Dimple whispered to Florence that there was a secret under the grey blanket; and that she half suspected what it was, but she didn't intend to look. Even a delighted giggle from Bubbles did not cause her to turn her head, but when that small hand-maiden, who was bustling about waiting on every one, offered her a saucer of ice cream, Dimple exclaimed, "I guessed it! I guessed it to myself."

"Guessed what?" said Mr. Atkinson, at her side.

"Guessed that it was an ice cream freezer under the blanket," returned Dimple.

"Oho! so you've been trying to find out, have you?"

"No. I didn't try. I only hoped," replied Dimple, gravely. At which Mr. Atkinson laughed heartily; just why, Dimple was puzzled to discover.

When the supper was over and the baskets repacked, they played all manner of games till the great round moon rose over the river, and then they rowed home, singing as they floated along in the silvery moonlight.

Florence and Dimple sat side by side, in a sort of waking dream; and Bubbles dreamed too, as was very evident when the boat landed, for she was sound asleep, and had to be called and shaken before she knew where she was. Then she blundered along behind the others, still so sleepy that she forgot to take off her precious blue beads when she went to bed, and in the night the string broke; consequently when she awoke in the morning she found the beads straggling over the floor and strewing the sheets.

"Didn't we have a good time?" said Florence, looking out on the moonlight, as she stood at the window in Dimple's room.

"Yes," was Dimple's reply, "all but the snake. I don't like snakes."

But the next evening it was evident that Bubbles still bore the subject of snakes in her mind. Mr. and Mrs. Dallas had gone out. Dimple, Florence and Bubbles were sitting on the floor by one of the front windows.

The air was full of the scent of the honeysuckle, and the katydids were contradicting each other in the trees.

"What quarrelsome things they are," said Florence. "Do you suppose they will ever find out whether katy did or not? I'd like to know what she did, anyhow."

"Or what she didn't," said Dimple. "Bubbles, are you asleep?" giving her a shake.

"Thinkin'," said Bubbles, sitting up straight and rubbing her eyes.

"Then what are you rubbing your eyes for?"

"'Cause it's dark. I can't see good," returned Bubbles.

"I declare," Dimple said, "I never know what to do with myself when mamma goes out; it seems to me she is very intimate with Mrs. Hardy. Florence, suppose you tell a story."

"Oh, I can't," replied Florence. "I never could. I never know what to tell about. You tell."

"I don't know any except Cinderella and the Seven Swans, and those. Bubbles will have to do it. Go on Bubbles, you've got to tell us a story."

"Laws! Miss Dimple," giggled Bubbles.

"You needn't 'laws,' you know you can, for you've often told them to me; now begin, right away; it will keep you awake if it doesn't do anything else."

"Well," said Bubbles, smoothing down her apron, "oncet they was a bummelybee, and a snake, and a bird."

"What kind of a bird?" interrupted Florence.

"Erra—erra—bluebird," said Bubbles.

"All right, go on."

"The snake wanted fur to git the bluebird, and the bummelybee was a-flyin, and a-buzzin' so, it made such a 'straction the snake couldn't git fixed fur to chawm the bird nohow.

"'Jess yuh quit yo' foolin',' said the snake.

"'I no foolin',' said the bummelybee, 'what's got yuh anyhow?'

"'I ain't had no brekfuss,' said the snake.

"'Well go 'long 'n git it; I'm not a hinderin'.'

"'Yes, yuh is,' said the snake, 'I can't do nothin' fur yo' buzzin'.'

"Then the bummelybee flown off, but he didn't go very fur, he wanted to see what the snake was up to. He kinder suspicioned it wasn't up to no good, so he jess watched the snake, and bimeby he seen the bluebird come up as peart as anythin', and he set down on the limb of a tree."

Here Bubbles stopped to take breath, and then went on,

"Well, he seen the snake a-crawlin' along the grass, a-crawlin', a-crawlin', as crafty till it got right in front of the bluebird, and the bluebird he jess set and looked, and didn't move, or say nothin'.

"'Hm! hm!' says Mr. Bummelybee, 'hit's time I was a movin',' so he made fur the snake and giv' him one sting on the haid, and he jess rolled up he eyes, and quirled up ontil the grass; and the bluebird said, 'I'm much debliged of you, Mr. Bummelybee. I'm glad to perform yo' acquaintance. I was jess about as nigh chawmed as a bird could be.'

"'Don't say no more about it,' said Mr. Bummelybee, and off he flown."

"I didn't know bumblebees could sting," said Florence.

"Law now don't they?" said Bubbles, "mebbe they doesn't, hit might a been a wass, wasses sting I know. Come to think of it, hit was a wass."

"Is that all of it?" asked Dimple. "I don't think it is a very long story."

"Laws, Miss Dimple, you didn't reckon that was all," said Bubbles, loftily. "I laid out to tell more, soon ez my tongue got rested."

"Rest it then, and go on," said Dimple, settling back against a chair, with her hands behind her head.

"Well," said Bubbles, going on with her story, "the wass he flown off, and the bluebird he flown off, and after a while the bluebird he met a squirl. 'Howdy?' says he. 'Howdy,' says the squirl. 'How's all to yo' house?'

"'Tollable, thank you,' says the bluebird. 'Ef yuh see a wass come along—' Laws, Miss Dimple, I can't get along without'n hit's being a bummely," said she, stopping short.

"Well, have it a bummely then," said Dimple. "You don't care, do you, Florence?"

"No," said Florence, "have it a bummely if you want to, Bubbles."

"'Well,' says the bluebird, 'ef you see a bummelybee, don't you let nobody take his honey from him, fur he's a pertickeler fren' of mine.' He was sorter shamed to let on to the squirl how nigh chawmed he was.

"'I promise, cross my heart,' says the squirl, and Mr. Bluebird flown off.

"Aftern awhile, up flown Mr. Bummely, and smack behind him comes a little boy layin' out to git his honey.

"Mr. Bummely he flown along and went to hide hissef in a big flower. That's jess what the boy wanted. 'Now I've got yuh,' says he, but he was too forward, fur the squirl clim' down the tree and popped onto the boy's haid jess ez he was gwine to take off his hat to ketch Mr. Bummely, and Mr. Bummely he flown off, and Mr. Squirl he laugh, and Mr. Boy he got mad, and made tracks fur home, and that's all."

The girls laughed, and hearing Sylvy call her, Bubbles went out.

"Isn't she funny?" said Florence. "I never could have made up a story like that, could you, Dimple?"

"No," said Dimple, "she tells me the funniest ones sometimes, so mixed up, and I laugh till I can scarcely speak, and she sings the most absurd songs; she gets the words all twisted, she has no idea what they mean. Oh! Florence, I do believe there is a bat in the hall. I hope to goodness it won't come in here."

Florence screamed and hid her head under the piano, while Dimple took refuge in the same place, and called loudly for Bubbles, who came running in with Sylvy after her.

"What's de matter? Where are yuh?" they cried.

"Oh, a bat! a bat!" shrieked Florence, as the creature came swooping in from the hall, beating its wings against the wall.

Sylvy, armed with a broom, and Bubbles, with a duster, soon put an end to the poor bat, and the girls came out from their hiding-place.

"I suppose it is silly to be afraid of them, but they nearly frighten me to death," said Dimple.

"So they do me," Florence said, "and spiders too. Ugh! it makes cold chills run down my back to think of one; let's go to bed, Dimple. We can undress anyhow, and sit in our nightgowns and talk, if we want to."

This Dimple agreed to, and they went upstairs to their rooms to find on the bureau two little white paper packages addressed to "Miss Florence Graham," and "Miss Eleanor Dallas."

"Papa did it," said Dimple, "it is just like him; let's see what is inside. No, we'll guess. I say chocolates."

"I say burnt almonds: no, marshmallows," said Florence, giving her package a little squeeze. "Marshmallows and chocolates," exclaimed Florence, as she untied the little pink string and peeped in.

"So are mine," said Dimple. "I don't think we had better eat them all to-night, do you? Suppose we count them and take out some for to-morrow. One, two, three, twelve chocolates, and sixteen marshmallows. How many have you?"

"Thirteen chocolates and fifteen marshmallows," announced Florence.

"Well, let's eat six of them, and put the rest away."

So they were carefully counted out, and the packages retied.

"Now we will undress and sit here in our nightgowns, till we've eaten our candy," said Florence.

"Dear me," said Dimple, as the last one disappeared, "I wish we had said seven of them."

"Suppose we do say seven."

"Well, suppose we do," and the packages were again untied and again put up. They had hardly finished when Mrs. Dallas came in with a telegram in her hand.

"Not in bed yet?" said she.

"No, mamma, we have been eating candy. Did you see papa put it on the bureau?" said Dimple.

"Yes, and I have a piece of news for you. Your Uncle Heath will be here to-morrow."

"Uncle Heath! I am so glad. Is the telegram from him?"

"Yes, it just came, and he will be here to breakfast."

"How long will he stop?"

"Not very long. Now jump into bed and be ready to get up before he reaches here."

"Is your Uncle Heath your papa's brother?" asked Florence, when they were in bed.

"Yes. Oh! Florence, he is so nice."

"Is he young or old?"

"Not so very old, about forty, I think; he is two years older than papa, but he looks older; he has grey hair, a little bit grey, not very, and he looks like papa, only he has blue eyes.

"I wonder why he is coming," mused Dimple. "Now I think of it. I heard papa say yesterday, 'I am so glad for dear old Heath.' I wonder why. Don't grown folks know lots of things, Florence? And we have to just guess and wonder till they choose to tell us.

"Never mind, I am going to sleep, and I shall ask him myself to-morrow. Just think, Florence, he is in the cars now, and they are steaming along, coming nearer and nearer, while we lie still here and sleep. Good-night," and she turned over and was soon fast asleep.



CHAPTER XI

An Uncle and a Wedding

Dimple was up betimes the next morning. Creeping quietly out of bed, she left Florence sound asleep.

"Mamma," she whispered, softly, as she opened her mamma's door, "what time is it? Has Uncle Heath come?"

"It is half-past six," said her mamma, "and Uncle Heath will be here in half an hour."

"May I put on my blue frock?"

"Yes."

Dimple slipped back, and was not long in dressing. Florence sleepily opened her eyes as Dimple was ready to leave the room.

"Oh Dimple, are you dressed?" she said, sitting up in bed. "Has the bell rung?"

"No," said Dimple, "but Uncle Heath is coming, you know, and I want to meet him. Come down when you are ready."

Florence being wide awake by this time, concluded to get up, and Dimple ran downstairs, patting the baluster with one hand as she went.

When she reached the lowest step she was caught up by a pair of arms, and found her face close to her Uncle Heath's whiskers.

"Oh! Uncle Heath," she cried, "do let me hug you. I am so glad to see you. I'm gladder than anybody."

"I hope not," said her father from the doorway.

"Yes, I am," said Dimple, as her uncle carried her into the parlor, and held her on his knee. "Uncle Heath, are you very happy?"

"Indeed, I am," said he, laughing, as did Dimple's papa and mamma.

"Quite a home thrust," said her papa.

"The reason I asked," she went on, playing with her uncle's watch chain, "is, that I heard papa say the other day, 'I am so glad for dear old Heath.'"

"He has reason to be," responded her uncle. "Dimple, how should you like a new aunt and cousin?"

"Oh, uncle! Is it Rock?"

"Well, not Rock altogether," laughed he. "Rock's mother, as well."

"Please tell me, Uncle Heath."

"So I will, little girl. Rock's mother is going to be your grey-headed uncle's wife. That makes Rock your cousin, doesn't it?"

"Yes," said Dimple, cuddling up to him, "but you are not grey-headed, Uncle Heath, only grey-templed," she said, softly patting each side of his face.

"She seems perfectly satisfied," said he, looking at his brother.

"Perfectly," he answered. "You could not have pleased her better."

"But, Uncle Heath," said Dimple, "I didn't know you knew Mrs. Hardy."

"I knew her long ago, when she wasn't Mrs. Hardy, but Dora West. Long ago," he repeated, gently stroking her hair.

"Why didn't you marry her then?"

"I wanted to," said he, simply, "but I couldn't. Do you want to be bridesmaid, Dimple?"

"Oh, uncle! Could I?"

"Yes, indeed; and Rock groomsman. We are such a young, frivolous couple, we couldn't think of having a grown-up young lady for bridesmaid."

Dimple laughed, and sat in supreme content on her uncle's knee till the breakfast bell rang.

"Florence, I know all about it," she cried, as Florence came in, "and I am going to be bridesmaid, and I know why Uncle Heath is happy, and why Rock can be my cousin. Isn't it lovely?"

Florence looked puzzled, but after a clearer explanation agreed with Dimple that it was "perfectly lovely."

Rock came over after breakfast, with a message for Mrs. Dallas, and Dimple ran out to meet him, crying, "Oh, Rock! your papa is here, and you are going to be my cousin, really and truly. Did you know it?"

"Yes, I knew," said he, "and I'm real glad. Where is Mr. Dallas?"

"My Uncle Heath, or papa?"

"Your Uncle Heath."

"He has gone to see your mamma, I think. And oh, Rock! we are going to be bridesmaids, you and I. No, I mean I am going to be bridesmaid, and you groomsman."

"Yes, and something else I know, too," said Rock. "While mamma goes on her wedding trip I am to come here to stay."

"Oh! Rock," exclaimed Dimple, clapping her hands, "that will be lovely, too. How long?"

"Three days, I think."

"Won't we have good times?" laughed Dimple, dancing up and down. "Do come sit down and talk about it. Are you glad you are going to have my Uncle Heath for your papa?"

"Yes, indeed," said Rock.

"And are you going to live here?"

"No, in Baltimore."

"Oh, dear, that is all that spoils it."

"Never mind," said Rock. "I shouldn't wonder if we were to come here summers, and I'll tell you, Dimple, maybe your mother will let you come visit us next winter, and I will take you sleighing."

That comforted Dimple somewhat.

"Where is the wedding to be? I never thought to ask," said she.

"At church, at half-past nine Thursday morning. Then we come back to your house to breakfast, and mamma and Mr. Dallas go away on the twelve o'clock train."

"When you say Mr. Dallas I think you mean my papa," said Dimple. "I wish you would call Uncle Heath papa."

"But he isn't my papa yet."

"Well, three days doesn't make much difference, and you need only say it to me."

"Well! papa and mamma," said Rock, laughing, "will be back Sunday evening, and Monday we all go away."

"Don't talk about that part of it. I don't want to think of it."

Here Dimple's mamma called her, and she went upstairs. "Wait till I come back, Rock," she said, as she went out, "I want to talk some more."

"What do you want with me, mamma?" she asked as she entered her mamma's room.

"I want to try on your bridesmaid frock."

"Oh, mamma! Is that it?" she exclaimed, as her mamma lifted a soft white mull from the bed.

"Yes, and you are to wear a white hat and carry a basket of flowers. Isn't it odd that my little daughter should be bridesmaid for some one who was once her mamma's bridesmaid, and who used to play with her when she was a little girl?"

Dimple laughed at the idea, as she put her arms through the arm-holes, and said, "It is all so funny, mamma, that I can't straighten it out at all. It is like a fairy tale, and, O! mamma, I look like a fairy in this frock. Isn't it lovely? I wish I might go down and show it to Rock and Florence."

"Very well, you may, only be very careful not to catch it on anything."

"I will be, mamma," and she danced off to display her finery.

"See, Rock! See, Florence! Don't I look almost like a fairy?" she exclaimed, as she went into the library, where they both were sitting, each in a big chair.

"Oh! you do look sweet!" they said, and Dimple smiled and blushed at the praise, quite delighted with herself; but presently she looked at Florence a little gravely, and said:

"Florence, I feel so selfish. Do you care very much that I am to be a bridesmaid, and you not?"

"No, indeed, for I am to be bridesmaid when my sister is married, anyhow, and I would so much rather see it all than to be right in it."

So Dimple went up to take off her frock quite reassured.

"Mamma, what are you going to wear? White, too?" she asked.

"No, grey, with pink roses; and Mrs. Hardy will wear pale lavender and white roses."

"I thought brides always wore white."

"Not always," answered her mamma.

Long before half-past nine on the eventful morning Dimple stood ready, slippers, hat and all; her basket of flowers tied with white ribbons on the piano; and she felt very grand, indeed, when the carriage, with Rock in it, drove around for her. She had been up by daybreak, around to the church with flowers, upstairs to see that her bridesmaid toilet was all right, down into the kitchen to ask Sylvy for a peep at the wedding cake, which, black with fruit inside and white with frosting out, stood on the sideboard.

Then there was the table to see, and little helpful things to do for her mamma, while she arranged it; flowers to gather, a great bowl of fresh roses in the centre.

Then it was such a delight, after she and Florence were dressed, to watch her mamma get ready; to see her dainty laces, and hold her flowers ready for her to pin on.

At last the great moment really arrived, and she found herself stepping up the aisle with Rock, feeling a little embarrassment, though it was a very quiet wedding, only a few near friends being present; but she bore herself very bravely, holding her flower basket very tightly, and keeping time with her slippered feet to the wedding march.

She did not dare even to look at Rock, but kept her eyes steadfastly cast down.

She and Rock were the first to get back to the house, and when the new Mrs. Dallas reached there, Dimple rushed up to her and gave her a frantic hug, calling her "dear Aunt Dora;" then as frantic a hug was bestowed upon her uncle.

She danced through the rooms like a will-o'-the-wisp, hardly willing to sit at the table long enough to eat anything at all.

When the bridal pair drove away to the depot, a shower of rice and old shoes were flung after them by all the children, Bubbles included.

After the house was quiet again, Dimple, Florence and Rock sat talking it all over in the parlor.

"Were you frightened when you walked up the aisle?" asked Florence.

"A little; but I thought about looking at my slippers, and didn't see the people. Did I look all right?"

"Yes; as lovely as possible, and I never should have thought you were frightened. What did you do with the flowers? And, oh Dimple, who had the lovely little figure on top of the cake?"

"I know," said Rock. "I heard mamma tell Dimple's mother that the bridesmaid ought to have that; and I think so, too."

"Oh!" said Dimple. "I think you ought to have it, Rock."

"No, indeed. That would be a fine way to do, I must say. It is to be yours. Mamma said so, and that settles it."

"Well," said Dimple. "But I have so much, it seems to me. Florence, isn't it funny for Rock to have a new papa? Everything turns out so oddly. Don't you know how provoked we were that day when Bubbles told us that mamma was bringing a boy out to see us?"

"And now that boy is your cousin," said Rock.

"Yes; and I am glad, too," replied Dimple, giving his hand a little affectionate pat. "I never knew boys could be so nice, till I saw you."

Rock laughed. "That's a pretty big compliment," he said.

"It isn't a compliment; it's the truth."

"And a compliment can't be the truth, I suppose?"

"Why, I don't know. Can it?"

"Of course; though just flattering words aren't always the truth. I've heard ladies who came to see mamma say, 'What a sweet child your little one is!'" Rock said this very affectedly, and the girls laughed. "And you know," Rock went on, "they didn't know a thing about me; they just said it to make mamma feel pleased, and that's what I call flattery."

"Oh, yes; I think I see," said Dimple.

The three days that followed were very merry ones for the children. They frolicked from morning till night, and did more wonderful things than ever they had dreamed of doing before.

Rock was the nicest sort of comrade, and they got along without any fusses whatever. Sunday was their last day together, for Florence was to go the next day, too, under the care of Mr. and Mrs. Heath Dallas, and her trunk was standing, packed, ready to be sent.

"Won't we have a pew full this morning?" said Dimple, at the breakfast table. "Five people. Rock, you must sit between Florence and me. I can sit next to mamma, and Florence next to papa."

"Oh, no; let me sit by auntie," said Florence.

"Very well," said Dimple. "I can sit by papa just as well, and if I get sleepy I can tumble over on him."

Papa laughed and said it was a pleasant prospect for him.

The church windows were open, a soft breeze fluttered the leaves outside and the slow rustle of fans fluttered bonnet strings inside.

Dimple leaned her head back against the pew, and looked out at the white clouds drifting across the sky, so dreamily and softly; she heard the birds singing in the trees, and now and then came back to a consciousness of the minister's voice, and she caught a sentence here and there; but she could not fix her attention on the sermon at all; she was thinking of the dreaded to-morrow that would take her playmates away from her. The quiet and solemnity of the place only added to the sadness of her thoughts, and as the last hymn was being sung, the tears gathered in her eyes and dropped silently down on her book.

Finally she could stand it no longer, but slipped down on her knees, buried her face in the cushions, and fairly sobbed.

No one knew what was the matter, and Mrs. Dallas looked distressed, fearing she was ill. Mr. Dallas leaned down toward her, and whispered, "Are you ill, Dimple?"

But she shook her head, and when the hymn was ended, he drew her close to him, and put his arm around her, while she kept her face hidden on his shoulder.

No one could tell what ailed her, as every question only brought a fresh burst of tears, and she walked home in silence.

It was not until they were in the house, that she could tell what affected her.

Then her mother took her on her lap, and she had her cry out there, while Florence and Rock, looking much concerned, stood by.

"Tell me, daughter, what ails you," her mother said, pushing back the curls from the little tear-stained face.

"It was so solemn—and—I was thinking about everybody's going away to-morrow," she said, between her sobs. "Then they sang—'Where friend holds fellowship with friend. Though sundered far'—and all that—and I couldn't stand it any longer," and the tears still rained down her face.

At this Florence's eyes filled up, and she put her arms around Dimple, and they cried together, while it took Mrs. Dallas, Rock, and Mr. Dallas, all three, to comfort them.

"You will soon be going to school, Dimple," said her papa, "and then you will have ever so many playmates."

"And you are coming to see us next winter," said Rock.

"And you will have mamma left, anyhow," said her mother, hugging her up close.

So among them all, the tears were dried; and before dinner was over, they were all laughing as joyously as ever.

The only excitement left was to watch for the arrival of Rock's papa and mamma, who were to come that evening.

In the meantime, while Rock and Florence were reading, Dimple heard Bubbles her Sunday lesson. She always taught her one of the hymns she had herself learned, and a Bible verse or two.

Bubbles was not very quick at learning the verses, but delighted in the hymns, and sang them with Dimple, with great vigor.

This afternoon, however, it was quite wearisome to Dimple, for her cry had given her a headache, and she cut the lesson very short so as to get back to Rock and Florence.

"I shouldn't like to be a teacher," she said, throwing herself down on the lounge.

"I should," said Florence. "I love my teacher at school dearly; she is the sweetest, dearest thing, we girls almost fight over her."

"Do you? How funny," said Dimple.

"Why, yes, we take her flowers, and candy, and big apples and oranges; sometimes her desk is full."

"I am afraid I shan't like my teacher," said Dimple.

"Do you know her?"

"Yes, a little; she has been here to tea. She isn't so awful, and I should like her, perhaps, if I didn't know I had to go to school to her."

"Do you know many of the girls?"

"One or two. You saw that girl who sat in front of us at church, she is one."

"You will get used to it real soon," said Rock. "I felt just as you do before I went to school, and it is worse for a boy; the other boys just go for him, and I had a hard time for the first few weeks, but now I like it first-rate."

"It is the getting used to it, that I dread," sighed Dimple; "that has to come first."

"No," said Rock, "papa and mamma come first, and it is nearly time for them now; let's go on the front porch and watch."

"It is so sunny there," said Dimple.

"Not if we sit at the end. Come on."

So they went out and took up positions at the end of the porch.

"I want to see mamma and Gertrude, and all, awfully," said Florence, "but, indeed I hate to leave here," looking around. "I shall miss the trees, and flowers, and all the sweet things."

"So shall I," said Rock. "What a good time we have had this summer."

"Yes. Haven't we?" said Dimple, looking sober.

"Don't talk about it any more," said Rock. "It makes my Cousin Eleanor feel bad."

This made Dimple smile, and presently they saw coming up the street a carriage, which they felt sure would stop.

They all ran down to the gate, and the carriage did draw up by the sidewalk, and Rock was the first to open the door of it, and in another minute was in his mother's arms.

Then they all went into the house, and made ready for tea.

All that evening Dimple sat with one arm around Florence; and, although Rock was so glad to see his mother, he said that he would have Dimple so short a time that he must sit by her, and the three children sat on the steps, Rock holding Dimple's hand and trying his best to cheer her up.

But a more doleful face than appeared at the breakfast table could not be found.

"You must get your Aunt Dora and Florence some nice flowers to take with them," said Mrs. Dallas to Dimple.

"My Aunt Dora! How queer that is, mamma. I have been wondering, is he Rock Hardy or Rock Dallas?"

"He is Rock Hardy."

"I never will get it straight," she said, as she went to get the flowers.

"Uncle Heath," she said, after she had laid the flowers in damp cotton, and put them in boxes, "you may be very happy, but I am not, and I wish you'd leave Rock with me."

He smiled as he looked down at her, and said, "I can't, dear child, but you shall see him often. Baltimore is not very far away."

"Well, I am much obliged to you for making a cousin of him," she said, as she turned away.

"Poor little girl," said he to her mother, "she takes this parting very much to heart."

"Yes," said her mother, "she has never had any very intimate friends, and her cousins have never paid her as long a visit as Florence has this time. As for Rock, he is the only boy she has ever liked at all, and he is a nice boy. You have quite a model son, Heath."

"Yes, I think so too," said he.

At last the trunks were all off, Celestine was dressed in her traveling frock, a grey veil on her hat; the children thought her very stylish.

"Poor Rubina!" sighed Dimple, bravely trying to keep back the tears.

Rock had volunteered to take charge of the two kittens, so Jet and Marble were mewing in a basket.

"And poor little Nyxy, you will be lonely too," said Dimple, hiding her face in his furry coat.

"You will be sure to write to us, won't you Dimple," said Florence, "and tell all about school, and everything."

"I will," said Dimple, choking up.

"Don't cry," said both Rock and Florence, coaxingly.

"No, I will not, I made up my mind not to, because mamma might think I didn't love her," answered Dimple, while her tears slowly trickled down her cheeks.

At last all was ready,—doll, kittens, and boxes, and the good-byes were said. Bubbles and Dimple at the gate waved handkerchiefs as long as they could see the carriage.

Then Dimple turned slowly into the house, unable to keep back the torrent of tears, and after she went into the library she buried her face in the sofa pillow, sobbing aloud; then she felt a pair of arms clasp her knees and saw two tearful black eyes looking up into her face, while Bubbles' caressing voice said, "Never min', Miss Dimple, I'se hyah."

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MOTOR CYCLE SERIES

Splendid Motor Cycle Stories By LIEUT. HOWARD PAYSON. Author of "Boy Scout Series." Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE MOTOR CYCLE CHUMS AROUND THE WORLD.

Could Jules Verne have dreamed of encircling the globe with a motor cycle for emergencies he would have deemed it an achievement greater than any he describes in his account of the amusing travels of Philias Fogg. This, however, is the purpose successfully carried out by the Motor Cycle Chums, and the tale of their mishaps, hindrances and delays is one of intense interest, secret amusement, and incidental information to the reader.

THE MOTOR CYCLE CHUMS OF THE NORTHWEST PATROL.

The Great Northwest is a section of vast possibilities and in it the Motor Cycle Chums meet adventures even more unusual and exciting than many of their experiences on their tour around the world. There is not a dull page in this lively narrative of clever boys and their attendant "Chinee."

THE MOTOR CYCLE CHUMS IN THE GOLD FIELDS.

The gold fever which ran its rapid course through the veins of the historic "forty-niners" recurs at certain intervals, and seizes its victims with almost irresistible power. The search for gold is so fascinating to the seekers that hardship, danger and failure are obstacles that scarcely dampen their ardour. How the Motor Cycle Chums were caught by the lure of the gold and into what difficulties and novel experiences they were led, makes a tale of thrilling interest.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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GIRL AVIATORS SERIES

Clean Aviation Stories By MARGARET BURNHAM. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE GIRL AVIATORS AND THE PHANTOM AIRSHIP.

Roy Prescott was fortunate in having a sister so clever and devoted to him and his interests that they could share work and play with mutual pleasure and to mutual advantage. This proved especially true in relation to the manufacture and manipulation of their aeroplane, and Peggy won well deserved fame for her skill and good sense as an aviator. There were many stumbling-blocks in their terrestrial path, but they soared above them all to ultimate success.

THE GIRL AVIATORS ON GOLDEN WINGS.

That there is a peculiar fascination about aviation that wins and holds girl enthusiasts as well as boys is proved by this tale. On golden wings the girl aviators rose for many an exciting flight, and met strange and unexpected experiences.

THE GIRL AVIATORS' SKY CRUISE.

To most girls a coaching or yachting trip is an adventure. How much more perilous an adventure a "sky cruise" might be is suggested by the title and proved by the story itself.

THE GIRL AVIATORS' MOTOR BUTTERFLY.

The delicacy of flight suggested by the word "butterfly," the mechanical power implied by "motor," the ability to control assured in the title "aviator," all combined with the personality and enthusiasm of girls themselves, make this story one for any girl or other reader "to go crazy over."

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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MOTOR MAIDS SERIES

Wholesome Stories of Adventure By KATHERINE STOKES. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE MOTOR MAIDS' SCHOOL DAYS.

Billie Campbell was just the type of a straightforward, athletic girl to be successful as a practical Motor Maid. She took her car, as she did her class-mates, to her heart, and many a grand good time did they have all together. The road over which she ran her red machine had many an unexpected turning,—now it led her into peculiar danger; now into contact with strange travelers; and again into experiences by fire and water. But, best of all, "The Comet" never failed its brave girl owner.

THE MOTOR MAIDS BY PALM AND PINE.

Wherever the Motor Maids went there were lively times, for these were companionable girls who looked upon the world as a vastly interesting place full of unique adventures—and so, of course, they found them.

THE MOTOR MAIDS ACROSS THE CONTINENT.

It is always interesting to travel, and it is wonderfully entertaining to see old scenes through fresh eyes. It is that privilege, therefore, that makes it worth while to join the Motor Maids in their first 'cross-country run.

THE MOTOR MAIDS BY ROSE, SHAMROCK AND HEATHER.

South and West had the Motor Maids motored, nor could their education by travel have been more wisely begun. But now a speaking acquaintance with their own country enriched their anticipation of an introduction to the British Isles. How they made their polite American bow and how they were received on the other side is a tale of interest and inspiration.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK.

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BOY INVENTORS SERIES

Stories of Skill and Ingenuity By RICHARD BONNER Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE BOY INVENTORS' WIRELESS TELEGRAPH.

Blest with natural curiosity,—sometimes called the instinct of investigation,—favored with golden opportunity, and gifted with creative ability, the Boy Inventors meet emergencies and contrive mechanical wonders that interest and convince the reader because they always "work" when put to the test.

THE BOY INVENTORS' VANISHING GUN.

A thought, a belief, an experiment; discouragement, hope, effort and final success—this is the history of many an invention; a history in which excitement, competition, danger, despair and persistence figure. This merely suggests the circumstances which draw the daring Boy Inventors into strange experiences and startling adventures, and which demonstrate the practical use of their vanishing gun.

THE BOY INVENTORS' DIVING TORPEDO BOAT.

As in the previous stories of the Boy Inventors, new and interesting triumphs of mechanism are produced which become immediately valuable, and the stage for their proving and testing is again the water. On the surface and below it, the boys have jolly, contagious fun, and the story of their serious, purposeful inventions challenge the reader's deepest attention.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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BORDER BOYS SERIES

Mexican and Canadian Frontier Series By FREMONT B. DEERING. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE BORDER BOYS ON THE TRAIL.

What it meant to make an enemy of Black Ramon De Barios—that is the problem that Jack Merrill and his friends, including Coyote Pete, face in this exciting tale.

THE BORDER BOYS ACROSS THE FRONTIER.

Read of the Haunted Mesa and its mysteries, of the Subterranean River and its strange uses, of the value of gasolene and steam "in running the gauntlet," and you will feel that not even the ancient splendors of the Old World can furnish a better setting for romantic action than the Border of the New.

THE BORDER BOYS WITH THE MEXICAN RANGERS.

As every day is making history—faster, it is said, than ever before—so books that keep pace with the changes are full of rapid action and accurate facts. This book deals with lively times on the Mexican border.

THE BORDER BOYS WITH THE TEXAS RANGERS.

The Border Boys have already had much excitement and adventure in their lives, but all this has served to prepare them for the experiences related in this volume. They are stronger, braver and more resourceful than ever, and the exigencies of their life in connection with the Texas Rangers demand all their trained ability.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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BUNGALOW BOYS SERIES

LIVE STORIES OF OUTDOOR LIFE By DEXTER J. FORRESTER. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE BUNGALOW BOYS.

How the Bungalow Boys received their title and how they retained the right to it in spite of much opposition makes a lively narrative for lively boys.

THE BUNGALOW BOYS MAROONED IN THE TROPICS.

A real treasure hunt of the most thrilling kind, with a sunken Spanish galleon as its object, makes a subject of intense interest at any time, but add to that a band of desperate men, a dark plot and a devil fish, and you have the combination that brings strange adventures into the lives of the Bungalow Boys.

THE BUNGALOW BOYS IN THE GREAT NORTH WEST.

The clever assistance of a young detective saves the boys from the clutches of Chinese smugglers, of whose nefarious trade they know too much. How the Professor's invention relieves a critical situation is also an exciting incident of this book.

THE BUNGALOW BOYS ON THE GREAT LAKES.

The Bungalow Boys start out for a quiet cruise on the Great Lakes and a visit to an island. A storm and a band of wreckers interfere with the serenity of their trip, and a submarine adds zest and adventure to it.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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MOTOR RANGERS SERIES

HIGH SPEED MOTOR STORIES By MARVIN WEST. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE MOTOR RANGERS' LOST MINE.

This is an absorbing story of the continuous adventures of a motor car in the hands of Nat Trevor and his friends. It does seemingly impossible "stunts," and yet everything happens "in the nick of time."

THE MOTOR RANGERS THROUGH THE SIERRAS.

Enemies in ambush, the peril of fire, and the guarding of treasure make exciting times for the Motor Rangers—yet there is a strong flavor of fun and freedom, with a typical Western mountaineer for spice.

THE MOTOR RANGERS ON BLUE WATER; or, The Secret of the Derelict.

The strange adventures of the sturdy craft "Nomad" and the stranger experiences of the Rangers themselves with Morello's schooner and a mysterious derelict form the basis of this well-spun yarn of the sea.

THE MOTOR RANGERS' CLOUD CRUISER.

From the "Nomad" to the "Discoverer," from the sea to the sky, the scene changes in which the Motor Rangers figure. They have experiences "that never were on land or sea," in heat and cold and storm, over mountain peak and lost city, with savages and reptiles; their ship of the air is attacked by huge birds of the air; they survive explosion and earthquake; they even live to tell the tale!

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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DREADNOUGHT BOYS SERIES

Tales of the New Navy By CAPT. WILBUR LAWTON Author of "BOY AVIATORS SERIES." Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 50c. per vol., postpaid

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON BATTLE PRACTICE.

Especially interesting and timely is this book which introduces the reader with its heroes, Ned and Herc, to the great ships of modern warfare and to the intimate life and surprising adventures of Uncle Sam's sailors.

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ABOARD A DESTROYER.

In this story real dangers threaten and the boys' patriotism is tested in a peculiar international tangle. The scene is laid on the South American coast.

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON A SUBMARINE.

To the inventive genius—trade-school boy or mechanic—this story has special charm, perhaps, but to every reader its mystery and clever action are fascinating.

THE DREADNOUGHT BOYS ON AERO SERVICE.

Among the volunteers accepted for Aero Service are Ned and Herc. Their perilous adventures are not confined to the air, however, although they make daring and notable flights in the name of the Government; nor are they always able to fly beyond the reach of their old "enemies," who are also airmen.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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FRANK ARMSTRONG SERIES

Twentieth Century Athletic Stories By MATHEW M. COLTON. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 60c. per vol., postpaid

FRANK ARMSTRONG'S VACATION.

How Frank's summer experience with his boy friends make him into a sturdy young athlete through swimming, boating, and baseball contests, and a tramp through the Everglades, is the subject of this splendid story.

FRANK ARMSTRONG AT QUEENS.

We find among the jolly boys at Queen's School, Frank, the student-athlete, Jimmy, the baseball enthusiast, and Lewis, the unconsciously-funny youth who furnishes comedy for every page that bears his name. Fall and winter sports between intensely rival school teams are expertly described.

FRANK ARMSTRONG'S SECOND TERM.

The gymnasium, the track and the field make the background for the stirring events of this volume, in which David, Jimmy, Lewis, the "Wee One" and the "Codfish" figure, while Frank "saves the day."

FRANK ARMSTRONG, DROP KICKER.

With the same persistent determination that won him success in swimming, running and baseball playing, Frank Armstrong acquired the art of "drop kicking," and the Queen's football team profits thereby.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

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OAKDALE ACADEMY SERIES

Stories of Modern School Sports By MORGAN SCOTT. Cloth Bound. Illustrated. Price, 60c. per vol., postpaid

BEN STONE AT OAKDALE.

Under peculiarly trying circumstances Ben Stone wins his way at Oakdale Academy, and at the same time enlists our sympathy, interest and respect. Through the enmity of Bern Hayden, the loyalty of Roger Eliot and the clever work of the "Sleuth," Ben is falsely accused, championed and vindicated.

BOYS OF OAKDALE ACADEMY.

"One thing I will claim, and that is that all Grants fight open and square and there never was a sneak among them." It was Rodney Grant, of Texas, who made the claim to his friend, Ben Stone, and this story shows how he proved the truth of this statement in the face of apparent evidence to the contrary.

RIVAL PITCHERS OF OAKDALE.

Baseball is the main theme of this interesting narrative, and that means not only clear and clever descriptions of thrilling games, but an intimate acquaintance with the members of the teams who played them. The Oakdale Boys were ambitious and loyal, and some were even disgruntled and jealous, but earnest, persistent work won out.

OAKDALE BOYS IN CAMP.

The typical vacation is the one that means much freedom, little restriction, and immediate contact with "all outdoors." These conditions prevailed in the summer camp of the Oakdale Boys and made it a scene of lively interest.

THE GREAT OAKDALE MYSTERY.

The "Sleuth" scents a mystery! He "follows his nose." The plot thickens! He makes deductions. There are surprises for the reader—and for the "Sleuth," as well.

NEW BOYS AT OAKDALE.

A new element creeps into Oakdale with another year's registration of students. The old and the new standards of conduct in and out of school meet, battle, and cause sweeping changes in the lives of several of the boys.

Any volume sent postpaid upon receipt of price.

HURST & COMPANY—Publishers—NEW YORK

THE END