesque garb, couldst learnthe quips and quirks by which I make men laugh. Thou wouldst not be thefirst man who has hid an aching heart behind a smile. The tune thoupipest may not bring _thee_ pleasure, but if it sets the world todancing it is enough. And, too, it is an honest way to earn thy bread. Canst think of any other?"

Aldebaran hid his face within his hands. "No, no!" he groaned. "There isno other way, and yet my soul abhors the thought, that I, a king's son, should descend to this! The jester's motley and the cap and bells. Howcan _I_ play such a part?"

"Because thou _art_ a king's son, " said the Jester. "That in itself isample reason that thou shouldst play more royally than other menwhatever part Fate may assign thee. "

Aldebaran sat wrapped in thought. "Well, " was the slow reply after longpause, "an hundred years from now, I suppose, 'twill make no differencehow circumstances chafe me now. A poor philosophy, but still there is agrain of comfort in it. I'll take thy offer, friend, and give theegratitude. "

And so next day the two went forth together. Aldebaran showed a bravefront to the crowd, glad of the painted mask that hid his features, andno one guessed the misery that lurked beneath his laugh, and no one knewwhat mighty tax it was upon his courage to follow in the Jester's leadand play buffoon upon the open street. It was a thing he loathed, andyet, 'twas as the Jester said, his training in the royal court had madehim sharp of wit and quick to read men's minds; and to the countrymenwho gathered there agape, around him in the square, his keen replieswere wonderful as wizard's magic. 

And when he piped--it was no shallow fluting that merely set the rusticfeet a-jig, it was a strange and stirring strain that made the simplestone among them stand with his soul a-tiptoe, as he listened, as if akingly train with banners went a-marching by. So royally he played hispart, that even on that first day he surpassed his teacher. The Jester, jubilant that this was so, thought that his time to leave was near athand, but when that night they reached his dwelling Aldebaran tore offthe painted mask and threw himself upon the hearth. 

"'Tis more than flesh can well endure!" he cried. "All day the thoughtof what I've lost was like a constant sword-thrust in my heart. Insteadof deference and respect that once was mine from high and low, 'twaslaugh and jibe and pointing finger. And, too, " (his voice grew shrilland querulous) "I saw young lovers straying in the lanes together. Howcan I endure that sight day after day when my arms must remain for everempty? And little children prattled by their father's side no matterwhere I turned. I, who shall never know a little son's caress felt likea starving man who looks on bread and may not eat. Far better that Icrawl away from haunts of men where I need never be tormented by suchcontrasts. "

The Jester looked down on Aldebaran's wan face. It was as white anddrawn as if he had been tortured by the rack and thumbscrew, so he madeno answer for the moment. But when the fire was kindled, and they hadsupped the broth set out in steaming bowls upon the table, he venturedon a word of cheer. 

"At any rate, " he said, "for one whole day thou hast kept thy oath. Nomatter what the anguish that it cost thee, from sunrise till sunsettingthou hast held Despair at bay. It was the bravest stand that thou hastever made. And now, if thou hast lived through this one day, why notanother? 'Tis only one hour at a time that thou art called on to endure. Come! By the bloodstone that is thy birthright, pledge me anew thou'ltkeep thy oath until the going down of one more sun. "

So Aldebaran pledged him one more day, and after that another andanother, until a fortnight slowly dragged itself away. And then becausehe met his hurt so bravely and made no sign, the Jester thought thestruggle had grown easier with time, and spoke again of going to hiskindred. 

"Nay, do not leave me yet, " Aldebaran plead. "Wouldst take my onlycrutch? It is thy cheerful presence that alone upholds me. "

"Yet it would show still greater courage if thou couldst face thy fatealone, " the Jester answered. "Despair cannot be vanquished till thouhast taught thyself to really feel the gladness thou dost feign. I'veheard that if one will count his blessings as the faithful tell theirrosary beads he will forget his losses in pondering on his manybenefits. Perchance if thou wouldst try that plan it might avail. "

So Aldebaran went out determined to be glad in heart as well as speech, if so be it he could find enough of cheer. "I will be glad, " he said, "because the morning sun shines warm across my face. " He slipped agolden beam upon his memory string. 

"I will be glad because that there are diamond sparkles on the grass andlarks are singing in the sky. " A dew-drop and a bird's trill for hisrosary. 

"I will be glad for bread, for water from the spring, for eyesight andthe power to smell the budding lilacs by the door; for friendlygreetings from the villagers. "

A goodly rosary, symbol of all the things for which he should be glad, was in his hand at close of day. He swung it gaily by the hearth thatnight, recounting all his blessings till the Jester thought, "At lasthe's found the cure. "

But suddenly Aldebaran flung the rosary from him and hid his face withinhis hands. "'Twill drive me mad!" he cried. "To go on stringing baublesthat do but set my mind the firmer on the priceless jewel I have lost. May heaven forgive me! I am not really glad. 'Tis all a hollow mockeryand pretence!"

Then was the Jester at his wit's end for reply. It was a welcome soundwhen presently a knocking at the door broke on the painful silence. Thevisitor who entered was an aged friar beseeching alms at every door, aswas the custom of his brotherhood, with which to help the sick and poor. And while the Jester searched within a chest for some old garments hewas pleased to give, he bade the friar draw up to the hearth and tarryfor their evening meal, which then was well-nigh ready. The friar, gladto accept the hospitality, spread out his lean hands to the blaze, andlater, when the three sat down together, warmed into such acheerfulness of speech that Aldebaran was amazed. 

"Surely thy lot is hard, good brother, " he said, looking curiously intothe wrinkled face. "Humbling thy pride to beg at every door, forswearingthine own good in every way that others may be fed, and yet thy facespeaks of an inward joy. I pray thee tell me how thou hast foundhappiness. "

"_By never going in its quest_, " the friar answered. "Long years ago Ilearned a lesson from the stars. Our holy Abbot took me out one nightinto the quiet cloister, and pointing to the glittering heavens showedme my duty in a way I never have forgot. I had grown restive in my lotand chafed against its narrow round of cell and cloister. But in a wordhe made me see that if I stepped aside from that appointed path, merelyfor mine own pleasure, 'twould mar the order of God's universe as surelyas if a planet swerved from its eternal course. 

"'No shining lot is thine, ' he said. 'Yet neither have the starsthemselves a light. They but reflect the Central Sun. And so mayst thou, while swinging onward, faithful to thy orbit, reflect the light ofheaven upon thy fellow men. '

"Since then I've had no need to go a-seeking happiness, for bearingcheer to others keeps my own heart a-shine. I pass the lesson on tothee, good friend. Remember, men need laughter sometimes more than food, and if thou hast no cheer thyself to spare, why, thou mayst goa-gathering it from door to door as I do crusts, and carry it to thosewho need. "

Long after the good friar had supped and gone, Aldebaran sat in silence. Then crossing to the tiny casement that gave upon the street, he stoodand gazed up at the stars. Long, long he mused, fitting the friar'slesson to his own soul's need, and when he turned away, the oldastrologer's prophecy had taken on new meaning. 

"As Aldebaran the star shines in the heavens" _(no light within itself, but borrowing from the Central Sun), _ "so Aldebaran the man might shineamong his fellows. " _(Beggared of joy himself, yet flashing itsreflection athwart the lives of others. _)

When next he went into the town he no longer shunned the sights thatformerly he'd passed with face averted, for well he knew that if hewould shed joy and hope on others he must go to places where they mostabound. What matter that the thought of Vesta stabbed him nigh tomadness when he looked on hearth-fires that could never blaze for him?With courage almost more than human he put that fond ambition out ofmind as if it were another sword he'd learned to sheathe. At first itwould not stay in hiding, but flew the scabbard of his will to thrusthim sore as often as he put it from him. But after awhile he found a wayto bind it fast, and when he'd found that way it gave him victory overall. 

A little child came crying towards him in the market-place, its world awaste of woe because the toy it cherished had been broken in its play. Aldebaran would have turned aside on yesterday to press the barbedthought still deeper in his heart that he had been denied the joy offatherhood. But now he stooped as gently as if he were the child's ownsire to wipe its tears and soothe its sobs. And when with skilfulfingers he restored the toy, the child bestowed on him a warm caress outof its boundless store. 

He passed on with his pulses strangely stirred. 'Twas but a crumb oflove the child had given, yet, as Aldebaran held it in his heart, beholda miracle! It grew full-loaf, and he would fain divide it with allhungering souls! So when a stone's throw farther on he met a manwell-nigh distraught from many losses, he did not say in bitterness asonce he would have done, that 'twas the common lot of mortals; to lookon him if one would know the worst that Fate can do. Nay, rather did hespeak so bravely of what might still be wrung from life though one weremaimed like he, that hope sprang up within his hearer and sent him onhis way with face a-shine. 

That grateful smile was like a revelation to Aldebaran, showing him hehad indeed the power belonging to the stars. Beggared of joy, no lightwithin himself, yet from the Central Sun could he reflect the hope andcheer that made him as the eye of Taurus 'mong his fellows. 

The weeks slipped into months, months into years. The Jester went hisway unto his kindred and never once was missed, because Aldebaran morethan filled his place. In time the town forgot it ever had anotherJester, and in time Aldebaran began to feel the gladness that he onlyfeigned before. 

And then it came to pass whenever he went by men felt a strange, strength-giving influence radiating from his presence, --a sense of hope. One could not say exactly what it was, it was so fleeting, sointangible, like warmth that circles from a brazier, or perfume that iswafted from an unseen rose. 

Thus he came down to death at last, and there was dole in all theProvince, so that pilgrims, journeying through that way, asked whenthey heard his passing-bell, "What king is dead, that all thus do himreverence?"

"'Tis but our Jester, " one replied. "A poor maimed creature in hisoutward seeming, and yet so blithely did he bear his lot, it seemed akingly spirit dwelt among us, and earth is poorer for his going. "

All in his motley, since he'd willed it so, they laid him on his bier tobear him back again unto his father's house. And when they found theSword of Conquest hidden underneath his mantle, they marvelled he hadcarried such a treasure with him through the years, all unbeknown evento those who walked the closest at his side. 

When, after many days, the funeral train drew through the castle gate, the king came down to meet it. There was no need of blazoned scroll totell Aldebaran's story. All written in his face it was, and on hisscarred and twisted frame; and by the bloodstone on his finger the oldking knew his son had failed not in the keeping of his oath. More regalthan the royal ermine seemed his motley now. More eloquent the sheathedsword that told of years of inward struggle than if it bore the blood ofdragons, for on his face there shone the peace that comes alone ofmighty triumph. 

The king looked round upon his nobles and his stalwart sons, then backagain upon Aldebaran, lying in silent majesty. 

"Bring royal purple for the pall, " he faltered, "and leave the Sword ofConquest with him! No other hands will ever be found worthier to claimit!"

That night when tall white candles burned about him there stole awhite-robed figure to the flower-strewn bier. 'Twas Vesta, decked as fora bridal, her golden tresses falling round her like a veil. They foundher kneeling there beside him, her face like his all filled with starrylight, and round them both was such a wondrous shining, the watchersdrew aside in awe. 

"'Tis as the old astrologers foretold, " they whispered. "Her soul hathentered on its deathless vigil. In truth he was the bravest that thisearth has ever known. "

The porter was lighting the lamps when Mary finished reading. There wasone directly above her. She moved her hand so that the light fell on herzodiac ring, and sat turning it this way and that to watch the dullgleams. By the bloodstone on her finger she was vowing that her courageshould fail not in helping Jack "pick up the gauntlet which Despairflung down, and wage the warfare to his very grave. "

All the way through the story she had read Jack for Aldebaran, and itshould be her part to play the rôle of the Jester who had led him backto hope. She opened the book again at the sentence, "The motto writtendeep across his heart was this: '_To ease the burden of the world. _'"Henceforth that should be her aim in life, to ease Jack's burden. Together, "by sheathed sword since blade was now denied him, " they wouldprove his right to the Sword of Conquest. 

Some great load seemed to lift itself from her own shoulders as she madethis resolution. She was glad that she had been born in Mars' month. Shewas glad that this little story had fallen in her way. 

It gave her hope and courage. Beggared of joy himself, Jack should yetbe "as the eye of Taurus 'mong his fellows. "

CHAPTER XIV

BACK AT LONE-ROCK

All the rest of the way to Lone-Rock, Mary's waking moments were spentin anticipating her arrival and planning diversions for the days tofollow. Now that she was so near, she could hardly wait to see thefamily. The seven months that she had been away seemed seven years, judging by her changed outlook on life. She felt that she had gone awaya mere child, and that she was coming back, years old and wiser. Shewondered if they would notice any difference in her. 

That Mrs. Ware did, was evident from their moment of greeting. Neverbefore had she broken down and sobbed on Mary's shoulder as she did now. Always she had been the comforter and Mary the one to be consoled, butfor a few moments their positions were reversed. Conscious that hercoming had lifted a burden from her mother's shoulders, the burden ofenduring her anxiety alone, she tiptoed into Jack's room, ready to beginplaying the Jester at once with some merry speech which she was surewould bring a smile. 

But he was lying asleep, and the jest died on her lips as she stood andgazed at him. She had expected him to look ill, but his face, white anddrawn with great dark shadows under his closed eyes, was so muchghastlier than she had pictured, that it was a shock to find him so. Shestole out of the room again to the sunny little back porch, as sick atheart as if she had seen him lying in his coffin. He was no more likethe strong jolly big brother she had left, than the silent shadow ofhim. She was thankful that her first sight of him had been while he wasasleep. Otherwise she must have betrayed her surprise and distress. 

[ILLUSTRATION: "OUT ON THE PORCH SHE HEARD FROM NORMAN HOW IT HADHAPPENED. "]

Out on the porch she heard from Norman how it had happened. Jack hadseen the danger that threatened two of the workmen, and had sprungforward with a warning cry in time to push them out of the way, but hadbeen caught himself by the falling timbers. The miners had always likedJack, Norman told her. He could do anything with them. And now theywould get down and crawl for him if it would do any good. 

From her mother and the nurse Mary heard about the operation that hadbeen made to relieve the pressure on the spinal cord. It seemedsuccessful as far as it went. They could not hope to do more than tomake it possible for him to sit up in a wheeled chair. The injury hadbeen of such a peculiar character that they were fortunate to accomplisheven that much. It would be several weeks before he could attempt it. Jack did not know yet how seriously he had been injured. They wereafraid to tell him until he was stronger. The Company was paying all theexpenses of his illness, and there was an accident insurance. 

At first Mary insisted on sending away Huldah, the faithful woman whohad been the maid of all work in her absence, protesting that "a pennysaved was a penny earned, " and that she herself was amply able to do thework, and that she could economize even if she couldn't bring in anymoney to the family treasury. But she was soon persuaded of the wisdomof keeping her. The nurse was to leave as soon as Jack was able to situp, and Mary would have her hands full then. He would need constantattendance at first, the nurse told her, and since he could never takeany exercise, only daily massage would keep up his strength. 

"I shall begin teaching you how to give it just as soon as he rallies alittle more, " the nurse promised, "You will have to be both hands andfeet for him for many a week to come, poor boy, and feet always. It isgood that you are so strong and untiring yourself. "

For awhile Mary went about feeling like a visitor, since there waslittle for her to do either in kitchen or sick-room. Jack had not yetreached the stage when he needed amusement. He seemed glad that she washome, and his eyes followed her wistfully about the room, but he did notattempt to talk much. Sometimes the emptiness of the hours palled on hertill she felt that she could not endure it. She wrote long letters toJoyce and Betty and all the school-girls with whom she wanted to keep upa correspondence. She mended everything she could find that neededmending, and she spent many hours telling her mother all that hadhappened in her absence. But for once in her life her usual resourcesfailed her. 

The little mining camp of Lone-Rock was high up in the hills, so thatApril there was not like the Aprils she had known at the Wigwam. Therewere still patches of snow under the pine trees above the camp. But thestir of spring was in the air, and every afternoon, while Mrs. Ware wasresting, Mary slipped away for a long walk. Sometimes she wouldscramble up the hill-side to the great over-hanging rock which gave theplace its name, and sit looking down at the tiny village below. It wasjust a cluster of miners' shacks, most of them inhabited by Mexicans. There were the Company's stores and the post-office, and away at thefarther end of the one street were the houses of the few Americanfamilies who had found their way to Lone-Rock, either on account of themines or the healthful climate of the pine-covered hills. She coulddistinguish the roof of their own cottage among them, and the chimney ofthe little, unpainted school-house. 

She wondered what the outcome of all their troubles was to be. Shecouldn't go on in this aimless way, day after day. She must findsomething to do that would pay her a salary, and it must be somethingthat she could do at home, where she would be needed sorely as soon asthe nurse left. Then she would go over and over the same little round. She might teach. She knew that she could pass the examination for alicense, but the school was already supplied with a competent teacher, of many years' experience, whom the trustees would undoubtedly prefer toa seventeen year old girl just fresh from school herself. 

There was stenography--that was something she could master by herself, and at home, but there was already a stenographer in the Company office, and there was no other place for one in Lone-Rock. Round and round shewent like one in a treadmill, always to come back to the starting point, that there was nothing she could do in Lone-Rock to earn money, and she_must_ earn some, and she could not go away from home. Sometimes thehopelessness of the situation gave her a wild caged feeling, as if shemust beat herself against the bars of circumstance and make them giveway for her pent-up forces to find an outlet. 

The only thing that Mrs. Ware could suggest was that they mightadvertise in the Phoenix papers for summer boarders. She had been toldthat the year before several camping parties had pitched tents nearLone-Rock, and they had said that if there were a good boarding place inthe village it could be filled to overflowing with a desirable class ofguests. 

So Mary spent an evening, pencil in hand, calculating the probableexpenses and income from such a venture. They could not go into it on alarge scale, the house was too small. The cost of living was high inLone-Rock, and the market limited to the canned goods on the shelves ofthe Company's stores. Her careful figuring proved that there would beso little profit in the undertaking that it would not pay to try. Butthe evening was not lost. It suggested the vegetable garden, which withNorman's help she proceeded to start the very next morning. 

Plain spading in unbroken sod is not exactly what a boy of thirteenwould call sport, and Norman started at the task with little enthusiasm. But Mary, following vigorously in his wake with hoe and rake, spurredhim on with visions of the good things they should have to eat and thefortune they should make selling fresh garden stuff to the summercampers, till he caught some of her indomitable spirit, and really grewinterested in the work. Mary confined her energies to the vegetableswhich she knew would grow in that locality, and which would be sure tofind a ready sale, but Norman gradually enlarged the borders to makeexperiments of his own, till all the lot back of the house was a welltilled garden. 

If it had done nothing but keep her employed out of doors many hours ofthe day it would have been well worth the effort, for it kept her frombrooding over her troubles, and largely took away the caged feelingwhich had made her so desperate. As the fresh green shoots came upthrough the soil and she counted the long straight rows, she countedalso the dimes each one ought to bring to the family purse, and drew abreath of relief. They would amount to a neat little sum by the end ofthe season, and by that time maybe some other way would be opened up forher to earn money at home. True, not all the things they planted cameup. Fully a third of the garden "failed to answer to roll call, " Normansaid, but those that did respond to their diligent care amply made upfor the failure of the others. 

Jack's room in the wing of the cottage had a south door over-looking thegarden, and it was a happy day for the entire household when he asked toknow what was going on out there. He could not see the garden from thecorner where his bed stood, but the nurse propped a large mirror upagainst a chair in a way to reflect the entire scene. Norman wasvigorously hoeing weeds, and Mary, armed with a large magnifying glass, was on a hunt for the worms that were threatening the young plants. 

The scene seemed to amuse Jack immensely, and entirely aroused out ofhis apathy, he began to ask questions, and to suggest various dishesthat he would like to sample as soon as the garden could furnish them. Every morning after that he called for the mirror to see how much thegarden had grown in the night. It was an event when the first tinyradish was brought in for him to taste, and a matter of familyrejoicing, when the first crisp head of lettuce was made into a saladfor him, because his enjoyment of it was so evident. 

About that time he was able to be propped up in bed a little while eachday, and was so much like his old cheerful self that Mary wrote longhopeful letters to Joyce and Betty about his improvement. He joked withthe nurse and talked so confidently about going back to work, that Marybegan to feel that her worst fears had been unfounded, and that much ofher mental anguish on his account had been unnecessary. Sometimes sheshared his hopefulness to such an extent that she half regretted leavingschool before the end of the year. When the girls wrote about theapproaching Commencement and the good times they were having, and of howthey missed her, she thought how pleasant it would have been to have hadat least the one whole year with them. She was afraid she would be sorryall the rest of her life that she had missed those experiences ofCommencement time. The exercises were always so beautiful at WarwickHall. 

She could not wholly regret her return, however, when she saw how muchJack depended on her for entertainment. He was ready to hear all abouther escapades at school now, and hours at a time she talked or read tohim, choosing with unerring instinct the tales best suited to his mood. Phil kept them supplied with all the current magazines. Phil had been sothoughtful about that, and his occasional letters to Jack had madered-letter days on Mary's calendar. They had been almost as good asvisits, they were so charged with his jolly, light-hearted spirit. 

But it happened, that the story she intended to read Jack first, _TheJester's Sword_, still lay unopened on her table. She could not evensuggest his likeness to Aldebaran while he talked so hopefully of whathe intended to do as soon as he was out of bed. It was evident that hedid not realize the utter hopelessness of his condition, or he could nothave made such big plans for the future. 

"Of course I appreciate your leaving school in the middle of the term, "he told her. "It's good for mamma to have you here, and it's fine forme, too, to have you look after me. But I'm sorry you were so badlyfrightened that you thought it necessary. You'll have to pay up for thisholiday, Missy. I shall expect you to study all summer to make up losttime, so that you can catch up with your class and enter Sophomore withthem next fall. "

To please him she brought out her books and studied awhile every day, reciting her French and Latin to her mother, and wrestling along withthe others as best she could. Then, too, it was impossible not to beaffected to some extent by his spirit of hopefulness, and several timesshe gave herself up to the bliss of dreaming of the joyful thing itwould be, if he should prove to be right and she could go back toWarwick Hall in the fall. Then, one day the surgeons came up fromPhoenix again and made their examination and experiments, and afterthat the lessons and the day-dreams stopped. Everything stopped, itseemed. 

They told him the truth because he would have nothing else, althoughthey shrank from doing it until the last moment of their stay. They knewit would be like giving him his death-blow. Mary, standing in the door, saw the look of unspeakable horror that stole slowly over his face, thenhis helpless sinking back among the pillows, and the twitching of hishands as he clenched them convulsively. Not a word or a groan escapedhim, but the wild despair of his set face and staring eyes was morethan she could endure. She rushed out of the room and out of the houseto the little loft above the woodshed, where no one could hear herfrantic sobbing. It was hours before she ventured back into the house. It would only add to his misery to see her distress, she knew, so sheleft him to the little mother's ministrations. 

Anticipating such a result, the surgeons had brought several appliancesto make his confinement less irksome. There was a hammock arrangementwith pulleys, by which he might be swung into different positions, andout into a wheeled chair. They fastened the screws into walls andceiling, put the apparatus in place and carefully tested it beforeleaving. Then they were at the end of their skill. They could do nothingmore. There was nothing that could be done. 

Several times in the days that followed, the nurse spoke of the braveway in which Jack seemed to be meeting his fate. But Mrs. Ware shook herhead sadly. She knew why no complaint escaped him. She had seen him actthe Spartan before to spare her. Mary, too, knew what his persistentsilence meant. He was not always so careful to veil the suffering whichshowed through his eyes when he was alone with her. She knew that halfthe time when he appeared to be listening to what she was reading, hewas so absorbed in his bitter thoughts that he did not hear a word. "_Aneagle, broken-winged and drooping in a cage, he gloomed upon his lot andcursed the vital force within that would not let him die. _"

One morning, when he had been settled in his wheeled chair, she broughtout the story of the Jester's Sword, saying, tremulously, "Will you dosomething for me? Jack? Read this little book yourself. I know you don'thalfway listen to what I read any more, and I don't blame you, but thisseems to have been written just on purpose for you. "

He took the book from her listlessly, and opened it because she wishedit. Watching him from the doorway, she waited until she saw him glanceup from the opening paragraph to the watch-fob lying on the stand at hiselbow. Then he looked back at the page, with a slight show of interest, and she knew that the reference to Mars' month and the bloodstone hadcaught his attention as it had hers. Then she left him alone with it, hoping fervently it would arouse in him at least a tithe of the interestit had awakened in her. 

When she came back after awhile he merely handed her the book, sayingin an indifferent way, "A very pretty little tale, Mary, " and leanedback in his chair with closed eyes, as if dismissing it from histhoughts. She was disappointed, but later she saw him sitting with it inhis hand again, closed over one finger as if to keep the place, while helooked out of the window with a faraway expression in his eyes. Laterthe nurse asked her what book it was he kept under his pillow. He drewit out occasionally, she said, and glanced at one of the pages as if hewere trying to memorize it. 

That he had at last read it as she read it, putting himself in the placeof Aldebaran, Mary knew one day from an unconscious reference he made toit. A sudden wind had blown up, scattering papers and magazines acrossthe room, and fluttering his curtains like flags. She ran in to pick upthe wind-blown articles and close the shutters. When everything was inorder, as she thought, she turned to go out, but he stopped her, sayingalmost fretfully, "You haven't picked up that picture that blew down. "When she glanced all around the room, unable to discover it, he pointedto the hearth. A photograph had fallen from the mantel, face downward. 

"There! _Vesta's_ picture!"

Mary picked it up and turned it over, exclaiming, "Why, no, it isBetty's!"

"That's what I said, " he answered, wholly unconscious of his slip of thetongue that had betrayed his secret. Her back was turned towards him, sothat he could not see the tears which sprang to her eyes. If already ithad come to this, that Betty was the Vesta of his dreams, then hisrenunciation must be an hundredfold harder than she had imagined. 

With a pity so deep that she could not trust herself to speak, shebusied herself in blowing some specks of dust from the mantel, as anexcuse to keep her back turned. She was relieved when the nurse came inwith a glass of lemonade and she could slip out without his seeing herface. She sat down on the back steps, her arms around her knees to thinkabout the discovery she had just made. It made her heart-sick because itadded so immeasurably to the weight of Jack's misfortune. 

"Oh, _why_ did it have to be?" she demanded again of fate. "It is toocruel that everything the dear boy wanted most should be denied him. "

With her thoughts centred gloomily on his injuries, it seemed almost aninsult for the sun to shine or for any one to be happy, and she was inno mood to meet any one in a different humour from her own. Added toher dull misery on Jack's account, was a baffled, disappointed feelingthat she had not been the comfort to him she had hoped to be. True, shewas learning to give him the massage he needed with almost as skilful atouch as the nurse, but she could not see that she had eased his burdenmentally, in the least, although she had tried faithfully to carry outthe good friar's suggestion. It seemed so hard, when she was ready tomake any sacrifice for him, no matter how great, even to exchanging herstrength for his helplessness, that the means should be denied her. 

While she sat there, longing for some great Angel of Opportunity to openthe way for her to help him, a little one was coming in at the backgate, so disguised that she did not recognize it as such. She was evenimpatient at the interruption. Norman, followed by a half grown Mexicanboy trundling a wheel-barrow, came up from the barn, with a whole trainof smaller boys running along-side, to support the chicken coop he waswheeling. Norman's face shone with importance, and he called excitedlyas he fumbled at the gate latch, "Look, Mary! You can't guess what we'vegot in this box! A young wild-cat! Lúpe wants to sell him. "

"For mercy's sake, Norman Ware, " she answered, impatiently, "haven't weenough trouble now without your bringing home a wild-cat to add to them?And _now_, of all times!"

The tone carried even more disapproval than her words. It seemed toinsinuate that if he had the proper sympathy for Jack he would not bethinking of anything else but his affliction. Instantly the bright faceclouded, and in an injured tone he began to explain:

"I thought brother would like to see it, and he could make the trade forme. He talks Mexican, and I only know a few words, I couldn't make theboys understand more than that they were to bring it along. I don't seewhy Jack's being sick should keep me from having a nice pet like awild-cat. He isn't a bit mean, and I haven't had a single thing sincethe puppy was poisoned. "

The procession had paused, and the piercingly bright eyes of each one ofthe little Mexicans seemed also to be asking why. Mary suddenly had toacknowledge to herself that there wasn't any good reason to prevent. Because one brother was desperately unhappy was no reason why she shouldcloud the enjoyment of the other one by refusing him something on whichhe had set his heart. 

Norman could not understand the lightning change in her, but hefollowed joyfully when she answered with a brief, "Well, come on, " andled the way around to the south door of Jack's room, and called hisattention to the embryo menagerie outside. 

To her surprise, for the first time since the surgeons' last visit, Jacklaughed. It was an amusing group, the wild-cat in the chicken-coop withits body-guard of dirty, grinning little Mexicans, and Norman circlingexcitedly around them, explaining that Lúpe asked a dollar for it, butthat he could only give fifty cents, and for Jack to make himunderstand. 

Jack did make him understand, and conducted the trade to Norman's entiresatisfaction. Then recognizing Lúpe as one of the boys he had seenaround the office, he began to question him in Mexican about the minesand the men. Then it developed that Lúpe was the son of one of the menwho had been saved by Jack's quick warning, and when the boy repeatedwhat some of the miners had said about him, Jack grew red and did nottranslate it all. The part he did translate was to the effect that themen wanted him back at the mine. They were having trouble with the "fatboss, " their name for the new manager. 

The little transaction and talk with the boys seemed to cheer Jack up somuch that Mary mentally apologized to the wild-cat for her inhospitablereception, and electrified Norman by an offer to help him build a moresuitable cage for it than the coop in which it was confined. Norman, whohad unbounded faith in Mary's ability as a carpenter, accepted her offerjoyfully. She wasn't like some girls he had known. When she drove a nailit held things together, and whatever she built would be strong enoughto hold any beast he might choose to put in it. 

[ILLUSTRATION "WHEN SHE DROVE A NAIL IT HELD THINGS TOGETHER. "]

"Now, if I could get a couple of coyotes and a badger and a fox or two, "he remarked, "I'd be fixed. "

Mary, who was sorting over a pile of old boards back of the woodshed, paused in alarm. 

"It strikes me, young man, " she said, a trifle sarcastically, "that themore some people get the more they want. Your wishes seem to be on theJack's Bean-stalk scale. They grow to reach the sky in a single night. Suppose you did have those things, you wouldn't be satisfied. It wouldbe a zebra and a giraffe and a jungle tiger next. "

"No, it wouldn't, " he declared. "I wouldn't know how to take care ofthem, but I do know how to feed the things that live around here. "

"What do you want them for?"

"Well, you know what Huldah said about summer campers. There's always alot of boys along, and if I had a sort of menagerie they'd want to comeover and play circus, and then they'd let me in on their ball-games andthings. It's awful lonesome with school out and Billy Downs gone backEast. There's so few fellows here my age, and Jack won't let me playmuch with the little Mexicans. They aren't much fun anyhow when I can'ttalk their lingo. "

Mary straightened up, hammer in hand, and squinted her eyesthoughtfully, a way she had when something puzzled her. It had notoccurred to her that Norman had social longings like her own whichLone-Rock failed to satisfy. He watched her anxiously. That preoccupiedsquint always meant that interesting developments would follow. 

"Norman Ware, " she said, slowly, "I didn't give you credit for being agenius, but you are as great in one way as Emerson. You've hit on one ofhis ideas all by yourself. He said, 'If a man can write a better book, preach a better sermon or make a better mouse-trap than his neighbours, though he build his house in the woods, the world will make a beatentrack to his door, ' If you want company as bad as all that, you _shall_have a beaten track to your door. We'll build something better than theneighbours ever dreamed of, and it won't be a mouse-trap, either. There's enough old lumber here to build half a dozen cages, and ifyou'll pay for the wire netting out of your share of the garden profits, I'll help you put up a menagerie that P. T. Barnum himself wouldn't havebeen ashamed of. "

Norman's answer was a whoop and a double somersault, and he came up onhis feet again remarking that she was worth all the fellows in Lone-Rockput together. 

"According to what you've just said that isn't very much of acompliment, " laughed Mary. Still it gratified her so much that presentlyshe was planning a side-show for the menagerie. There were all hermounted specimens of trap-door spiders and butterflies and desertinsects. She would loan the collection occasionally, and her stuffedGila monster and the arrow-heads and rattle-snake skins that she andHolland had collected. 

As she hammered and sawed she told Norman the story of _The Jester'sSword_. "That is one reason I am taking so much interest in this, " sheexplained. "I've been thinking for days about what the old friar said, that men need laughter sometimes more than food, and if we haven't anycheer to spare ourselves, we may go a-gathering it from door to door ashe did crusts and carry it to those who need. That is why I have gone onlong walks and made so many calls on the few people that are here, sothat I'd have something amusing to tell Jack when I came home. But hehas seemed to find my 'crusts of cheer' mighty dry food, and he didn'ttake half the interest in them that he did in talking to Lúpe to-day. "

"Lúpe will make a beaten track to _his_ door fast enough, " prophesiedNorman, "when he finds we want to buy more animals. I'll send wordto-night to him to set his traps for those coyotes and foxes. "

That evening after supper, Jack wheeled himself out on to the porch. Itwas the first time he had attempted it, and when he had made the tripsuccessfully, he sat a few minutes watching the stars. They seemedunusually brilliant, and he amused himself in tracing the constellationswith which he was familiar. It had been a family study at the Wigwam, and they had learned many things from the little Atlas of the Heavenswhich Mrs. Ware kept among her other old school books. Presently hecalled Mary. 

"I've located Taurus. See, just over that tree top. And there is its redeye, Aldebaran. I wanted you to see what a jolly twinkle he hasto-night. "

It was the first direct reference he had made to the story, and Marywaited expectantly for him to go on. 

"Don't you worry, little pard, " he said, after a pause. "I've known allalong how you felt about me. But I'm not knocked quite out of the game, even if I am such a wreck. I felt so until I had that talk with Lúpe, asif there was no use of my cumbering the ground any longer. But I foundout a lot from him. The men want me back. They don't understand the newboss at all. They will do anything for me. So even if I can't walk I canbe worth at least half a man to the Company, in just being on the spotto interpret and to keep things running smoothly. I could attend to thecorrespondence, too, for my head and hands are all right. I know I am ashelpless as a baby yet, but if you'll just stand by me, and keep up thattreatment, and help me get my strength back, I'll make good, some way oranother, just as well as Aldebaran did. By the bloodstone on mywatch-fob!" he added, laughingly. "How is that for a fine swear?"

The old hopeful note in his voice made his helplessness more patheticthan ever to Mary, but she answered gaily, "You know I'll stand by youtill 'the last cock crows and the last trump blows!' _You_ didn't haveto be born in Mars month to make undaunted courage the jewel of yoursoul. "

Perched on the arm of his chair she sat watching the red star for amoment, thinking of the events which had led to his resolution. "It'squeer, isn't it, " she said aloud. "I almost drove Norman away thisafternoon with his beast and his train of little Mexicans. I was so outof patience with him for bringing them here. But how is one to know anOpportunity when it comes in a chicken-coop disguised as a Wild-cat?"

CHAPTER XV

KEEPING TRYST

An hundred times that summer, Jack made the story of Aldebaran his own. He had his rare, exalted moments, when all things seemed possible; whendespite his helpless body his spirit walked erect, and faced his futurefor the time undaunted. He had his daily struggle with the host of hurtswhich cut him to the quick, the reminders of his thwarted hopes andfoiled ambitions. Then, too, there were times when the only way he couldkeep up his courage was to repeat grimly through set teeth, "Tis onlyone hour at a time that I am called on to endure. By the bloodstone thatis my birthright, I'll keep my oath until the going down of one moresun. " Before the summer was over it came to pass that more than onesoul, given fresh courage by his brave example, looked upon him as thevillagers had upon Aldebaran: "A poor, maimed creature in his outwardseeming, and yet so blithely does he bear his lot it seems a kinglyspirit dwells among us. "

Mary's letters to Joyce began to take on a cheerful tone that was vastlyencouraging to the toiler in the studio. 

"We have revised Emerson, " she wrote one July morning. "It is fully astrue to say, 'If one can make a better garden, show a bigger circus orput up a more cheerful front to Fate than his neighbours, though hebuild his house in Lone-Rock, the world will make a beaten track to hisdoor. ' The path it has made to ours is a wide one. The boys swarm hereall hours of the day, to Norman's delight, the summer campers make ourgarden the Mecca of their morning pilgrimages, and the cheerful front weput up to Fate seems to be the magnet that draws them back again in theafternoons. 

"Really, our shady front porch reminds me sometimes of a popular SummerResort piazza, it is so gay and chatty. The ladies of the camp come overnearly every day and bring their sewing and fancy work, and Huldah and Iserve tea. It would do you good to see how mamma enjoys Mrs. Leveringand Mrs. Seldon. They're like the friends she used to have back inPlainsville, and this is the first really good social time she has hadsince we left there. 

"Professor Levering and Professor Seldon seem to find Jack socongenial. They talk to him by the hour on the scientific subjects heloves. It is a Godsend to him to have such a diversion. Mrs. Leveringsaid to me this morning that he is a daily wonder to them all, and arebuke as well. 'We think _we_ have troubles, ' she said, 'until we comeover here. Then you make them seem so insignificant that we are ashamedto label them troubles. Oh, you Wares; I never saw such a family! Youfairly radiate cheerfulness. I wish you'd tell me how you do it. '

"I told her I supposed it was because we were all such copy-cats. Firstwe imitated the old Vicar of Wakefield so many years that it gave us acheerful bent of mind, and lately we'd taken the story of Aldebaran toheart and were imitating him and the other Jester. She said, 'Commend meto copy-cats. I'm glad I discovered the species. '

"I am telling you all this in order that you may see that we havemanaged to keep inflexible to the extent of impressing our neighbours, at least, and there is no need for you to worry about us any more. Ihope you will accept Eugenia's invitation and spend that two weeks atthe sea-shore in the idlest, most care-free way you can think of, andnot give one anxious thought to us. True, our day of great things isover. We no longer lay large plans, and sweep the heavens with atelescope, looking for pleasure on a large scale, among the stars. Butit is wonderful how many little things we find now that we used to letslip unheeded, since we've gone to looking for them with a microscope. "

Two days later another letter was sent post-haste to Joyce, written in ahurried scrawl with a pencil, clearly showing Mary's agitation. 

"Something exciting has happened at last! The Leverings brought a friendto call this afternoon, who has just arrived in Lone-Rock to spend therest of vacation with them; a grumpy, middle-aged, absent-minded, oldprofessor from the East, who seemed rather bored with us at first. Butwhen he was taken out to the side-show in the 'Zoo, ' he waked up in ahurry. His very spectacles gleamed and his gray whiskers bristled withinterest when he saw my assortment of pressed wild-flowers from thedesert, and the collection of butterflies and trap-door spiders andother insects in my 'Buggery, ' as Norman calls it. When I showed him allthe data I had collected from text-books and encyclopćdias about theinsect and plant life of the desert, and all the notes I had made myselffrom my own observations, he actually whistled with surprise. He satand fired questions at me like a Gatling gun for nearly an hour, winding up by asking me if I had any idea what a valuable collection Ihad made, and if I would be willing to part with it. 

"Then it came out that he is a noted naturalist who is preparing a setof books on insects and their relation to plant life, and is spending ayear in the West on purpose to study the varieties here. Some of myspecimens are so rare he has not come across them before, and he said mynotes would save him weeks of time--in fact, would be like a blazedtrail through a wilderness, showing him where to go to verify myobservations without loss of time. 

"Of course, when it comes to the pinch, I _don't_ want to part with mybeautiful collection of specimens. It means a great deal to me; I wasover four years making it. But it is too great an opportunity to letpass. He is to name the price to-morrow after he has made a carefulestimate, so I don't know how much he will offer, but Mrs. Levering saysit is sure to be far more than an inexperienced teacher or stenographercould earn in a whole summer. 

"How I have worried and fretted and fumed because I had no way to makemoney here! Now besides what I get for my specimens I am to have achance to earn a little more. Professor Carnes will be here till coldweather, and since I can give him 'intelligent assistance, ' as he callsit, he will have work for me in connection with his notes, copying andindexing them, and gathering new material. 

"Now you can go back to saving up for your year abroad, and give thefamily the honour of claiming _one_ member with a career. Jack is reallygoing back to the office the first of September for a part of every day, at quite a respectable salary considering the length of time he willwork. He's too valuable a man to the company for them to part with. Asfor me, I'm _sure_ something else will turn up as soon as my work forProfessor Carnes comes to an end. We Wares can look back over so many_Eben-Ezers_ raised to mark some special time when Providence came toour rescue, that we have no right ever to be discouraged again. Professor Carnes is my last one, though nobody would be more astonishedthan he to know that he is regarded in the light of an old IsraelitishMemorial stone. You will not have such frequent letters from me afterthis, as I shall be so busy. But Jack says he will attend to mycorrespondence. He is beginning to write a little every day. Yesterdayhe wrote to Betty. He has enjoyed her letters so much, telling abouther lovely time up in the Maine woods. I am so glad you are to have avacation, too. So no more at present from your happy little sister. "

Like all people who are limited to one hobby, and who pursue one line ofstudy for years regardless of other interests, Professor Carnes tooklittle notice of anything outside of his especial work. If Mary had beena new kind of bug he would have studied her with profound interest, spending days in learning her peculiarities, and sparing no pains inclassifying her and assigning her to the place she occupied in the greatplan of creation. But being only a human being she attracted hisattention only so far as she contributed to the success of his work. 

He would go tramping through the woods wherever she led, only vaguelyaware of the fact that she had enlisted half a dozen small boys in herservice, and that she was turning them into enthusiastic youngnaturalists before his very eyes. She was not doing this consciously, however. Her motive for inviting them on these expeditions, was simplyto include Norman and his friends in her own enjoyment of the summerwoods. It was so easy to turn each excursion into a picnic, to build afire near some spring and set out a simple lunch that seemed a feast ofthe gods to voracious boyish appetites. 

The goodly smell of corn, roasting in the ashes, or fresh fish sizzlingon hot stones gave a charm to the learning of wood-lore that it nevercould have possessed otherwise. At first with the heedlessness ofcity-bred boys, they crashed through the under-brush with unseeing eyes, and unhearing ears, but it was not long until they had learned thealertness of young Indians, following by signs of bark and leaf andfallen feather, trails more interesting than any detective story. 

Gradually the old professor, aroused to the fact that they were valuableassistants, began to take some notice of them. They awakened memories ofhis own barefooted boyhood, and sometimes when he had had a particularlysuccessful morning, he threw off his habitual abstraction, and as Maryreported to Jack, was "as human as anybody. "

It seemed, too, that at these times he saw Mary in a new light; saw heras the boys did, fearless as one of themselves, tireless as a squaw, anda happy-go-lucky comrade who could turn the most ordinary occasion intoa jolly outing. Her knack of inventing substitutes when he had left somenecessary article at home filled him with mild wonder. He came tobelieve that her resources were unlimited;

One morning, early in September, he forgot his memorandum book andpencil, and did not discover the fact until he was ready to note somemeasurements which he could not trust to memory. It was no matter, sheassured him cheerfully, as he stood peering helplessly around over hisspectacles and slapping his pockets in vain. 

"You know Lysander says, 'Where the lion's skin will not reach it mustbe pieced with the fox's, ' I'll find some kind of a substitute for yourpencil, somewhere. "

After a few moments' absence she came up the hill again with some broadsycamore leaves which she laid on a flat rock. "There!" she exclaimed. "You dictate, and I'll write on these leaves with a hair-pin. Hazel Leeand I used to write notes on them by the hour, playing post-office backat the Wigwam. "

Several times during the dictation he looked at her as if about to makesome personal remark, then changed his mind. What he had to say neededmore explanation than he felt equal to making, and he decided to sendMrs. Levering as his spokesman. Being a relative, she understood thesituation he wanted to make plain, and he felt she could deal with thesubject better than he. So that afternoon, Mrs. Levering came over onhis errand. Mrs. Ware and Mary were sewing, and she plunged at onceinto her story. 

Professor Carnes had been left the guardian of a fifteen-year-old niece, who was born into the world with a delicate constitution, an unhappydisposition and the proverbial gold spoon in her mouth as far asfinances were concerned. The poor professor felt that he had been leftwith something worse than a white elephant on his hands, for he knewabsolutely nothing about girls, and Marion, with her morbid, super-sensitive temperament, was a constant puzzle to him. She had beenin a convent school until recently. But now her physicians advised thatshe be taken out and sent to some place in the country where she couldlead an active out-door life for an entire year. They recommended aclimate similar to the one at Lone-Rock. 

The Professor could make arrangements for her to board in Doctor Gray'sfamily, quite near the Wares, and felt that she would be well taken careof there, physically, but he recognized the necessity of providing forher in other ways. She had no resources of her own for entertainment, and he knew she would fret herself into a decline unless some means wereprovided to interest and amuse her. He had been wonderfully impressedwith Mary's ability to make the best of every situation, and after hehad once been awakened to the fact that she was an unusual specimen ofhumanity, had studied her carefully. Now he confided to Mrs. Leveringhis greatest desire for Marion was that she might grow up to be as selfreliant and happy-hearted a young girl as Mary. 

Seeing how she had aroused such a love for nature study in the boys, hefelt that she might do the same for Marion. It was really a marvel, Mrs. Levering insisted, how she had bewitched both her Carl and Tommy Seldon. They were in a fair way to become as great cranks as the old professorhimself. Now this was the proposition he wanted to make. That Maryshould take the place of teachers and text-books, for awhile, and devoteherself to the task of making Marion forget herself and her imaginarygrievances; to interest her in wood-lore to the extent of making herwilling to spend much time out of doors, and to imbue her if possiblewith some of the cheerful philosophy that made the entire Ware familysuch delightful companions. 

"Of course, " explained Mrs. Levering, "he understands that one couldnever be adequately repaid for such a service. It would be worth morethan any course at college or any fortune, to Marion, if she could bechanged from a listless, unhappy girl to one like yourself. She will taxyour ingenuity and require infinite tact and patience, but he feels thatyou can do more for her than any older person, because she needshealthy, young companionship more than anything else in the world. Ifyou will devote your mornings to her, trying to attain the result hewants in any way you see fit, he will gladly pay you anything in reason. Just let me take back word that you will consider his offer and he willbe over here post-haste to make terms with you. "

Mary looked inquiringly across at her mother, too bewildered by thissudden prospect of such good fortune, to answer for herself, but Mrs. Ware consented immediately. "I think it a very fortunate arrangement forboth girls. There is no one near Mary's age in Lone-Rock, and I havebeen dreading the winter for her on that account. I am sure she can makea real friend and companion out of Marion, and I can say this for mylittle girl, it will never be dull for anybody who follows her trailthrough life. "

Mrs. Levering rose to go. "Then it's as good as settled. I'm sure thepoor old professor will feel that you've taken a great burden off hisshoulders, and that this will be the most profitable year's educationthat Marion will ever have. "

Hardly had their visitor departed, when Mrs. Ware was seized around thewaist by a young cyclone that waltzed her through the kitchen, down thegarden walk and out to the shade of the tree where Jack sat reading inhis wheeled chair. "Tell him, mamma, " Mary demanded, breathless andpanting. "I'm too happy for words. Then call in the neighbours, and singthe Doxology!"

Later, as she and Jack sat discussing the situation with a zest whichleft no phase of it untouched, he said teasingly, "You needn't bepluming yourself complacently over all those compliments. Do you realizewhen all's said and done, they've asked nothing more of you than simplyto put on cap and bells and play the jester awhile for that girl'sbenefit?"

"I don't care, " retorted Mary. "I'm not proud, and I can stand themotley as long as it brings in the ducats. It isn't the career I hadplanned, but--"

She broke off abruptly, and began hunting for her spool of thread whichhad rolled off into the grass. When she found it she stitched away insilence as if she had forgotten her unfinished sentence. 

"What career _did_ you have planned, little sister?" asked Jack, gently, when the silence had lasted a long time. She looked up with a start asif her thoughts had been far away, then said with a deprecatory smile, "I hardly know myself, Jack. I don't mind confessing to you, though Icouldn't to any one else, it was so big I couldn't see the top of it. "

With her eyes bent on her sewing she told him about the Voice and theVision that had come to her when she looked up at Edryn's Window for thefirst time, and how she had been wondering ever since what great duty itwas with which she was to keep tryst some day. 

"I can always tell _you_ things without fear of being laughed at, " sheended, "so I don't mind saying that I believed at the time, it reallywas the King's Call, and that some great destiny, oh far greater thanJoyce's or Betty's awaited me. It seemed so real I don't see how I couldhave been mistaken, and yet--now--it _does_ seem foolish for me toaspire so high. Doesn't it?"

There was a little break in her voice although she ended with a laugh. Jack watched the brown head bent over her sewing for several minutesbefore he replied. Then he said in a grave kind tone that Mary alwaysliked, because it seemed so intimate and as if he regarded her as hisown age, "Since I've been hurt, I've done a lot of thinking, and I'vecome to the conclusion that the highest thing a man can aspire to, andthe blessedest, is 'to ease the burden of the world. ' Either consciouslyor unconsciously that is what every artist does who paints amaster-piece. He helps us bear our troubles by making us forget them--atleast, as long as the uplift and the inspiration stay with us. Everyauthor and musician whose work lives, does the same. Every inventor whocreates something to make toil easier, and life happier, eases thatburden to a degree. 

"So I don't think you were mistaken about that call. Your achievement_may_ be greater than the other girls, even here in Lone-Rock, as muchbigger and better, as a whole life is bigger and better than a few booksand pictures. You've begun on me, and you'll have Marion to try yourhand on next. No telling where you will stop. You may be the Apostle ofCheerfulness to the entire far West before you are done. Who knows?"

Although the last words were spoken lightly, Mary felt the seriousnessunderlying them, and looked up, her face shining, as if some mystery hadsuddenly been made clear to her. 

"Oh, Jack!" she cried. "You don't know how easy that makes every thing. I've looked at life at Lone-Rock as something to be endured merely as astepping stone to better things. But if you think that this is thebeginning of my real tryst, I can answer the call in such a differentspirit. By the winged spur of our ancestors, " she cried, gaily waving, the ruffle she was hemming, "I'll be 'Ready, aye ready' for whatevercomes. "

Jack did not go back to the office the first of September. It was themiddle of the month before he made the attempt. Norman wheeled him overon his way to school, and Mary, standing in the door to watch themstart, felt the tears spring to her eyes as she compared this pitifulgoing to the buoyant stride with which he used to start to work. Still, he was so much better than they had dared to hope he would be, that whenshe went back to her room she picked up a red pencil and marked the dateon her calendar with a star. 

Then she remembered that this was the day the girls would be troopingback to Warwick Hall, and she recalled the opening day the year before, when she had been among them. She wondered who was taking possession ofher room, and if the new girls would be as devoted to Betty as the oldones were. She could picture them all, driving up the avenue, singing asthey came; then Hawkins's imposing reception and Madam Chartley'sgreeting. How she longed to be in the bustle of unpacking, and to makethe rounds of all her favourite haunts by the river and in the beautifulold garden! Dorene and Cornie wouldn't be there. They were graduated andgone. But Elsie and A. O. And Margaret Elwood and Betty--as she namedthem over such a homesick pang seized her, that it seemed as if shecould not bear the thought of never going back. 

The thought of all she was missing, drove her as it used to do, to hershadow-chum for sympathy, and Lloyd was in her thoughts all day. Somehow, when Huldah came back from the grocery, bringing her a letterfrom Lloyd, she was not at all surprised, although it was the first oneshe had received from her since she left school, except a little note ofsympathy right after Jack's accident. 

The surprise came when she opened the letter. She read it over and over, and then, because Jack was at the office and her mother at aneighbour's, she turned to her long-neglected journal for a confidante. She had to hunt through all the drawers of her desk for it, it had beenhidden away so long. She felt that the news in the letter was worthy aplace in her good times book, for it recorded Lloyd's happiness, whichwas as dear to her as her own. 

"Oh, little Red Book, " she wrote, "what an amazing secret I am going togive you to hold! _Lloyd is engaged, and not to Phil!_ She has beenengaged since last June to Rob Moore. It is not to be announced formallyuntil Christmas, and they are not to be married for a long time, butEugenia knows, and Joyce, and her very most intimate friends. She wantedme to know, and to hear it from herself, because she felt that no onecould wish her joy more sincerely than her '_little chum_. ' I am so gladshe really called me that, after all my months of make believe. 

"But it was the surprise of my life to find that Rob is The Prince andnot Phil. Poor Phil! I am sure he was disappointed, and somehow I keepthinking of that more than of Lloyd's happiness. I don't see how she_could_ prefer anybody else to the Best Man. "

Here she paused, and began fingering the unwritten leaves of the diary, wondering if the time would ever come when they would hold the record ofother engagements. Nearly a third of the pages were still blank. Howmany nice things she could think of that she would like to be able towrite thereon. Maybe they would hold the date of a visit to Oaklea someday, to _Mrs. Rob Moore_. How odd that sounded. Or what was moreprobable, since he had already mentioned it in his letters to Jack, avisit from Phil, if he went back to California with his father and Elsieon their return. 

And maybe, it might hold the news of Joyce's engagement, some day, orBetty's, and maybe--some far, far-off day, it might hold her own! Thatseemed a very unlikely thing just now. Princes were an unknown quantityin Lone-Rock. And yet--she looked dreamily away across the hills--therewere the words of that song:

 "And if he come not by the road, and come not by the hill, And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will. Close all the roads of all the world, love's road is open still. "

Seizing her pen, she wrote just below her last entry, "It is five monthssince that dismal day on the train, when I closed the record in thisbook, as I thought, forever, and wrote after the last of my good times, _The End_. But it wasn't that at all, and now, no matter how dark theoutlook may be after this, I shall _never_ believe that I have reachedthe end to happiness. "

THE END.