Not a very severe one, to be sure, but one they were not likely to forget, for each word that they had misspelled was written upon a good-sized piece of paper and pinned upon their breasts "as a reward of demerit," Miss Preston told them, and, although it was all done in fun and joked and laughed over at the time, each girl knew that those words must be thoroughly committed to memory before the Wednesday spelling match began its lively session, or her report at the end of the term would be lacking in completeness.

And so, between "jest and earnest," did Miss Preston handle her girls, drawing by gentleness from a sensitive nature, by firmness from a careless one, by sarcasm (and woe to the girl who provoked it, for it was, truly, "like a polished razor keen") from a flippant, and by one of her rare, sweet smiles from the ambitious all that was best to be drawn.

Toinette was naturally a remarkably bright girl, and possessed qualities of mind which only required gentle suggestions to develop their latent powers. Refined and delicate by nature, keen of comprehension, she slipped into her proper niche directly way was made for her, and filled it to her own credit and the satisfaction of others. Nor did it take Miss Preston long to discover that a delicately strung instrument had been placed in her hands, and that it must be touched with skillful fingers if its best notes were to be given forth.

The weeks slipped away, and winter, as though to pay up for its tardy arrival, came in earnest, bringing in February the heavy snowstorms one looks for much earlier in the season in this part of the globe. The girls hailed them with wild demonstrations, for snow meant sleigh-rides, and it is a frosty old codger who can frown and grumble at the sound of sleigh-bells.



CHAPTER XIV

"JINGLE BELLS, JINGLE BELLS"

One morning early in February the girls looked out of their windows to behold a wonderful new world—a white one to replace the dull gray one, which would have made their spirits sympathetically gray, perhaps, had they been older. But, happily, it must be a very smoky gray indeed that can depress fifteen.

"Quick, Edith, come and look!" and then, flying across the room, Ruth thumped upon Toinette's door, and called out: "Sleigh-bells! Sleigh-bells! Don't you hear them?"

The snow had fallen steadily all night, piling up softly and silently the great white mounds, covering up unsightly objects, laying the downiest of coverlids upon the dull old world until it was hardly recognizable. Every ledge, every branch and tiny twig held its feathery burden, or shook it softly upon the white mass covering the ground. Hardly a breath of air stirred, and the fir trees looked as though St. Nick had visited them in the night to dress a tree for every little toddler in the land.

Down, down, down came the flakes, as though they never meant to stop, and as one threw back one's head to look upward at the millions of tiny feathers falling so gently, one seemed to float upward upon fairy wings and sail away, away into the realms of the Snow Maiden.

It was hard to keep one's wits upon one's work that day, and many a stolen glance was given to the fairy world beyond the windows of the recitation-rooms. About five o'clock the weather cleared, the sun setting in a glory of crimson and purple clouds. An hour later up came my lady moon, to smile approval upon the enchanting scene and hint all sorts of possibilities.

Lou Cornwall came flying into Toinette's room just after dinner to find it well filled with seven or eight others.

"May I come, too?" she asked. "Oh, girls, if we don't have a sleigh-ride to-morrow, I'll have a conniption fit certain as the world."

"Do you always have one when there is snow?" asked Toinette.

"Which, a sleigh-ride or a conniption fit?" laughed Lou. "You'd better believe we have sleigh-rides."

"You'd better believe! I've been here five years, and we've never missed one yet. Do you remember the night last winter, when we all went sleighing and came home at eleven o'clock nearly frozen stiff, Bess? Whew! it was cold. When we got back we found Miss Preston making chocolate for us. There she was in her bedroom robe and slippers. She had gotten out of bed to do it because she found out at the last minute that that fat old Mrs. Schmidt had gone poking off to bed, and hadn't left a single thing for us."

"I guess I do remember, and didn't it taste good?" was the feeling answer.

"You weren't here the year before," said Lou. "Sit still, my heart! Shall I ever forget it?"

"What about it? Tell us!" cried the girls in a chorus.

"That was the first year Mrs. Schmidt was here, and, thank goodness, she isn't here any longer, and she hadn't learned as much as she learned afterwards. My goodness, wasn't she stingy? She thought one egg ought to be enough for six girls, I believe. It took Miss Preston about a year to get her to understand that we were not to be kept on half rations. Well, that night we were expecting something extra fine. We got it!" and Lou stopped to laugh at the recollection. "We rushed into the house, hungrier than wolves, and ready to empty the pantry, and what do you think we found? A lot of after-dinner coffee cups of very weak cocoa, with nary saucer to set them in, and two small crackers apiece. 'I was thinking you would come in hungry, young ladies, so I make you some chocolate. You don't mind that I have not some saucers, it make so many dishes for washing,' she said, smiling that pudgy smile of hers. Ugh! I can't bear to think of it even to this day, and she was ten million times better before she left last spring. That was the reason Miss Preston took matters into her own hands the next time, I guess."

Just then a tap came at the door, and Miss Preston put her head in to ask:

"Can you girls do extra hard work between this and eight o'clock?"

Had she entertained any doubts of their ability to individually do the work of three, the shout which answered her in the affirmative would have banished them forever, for the girls were not slow to guess that some surprise was afoot.

"Very well, I'll trust you all to prepare tomorrow's lessons without exchanging an unnecessary word, and at eight o'clock I'll ring my bell, and then you must all put on extra warm wraps and go out on the piazza to—look at the moon. I shall not expect you to come in till ten-thirty."

As the last word was uttered Miss Preston met her doom, for five girls pounced upon her, bore her to the couch and hugged her till she cried for mercy.

"Come with us, oh! come with us," they cried. "It will be twice as nice if you'll come!"

"Come where? Do you suppose I've lived all these years and never seen the moon?" and laughing merrily she slipped away from them, only pausing to add: "It is ten minutes of seven now."

The hint was enough, and not a girl "got left" that night.

At eight o'clock a silvery ting-a-ling was heard, and never was bell more promptly responded to. Had it been a fire alarm the rooms could not have been more quickly emptied.

The moonlight made all outside nearly as bright as day, and when the girls went out upon the porch they found three huge sleighs, with four horses each, waiting to whirl them over the shining roads for miles. Miss Preston did not make one of the party, but Miss Howard was a welcome substitute, for, next to Miss Preston, the girls loved her better than any of the other teachers, and Toinette was sorely divided in her mind as to which she was learning to love the better.

Off they started, singing, laughing at nothing, calling merrily to all they overtook, or passed, and sending the school yell, which Miss Howard had made up upon the spur of the moment for them,

"Hoo-rah-ray! Hoo-rah-ray! Sunny Bank, Montcliff, U. S. A.,"

out upon the frosty air, until the very hills rang with the cry, and flung it back in merry echoes.

Miss Howard's sleigh led the van, and one or two of the girls had clambered up to ride upon the high front seat with the driver, a sturdy old Irishman, who would have driven twenty horses all night long to please any of Miss Preston's girls. Ruth sat beside him, with Toinette next to her, and Edith was squeezed against the outer edge. But who cares about being squeezed under such circumstances? It's more fun.

The snow had fallen so lightly that sometimes the runners cut through slightly; but, all things considered, the sleighing was very good. Still, the driver kept the horses well in hand, for they were good ones and ready to respond to a word. Moreover, the hilarity behind them seemed to have proved infectious, for every now and again a leader or a wheeler would prance about as though joining in the fun, and presently another animal became infected and wanted to prance, too. Had she not, the next chapter need not have been written.



CHAPTER XV

"PRIDE GOETH BEFORE A FALL"

More than five miles had slipped away under those swiftly-moving runners ere Ruth was suddenly seized with a desire to emulate a famous charioteer of olden time, one "Phaeton, of whom the histories have sung, in every meter, and every tongue," if a certain poet may be relied upon. So, turning a beguiling face toward the unsuspecting Michael beside her, she said:

"You're a fine driver, aren't you, Michael?"

"'T is experience ivery man nades; I've had me own," observed Michael, complacently.

"It must be very hard to drive four horses at once."

"Anny one what kin droive two dacently should be able enough to handle four; 't is not the number of horses, but the sinse at the other ind av the reins."

"Is that so? I thought it needed a strong man to drive so many."

"Indade, no; it does not that. I've seen a schmall, little man, hardly bigger than yerself, takin' six along with the turn av his hand."

"Could he hold them if they started to go fast?"

"Certain as the woirld, he cud do that same. 'T was meself that taught him the thrick av it. 'T is easy larnt."

"Then teach me right now, will you?"

Poor Michael, he saw when it was too late that boasting is dangerous work, but to refuse anything to "wan av the young ladies" never for an instant occurred to him. Probably had he asked Miss Howard's consent he would have been spared complying with a request which his better judgment questioned, but that did not occur to him, either, so, giving one apprehensive glance behind him at the twenty or more passengers in the sleigh, he placed the reins in Ruth's hands, adjusting them in the most scientific manner.

They were skimming along over a beautiful bit of road with a thick fir wood upon one side and open fields upon the other. The road was level as a floor, and no turn would be made for fully half a mile. Horses know so well the difference between their own driver's touch and a stranger's hand, and the four whose reins Ruth now held were not dullards. They had been going along at a steady round trot, with no thought of making the pace a livelier one, but directly the reins passed out of Michael's hands the spirit of mischief, ever uppermost in Ruth, flew like an electric fluid straight through those four reins, and, in less time than it takes to tell about it, those horses had made up their minds to add a little to the general hilarity behind them.

The change was scarcely perceptible at first, but little by little they increased their pace, till they were fairly flying over the ground. Not one whit did the girls in the sleigh object; the faster the better for them. The sleighs behind did their best to keep up, but no such horses were in the livery stable as the four harnessed to Michael's sleigh, for Michael was the trusted of the trusted.

But he was growing very uneasy, and, leaning down close to Ruth, said: "Ye'd better be lettin' me take thim now, Miss. We've the turn to make jist beyant."

"O, I can make it all right; you know you said that anybody who drives two horses decently could drive four just as well, and I've driven papa's always."

"Yis, yis," said Michael quickly, seeing when too late that he had talked to his own undoing, "but ye'd better be lettin' me handle thim be moonlight; 't is deceptive, moonlight is," and he reached to take the reins from her. But alas! empires may be lost by a second's delay, and a second was responsible for much now.

As Michael reached for the reins the turn was reached also, and where is the livery stable horse that does not know every turn toward home even better than his driver, be the driver the oldest in that section of the country! Around whirled the leaders, and hard upon them came the wheelers, and a-lack-a-day! hard, very hard, upon a huge stone at the corner came the runner of the front bob.

Had the whole sleighful been suddenly plunged into a hundred cubic feet of hydrogen gas, sound could not have ceased more abruptly for one second, and then there arose to the thousands of little laughing stars and their dignified mother, the moon, a howl which made the welkin ring.

Shall I attempt to describe what had happened in the drawing of a breath? A bob runner was hopelessly wrecked; two horses were sitting upon their haunches, while two others were striving to prove to those who were not too much occupied with their own concerns to notice that, after all is said and done, the Lord did intend that such animals should walk upon two legs if they saw fit to do so. Michael stood up to his middle in a snow-drift; Ruth sat as calmly upon a snow bank as though she preferred it to any other seat she had ever selected, albeit she was well-nigh smothered by the back and cushions of her novel resting-place; Toinette was dumped heels-over-head into the body of the sleigh, where she landed fairly and squarely in Miss Howard's lap; Edith hung on to the seat railing for dear life, and screamed as though the lives of all in the sleigh (or out of it) depended upon her summons for assistance. The sleigh had not upset, yet what kept it in a horizontal position must forever remain a mystery, and such a heap of scrambling, squirming, screaming girls as were piled up five or six deep in the bottom of it may never be seen again. Some had been dumped overboard outright, and were floundering about in the snow, which, happily, had saved them from serious harm. With the inborn chivalry of his race, Michael's first thoughts said: "Fly to the rescue of the demoiselles," but stern duty said: "Sthick to yer horses, Moik, or they'll smash things to smithereens, and, bedad, I sthuck wid all me moight, or the Lord only knows where we'd all have fetched up at that same night," he said, when relating his experiences some hours later.



When excitement was at its height the other sleighs arrived upon the scene, and if there had been an uproar before, there was a mighty cry abroad in the land now. But, dear me, it is all in a lifetime; so why leave these floundering mortals piled up in heaps any longer? They were unsnarled eventually, gotten upon their feet (or their neighbors'), packed like sardines into the two other sleighs, and, with six instead of four horses now drawing each, started homeward, none the worse for their spill, excepting a good shaking up, a few handfuls of snow merrily forming rills and rivulets down their necks, some badly battered hats and torn coats, and one of them, at least, with some wholesome lessons regarding handling four frisky horses when the air is frosty and a number of lives may depend upon keeping "top side go, la!"



CHAPTER XVI

LETTERS

When the sleighing party reached home they found hot chocolate and ginger cookies awaiting them. Before retiring, Miss Preston had seen to it that neither shivering nor hungry bodies should be tucked into bed that night.

Five weeks had now sped away, and Toinette was beginning to look upon her new abiding-place as home; at least, it was nearer to it than any she could remember. The old life at the Carter school seemed a sort of nightmare from which she had wakened to find broad daylight and all the miserable fancies dispelled.

She and Cicely were seated at their desks one afternoon. It was half-past four and study hour. Cicely was hard at work upon her algebra lesson, but Toinette was writing a letter. This, she knew quite well, was not what she was supposed to be doing, but the five weeks had not sufficed to undo the mischief done in seven years, and she was writing simply from a spirit of perversity. There was ample time to do it during her hours of freedom, but the very fact of doing it when she knew full well that she ought to be at work on her German added piquancy to the act. Moreover, the letter was to a boy with whom she had become acquainted while at Miss Carter's, and had kept the acquaintance a most profound secret. Not that she cared specially for the boy, although he was a jolly sort of chap, and had been a pleasant companion during their stolen interviews, and often smuggled boxes of candy and other "forbidden fruit" into the girl's possession.

Still, at Miss Carter's a boy sprouting angel's wings would have been regarded in very much the same light as though he were sprouting imp's horns, and any girl caught talking to one—much less corresponding—would have had a very bad quarter of an hour, indeed. So, though she did not care two straws whether she ever saw him again or not, all the wrong-headedness which had been so carefully fostered for the past years delighted in the thought that she was doing something which might not be approved; indeed, from her standpoint, would be decidedly criticised, and to get ahead of a teacher had been the "slogan" of the Carter school.

It was the custom at Sunny Bank for the teachers to go around to the girls' rooms during the study hour to help, suggest, or give a little "boost" over the hummocky places, so when a pleasant voice asked at the door: "Can I help you any, dearies?" Cicely answered from her room:

"Oh, Miss Howard, will you please tell me something about this problem? I am afraid my head is muddled."

"To be sure, I will," was the cheery reply, and Miss Howard passed through Toinette's room to Cicely's.

As she did so her dress created a current of air which carried a paper from Toinette's desk almost to her feet. She stooped to pick it up and hand it back to Toinette, who had sprung up to catch it, and, as she handed it to her, Miss Howard noted the telltale color spring into the girl's face.

"Zephyrus is playing you tricks, dear," she said, smiling, and passed on to Cicely. After giving her the needed assistance, she left them, and a little further down the corridor met Miss Preston.

"How are my chicks progressing, Miss Howard?"

"Nicely, Miss Preston. Cicely needed a little help with a problem in algebra, but I think Toinette needs a little of yours in the problem of life," and Miss Howard went her way.

A word to the wise is sufficient.

Meanwhile, the letter was finished, addressed, and slipped into Toinette's pocket, to be mailed later.

Ordinarily, all letters were placed in a small basket to be carried to the office by the porter. As Toinette came down the hall shortly before dinner Miss Preston was just taking the letters from the basket to place them in the porter's mailbag.

"Any mail to go, dear?" she asked.

"No, thank you, Miss Preston," answered Toinette, and, jumping from the last step, ran off down the hall to join Cicely and the other girls. In jumping from the step something jolted from her pocket, but, falling upon the heavy rug at the foot of the stairs, made no sound. As the porter was about to take the pouch from her hands Miss Preston's eyes fell upon the letter, and, supposing it to be one which had been dropped from the basket, stooped to pick it up. She was a quick-witted woman, and the instant she saw the handwriting and the address she drew her own conclusions.

"So that is part of the life problem, is it? Poor little girl, she has got to learn something which the average girl has to unlearn; where they entirely trust their fellow-beings, she entirely distrusts them. I wonder if I shall ever be able to show her the middle path?" Telling the porter to wait a moment, Miss Preston slipped into the library, and, catching up a pencil and slip of paper, wrote down the name and address which was written upon the envelope, then, stepping back to the hall, handed the porter the letter to post.

Toinette joined the girls, and in the lively chatter which ensued forgot all about the letter until several hours later, and then searched for it in every possible and impossible place, but, of course, without finding it, and was in a very uncomfortable frame of mind for several days, and then something happened which did not serve to reassure her, for a reply came to her from her correspondent.

How in the world her letter had ever reached him was the question which puzzled her not a little, and she fretted over the thing till she was in a fever. Then she determined to write again to ask how and when the letter had reached him, although she was beginning to wish that boy, letter and all, were at the bottom of the Red Sea, so much had they tormented her. So a second letter was written, and then came the puzzle of getting it into the mail bag unnoticed. At Miss Carter's school all letters had been examined before they were allowed to be mailed, and as Toinette's correspondence was supposed to be limited to the letters she wrote to her father, she had never inquired whether Miss Preston first examined them or not, but, taking it for granted that she did so, handed them to her unsealed. On the other hand, Miss Preston, thinking that it was simply carelessness that they were not, usually sealed them and sent them upon their way.

Although she had not said anything about it, the little affair had by no means passed from Miss Preston's thoughts, but she was trying to think of the wisest way of going about it, and was waiting for something to guide her.

"If I can only win her confidence," she said to herself more than once.



CHAPTER XVII

"HAF ANYBODY SEEN MY UMBREL?"

It was the last week in February, and in a few days the school dance was to be given. One afternoon a dozen or more girls were gathered in Ethel's room to see her dress which had been sent out from town. It was as dainty an affair as one could wish to see, and many were the admiring glances cast upon it, and many the praises it received. Possibly it was a trifle elaborate for a girl of fifteen, for it was made of delicate white chiffon over pale yellow satin, and exquisitely embroidered with fine silver threads. But Ethel looked very lovely in it as she preened herself before the mirror, and was fully aware of the fact.

"What are you going to wear, Toinette?" she asked.

"I've never worn anything but white yet," answered Toinette. "At Miss Carter's all my dresses were ordered by Miss Emeline, and she said I ought not to wear anything else till I was eighteen. I hope Miss Preston won't say the same."

"I should think you would have hated to have the teachers say just what you must wear, as well as what you must study. Didn't your father ever send you any clothes?"

"Papa was too far away to know what I wore or did," answered Toinette, rather sadly.

"Aren't you glad he is home again?" asked quiet little Helen Burgess, who somehow always managed to say soothing things when one felt sort of ruffled up without knowing just why.

"You had better believe I am!" was the emphatic reply. "What will you wear, Helen?"

"The same thing I always wear, I guess. I haven't much choice in the matter, you know."

Toinette colored slightly at her thoughtless remark, for she had not paused to think before speaking. All the girls knew that Helen's purse was a very slender one, and that it was only by self-sacrifice and close economy that her parents were able to keep her at such an expensive school. She made no secret of her lack of money, but worked away bravely and cheerfully, always sunny, always happy, with the enviable faculty of invariably saying the right thing at the right time. She had pronounced artistic tendencies, and Miss Preston was anxious to encourage them in every possible way. Her great desire was to go to Europe and there see the originals of the famous paintings of which she read. Each year Miss Preston went abroad and took with her several of the girls whose parents could afford such indulgences for them, and Helen longed to be one of them, although she never for a moment hoped to be.

She did really remarkable work for a girl of her age, and was improving all the time, but the trip over the sea seemed as far off as a trip to the moon. Toinette was somewhat of a dilettante, and pottered away with her water-colors with more or less success. But she admired good work, and was quick to see that Helen was a hard student, and to respect her for it. Although so unlike in disposition, as well as position, a warm regard had sprung up between them, and Toinette spent many hours watching Helen work away at her drawing. The girl's ambition was to illustrate, and there was hardly a girl in the school who had not posed for her, and the drawings in her sketch-book were excellent.

Toinette had never been taught to think much about others, and so it is not surprising that, while she admired Helen, and wished that she could have those things she so longed for, it never occurred to her that perhaps there were other and more fortunate girls who might have helped a trifle if they chose to do so. That she, herself, had it within her power to do it never entered her head till the girls began to talk about their new dresses, and what put it there then would be hard to tell. Nevertheless, come it did, and when she heard Helen speak so composedly of wearing to the school dance, the event of the season, in their eyes, the same dress which had done service for many a little entertainment given through the winter, and which gave unmistakable signs of having done so, she realized for the first time what it must mean to be deprived of those things which she had always accepted as a matter of course.

Still, no definite plans took shape in her head regarding it, and it is quite possible that none might ever have done so had not something occurred within a short time which seemed to be the hinge upon which her whole after-life swung.

As the girls were in the midst of their chatter about the new gowns a tap came at the door, and Fraulein Palme looked in to ask:

"Haf anyone seen my umbrel? I haf hunt eferywhere for him, and can't see him anywhere."

"No, Fraulein, we haven't seen it," answered several voices.

"Where did you last have it?" asked Ruth.

"Right away in my room a little while before I am ready to go out. I go down to the post-office and must get wet without him."

Two or three of the girls went into the hall to look for the missing umbrella, and others went back to Fraulein's room with her to make a more exhaustive search. But without success.

"Have you more than one?" asked Edith.

"No, it is but one I haf got. It is very funnee," and poor Fraulein looked sorely perplexed.

"Take mine, Fraulein. Yours will turn up when you least expect it," said Toinette.

"What did it look like, Fraulein?" asked Cicely.

"Chust like thees," was the astonishing answer, as absent-minded Fraulein held forth the missing umbrella, which all that time she had held tightly clasped in her hand, and which had been the cause of Edith's question as to whether she had more than one, for she supposed, of course, that the one Fraulein was so tightly holding must either be one she did not care to carry, or else one she was about to return to someone from whom she had probably borrowed it.

The shout which was raised at her reply speedily brought poor Fraulein back to her senses, and murmuring:

"Ach, so! I think I come veruckt," she hurried off down the hall with the girls' laughter still ringing in her ears.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE LITTLE HINGE

The day before the dance was to be given Toinette wrote her second letter, arguing that when everybody else had so much to occupy their thoughts they would have little time to notice other people's doings, and the letter could be mailed without exciting comment. Waiting until the very last moment, she ran down to the mail-basket to slip the letter in it unobserved. As ill-luck would have it, Miss Preston also had a letter to be slipped in at the last moment, and she and Toinette came face to face. It was too late to retreat, for the letter was in her hand in plain view, so, forced into an awkward position, she made a bad matter worse. Dropping the letter quickly into the basket, she said:

"Just a note for papa about something I want for the dance to-morrow, Miss Preston; I didn't think you'd care, and I hadn't time to do it earlier," and, with flaming cheeks, she turned to go away.

"Wait just one moment, dear," said Miss Preston, "I've something to say to you. Walk down to my room with me, please," and she slipped her arm about the girl's waist.

No more was needed, and all the suspicion and rebellion in Toinette's nature rose up to do battle with—windmills. It was a hard young face that looked defiantly at Miss Preston.

"Toinette, dear, I want to have a little talk with you," she said, as she locked the door of her sitting-room, and, seating herself upon the divan, drew Toinette down beside her.

Toinette never changed her expression, but looked straight before her with a most uncompromising stare.

"You said just now that you did not think I would care if you sent a note to your father; why should I, sweetheart?"

It must have been a stubborn heart, indeed, which could resist Miss Preston's sweet tone.

"Oh, I don't know, but teachers always seem to mind every little thing one does," replied Toinette, sulkily.

"It seems to me that this would be entirely too 'little a thing' for a teacher or anyone else to mind. Don't you think so yourself?"

"Well, of course, I didn't think you would mind simply because I wrote to papa, but because I posted the letter without first letting you read it," answered Toinette.

Now, indeed, was Miss Preston learning something new, and not even a child could have questioned that her surprise was genuine when she exclaimed:

"Read your letters, my dear little girl! What are you saying?" and a slight flush overspread her refined face.

It was now Toinette's turn to be surprised as she asked:

"Isn't that the rule here, Miss Preston?"

"Is it anywhere? I can hardly believe it. One's correspondence is a very sacred thing, Toinette, and I would as soon be guilty of listening at another person's door as of reading a letter intended for another's eyes. Oh, my little girl, what mischief has been at work here?"

While Miss Preston was speaking Toinette had risen to her feet, her eyes shining like stars, and her color coming and going rapidly. Now, taking both Miss Preston's hands in her own, she said, in a voice which quivered with excitement:

"Is that truly true, Miss Preston? Aren't the girls' letters ever read? Haven't mine been? Do you trust me like that?"

Miss Preston looked the girl fairly in the eyes as she answered:

"I trust you as I trust the others, because I feel you to be a gentlewoman, and, as such, you would be as reluctant to do anything liable to cast discredit upon yourself as I would be to have you. I do not wish my girls to fear but to love me, with all their hearts, and to trust me as I trust them. I do not expect you to be perfect; we all make mistakes; I make many, but we can help each other, dear, and remember this: 'Love casteth out fear.' Try to love me, my little girl, and to feel that I am your friend; I want so much to be."

Miss Preston's voice was very sweet and appealing, and as she spoke Toinette's eyes grew limpid. Miss Preston still held her hands, and, as she finished speaking, the girl dropped upon her knees and clasped her arms about her waist, buried her face in her lap and burst into a storm of sobs. All the pent-up feeling, the longing, the struggle, the yearning for tenderness of the past lonely years was finding an outlet in the bitter, bitter sobs which shook her slight frame.

Although Miss Preston knew comparatively little of the girl's former life, she had learned enough from Mr. Reeve, and observed enough in the girl herself, to understand that this outburst was not wholly the result of what had just passed between them. So, gently stroking the pretty golden hair, she wisely waited for the grief to spend itself before she resumed her talk, and, when the poor little trembling figure was more composed, said:

"My poor little Toinette, let us begin a brand new leaf to-day—'thee and me,' as the Quakers so prettily put it. Let us try to believe that even though I have spent thirty more years on this big world than you have, that we can still be good friends, and sympathize with each other either in sunshine or shadow. To do this two things are indispensible: confidence and love. And we can never have the latter without first winning the former. Remember this, dear, I shall never doubt you. Whatever happens, you may rest firm in the conviction that I shall always accept your word when it is given. Our self-respect suffers when we are doubted, and one's self-respect is a very precious thing, and not to be lightly tampered with."



She now drew Toinette back to the couch beside her, put her arm about her waist, and let the tired head rest upon her shoulder. The girl had ceased to sob, but looked worn and weary. Miss Preston snuggled her close and waited for her to speak, feeling sure that more was in her heart, and that, in a nature such as she felt Toinette's to be, it would be impossible for her to rest content until all doubts, all self-reproach could be put behind her.

She sat perfectly still for a long time, her hands clasped in her lap, and her big, brown eyes, into which had crept a wonderfully soft expression, looking far away beyond the walls of Miss Preston's sitting-room, far beyond the bedroom next it, and off to some lonely, unsatisfied years, when she had lived in a sort of truce with all about her, never knowing just when hostilities might be renewed. It had acted upon the girl's sensitive nature much as a chestnut-prickle acts upon the average mortal; a nasty, little, irritating thing, hard to discover, a scrap of a thing when found—if, indeed, it does not succeed in eluding one altogether—and so insignificant that one wonders how it could cause such discomfort. But it is those miserable little chestnut-prickles that are hardest to bear in this life, and so warp one's character that it is often unfitted to bear the heavier burdens which must come into all lives sooner or later.



CHAPTER XIX

"FATAL OR FATED ARE MOMENTS"

"Nobody has ever spoken to me as you have, Miss Preston," Toinette began presently, "and I can't tell you how I feel. Maybe heaven will be better, but I don't believe I shall ever feel any happier than I feel this minute. It seems as though I'd been living in a sort of prison, all shut up in the dark, and that now I am out in the sunshine and as free as the birds. But I must tell you something more: I can't rest content unless I do. The letter I posted to-day wasn't to papa, I sent it to Howard Elting, in Branton, and it isn't the first I've written him, either. I didn't lie about the other one, Miss Preston; I was ready to mail it, but lost it; I don't know how. Somebody must have found it and posted it, for he got it and answered it, and I was so puzzled over it that I wrote again. That was the letter you saw me post. Now, that is the truth, and I know that you believe me."

Toinette had spoken very rapidly, scarcely pausing for breath, and when she finished gave a relieved little sigh and looked Miss Preston squarely in the eyes. Truly, her self-respect was regained.

Will some of my readers say: "What a tempest in a teapot?" To many this may seem a very trivial affair, but how small a thing can influence our lives! A breath, the passing of a summer shower, may help or hinder plans which alter our entire lives. And Miss Preston was wise enough to understand it. Here was a beautiful soul given for a time into her keeping. Now, at the period of its keenest receptive powers, a delicate and sensitive thing needing very gentle handling.

Stroking the head again resting upon her shoulder, as though it had found a safe and happy haven after having been tossed about upon a troubled sea, she said, quietly:

"I posted the letter, dear; I found it in the hall where it had been dropped; it never occurred to me that there was any cause for concealment; the girls all correspond with their friends; it is an understood thing. I recognized your writing, and, as I had friends at Branton, I wrote to ask if they knew the person written to. They replied that they did, and told me who he was. Knowing how few friends you have, I wrote to this boy asking him to come to our dance to-morrow night, because I thought the little surprise might give you pleasure, and you would be glad to welcome an old friend. Does it please you, my little girl?"

"Oh, Miss Preston!" was all Toinette said, but those three words meant a great deal.

The dressing-bell now rang, and Toinette sprang up with rather a dismayed look. As though she interpreted it, Miss Preston said:

"You are in no condition to meet the other girls to-night, dear. They cannot understand your feelings, and, without meaning to be unkind or curious, would ask questions which it would embarrass you to answer. You are nervous and unstrung, so lie down on my couch and I will see that your dinner is brought up. I shall say to the other girls that you are not feeling well, and that it would be better not to disturb you." Then, going into her bedroom, Miss Preston quickly made her own toilet. She had just finished it when the chimes called all to dinner, and, stooping over Toinette, she kissed her softly and slipped from the room.

Some very serious thoughts passed through Toinette's head during the ensuing fifteen minutes, and some resolutions were formed which were held to as long as she lived.

A tap at the door, and a maid entered with a dainty dinner. Placing a little stand close to the couch, she put the tray upon it, and then asked: "Can I do anything more for you, Miss Toinette?"

"No, thank you, Helma. This is very tempting."

When Miss Preston came to her room an hour later she found the tray quite empty, and Toinette fast asleep. Arranging the couch pillows more comfortably, and throwing a warm puff over the sleeping girl, she whispered, softly: "Poor little maid, your battle with Apollyon was short and sharp, but, thank God, you've conquered, even at the expense of an exhausted mind and weary body."

It was nearly midnight when Toinette opened her eyes to see Miss Preston warmly wrapped in her dressing-gown, and seated before the fire reading. The lamp was carefully screened from Toinette, who could not at first realize what had happened, or why she was there, but Miss Preston's voice recalled her to herself.

"Do you feel rested, dear?" she asked. "Don't try to go to your room; just undress and cuddle down in my bed with me to-night; I've brought in your night-dress."

Toinette did not answer, but, walking over to Miss Preston, just rested her cheek against hers for a moment. Twenty minutes later she was fast asleep in her good friend's bed.

The following day all was bustle and excitement at Sunny Bank, for great preparations were being made for the dance in the evening, and understanding how much pleasure it gave the girls to feel that they were of some assistance, she let them fly about like so many grigs, helping or hindering, as it happened.

They brought down all the pretty trifles from their rooms, piled up sofa pillows till the couches resembled a Turk's palace; arranged the flowers, and rearranged them, till poor Miss Preston began to fear that there would be nothing left of them. However, it was an exceedingly attractive house which was thrown open to her guests at eight o'clock that evening, and the girls had had no small share in making it so.

A very complete understanding seemed to exist between Toinette and Miss Preston now, for, although no words were spoken, none were needed; just an exchange of glances told that two hearts were very happy that night, for love and confidence had come to dwell within them.



CHAPTER XX

"NOW TREAD WE A MEASURE."

Shall we ever grow too old to recall the pleasure of our school dances? Then lights seem brighter, toilets more ravishing, music sweeter, our partners more fascinating, and the supper more tempting than ever before or after.

The house was brilliantly lighted from top to bottom, excepting in such cosy corners as were specially conducive to confidential chats, and in these softly shaded lamps cast a fairy-like light.

Miss Preston, dressed in black velvet, with some rich old lace to enhance its charms, received her guests in the great hall, some of the older girls receiving with her.

There were ten or more girls who were taking special courses, and these were styled "parlor boarders," and at the end of the school term would enter society. Consequently, this dance was looked upon as a preliminary step for the one to follow, and the girls regarded it as a sort of "golden mile-stone" in their lives, which marked off the point at which "the brook and river meet."

A prettier, happier lot of girls could hardly have been found, and none looked lovelier, or happier, than Toinette. Her dress, a soft, creamy white chiffon, admirably suited to her golden coloring, had been sent to her by her father, whose taste was unerring. No matter how many miles of this big globe divided them, he never forgot her needs, and, if unable to supply them himself, took good care that some one else should do so. So the dress had arrived the night before, and Miss Preston had been able to give her another pleasant surprise for the dance. And now she looked as the lilies of the field for fairness.

She was whirling away upon her partner's arm, when, chancing to glance toward the door, she beheld something which brought her to an abrupt stand-still, much to her partner's amazement. Miss Preston stood in the doorway, and, standing beside her, with one hand resting lightly upon his hip and the other raised a little above his head, and resting against the door-casing, stood a tall, remarkably handsome man. His attitude was unstudied, but brought out to perfection the fine lines of his figure.

Hastily exclaiming: "Oh, please, excuse me, or else come with me," Toinette glided between the whirling figures, and, forgetful of all else, cried out in a joyous voice: "Papa, papa Clayton, where did you come from?"

It was so like the childish voice he had loved to hear so long ago, that he started with pleasure.

During the brief holiday Toinette had spent with him he had missed the spontaneity he had known in the little child, and, without being able to analyze it, felt that something was wanting in the girl. She had been sweet and winning, yet under it all had been a manner quite incomprehensible to him, as though she did not feel quite sure of her position in his affections. Her laugh had lacked the true girlish ring, and her conversation with him seemed guarded, as though she had never quite spoken all her thoughts.

He had been immeasurably distressed by it, for he could not understand the cause, and bitterly reproached himself for not being better acquainted with his own child. In the merry girl who now stood before him, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her voice so joyous, he saw no trace of the listless one he had placed in Miss Preston's charge two months before.

Slipping one arm about her, he snuggled her close to his side, as he answered:

"A blue-coated biped left a good, substantial hint at my office not long since, and this is what came of following it."

"You did it! I'm sure of it," laughed Toinette, shaking her finger at Miss Preston, as the latter said: "I leave you to a livelier entertainer, now, Mr. Reeve, while I go to look after some of my guests who may not be so fortunately situated," and she slipped away, Toinette calling after her: "You are responsible for most of the nice things which happen here. Oh, daddy," dropping unconsciously into the old childish pet name, "I've such stacks of things to tell you. But, excuse me just one second, while I find a partner for that boy I've left stranded high and dry over there; doesn't he look miserable? Then I'll come back," and, kissing her hand gaily, she ran off. Returning a moment or two later, she said:

"There! he's all fixed, and is sure to have a good time with Ethel and Lou; they're not a team, but a four-in-hand. Now, come and have a dance with me, and then we'll go off all by ourselves and have the cosiest time you ever dreamed of. I feel so proud to have you all to myself," she added, as they glided away to the soft strains of the music, "so sort of grown-up and grand with such a handsome partner."

"Hear! hear! Do you want to make me vain? I haven't been accustomed to hearing such barefaced compliments. They make me blush."

"I really believe they do," answered Toinette, throwing back her head to get a better look at him, and laughing softly when she saw a slight flush upon his face. "Never mind, it is all in the family, you know."

"Perhaps I have other reasons for feeling a trifle elated," he said, as the dance came to an end and he followed Toinette to one of the cozy corners. Springing up among the cushions, she patted them invitingly, and said:

"Come, sit down here beside me, and let me tell you all about the loveliest time of my life. Oh, daddy, I do so love to be here, and you don't know how good Miss Preston is to me. She is good to us all, but, somehow the other girls don't seem to need so much setting straight as I have. I think I must have been all kinked up in little hard knots before I came here, and Miss Preston has begun to untie them. She hasn't got all untied yet, but I feel so sort of loosened up and easy that everything seems lots more comfortable."



Clayton Reeve did not smile at Toinette's odd way of explaining her feelings. He knew it to be a fourteen-year-old girl who spoke, and that her thoughts, to be natural, must be put into her own words.

On she rambled, telling one thing after another, and, while they were talking, Helen Burgess stopped near their snuggery. It was too dimly lighted for her to discover them, and the next thing they knew they were unwitting eavesdroppers, for Helen was talking very earnestly to one of her boon companions, a day-pupil at the school, and one of the brightest in it, but, like Helen, not embarrassed with riches. For some time the girls had been saving their small allowances toward the purchase of cameras, but so slowly did the sums accumulate that it was rather discouraging for them. They were now talking about their respective ways of procuring the sums of money needed, and the trifle they had managed to save, and the small amounts they earned in one way or another, to augment the original sums, seemed so paltry to Toinette, who never stopped to ask whence came the five-dollar bills so regularly sent her each week, and who, had a fancy entered her head for one, would have walked out and bought a camera very much as she would have bought a paper of pins.



CHAPTER XXI

CONSPIRATORS

Mr. Reeve would have risen from his snug corner and discovered himself to the girls, but Toinette laid her finger upon her lips to enjoin silence, and, although he could not quite understand her desire to play eavesdropper, he complied. From the subject of the cameras the girls went on to Helen's work in the art class, for Jean was much interested in that also, and they often built air-castles about the wonderful things they would do when that fabulous "stone ship" should sail safely into port. They talked earnestly for girls of thirteen and fifteen, and Mr. Reeve could not fail to be impressed by the strength of purpose they seemed to possess, and, having a good bit of stick-to-ativeness himself, admired it in others. Moreover, he had been forced to make his own way in life when young, and could sympathize with other aspiring souls.

Presently the two girls moved away, and then Toinette whispered: "I don't know what you think of me for making you play 'Paul Pry,' but I had a reason for it, and now I'll tell you what it was."

"I inferred as much, so kept mum."

"Well, you see, since I've been here I've waked up a little, and, somehow, have begun to think about other people, and wonder if they were happy. At Miss Carter's school everybody just seemed to think about themselves, or, if they thought of anybody else, it was generally to wonder how they could get ahead of them in some way. But here it is all so different, and everybody seems to try to find out what they can do to make someone else happy. I can't begin to tell you how it is done, because I don't know myself; only it is, and it makes you feel sort of happy all over," said Toinette, trying to put into words that subtle something which makes us feel at peace with all mankind, and little realizing that its cause lay right within herself; for a sense of having done one's very best and a clear conscience are wonderful rosy spectacles through which to see life.

"Go on, I'm keenly interested, and these little confidences are very delightful," said her father, with an encouraging nod and smile.

"So I began to want to do little things, too, and, do you know, daddy, you'd be really surprised if you knew what a lot of ways there are of making the girls happy if you only take the trouble to look for them. For instance, there is Helen Burgess, the larger of the girls you saw just now: we have become real good friends, and she is very clever, and draws beautifully. But she has so little to do with that she can't afford to get the things the other girls have to work with, nor have the advantages they have. She and Jean have been trying ever so long to get cameras, for they think that they could take pretty views of Montcliff and sell them to the people who come here in the summer, and I'm sure they could, too. It does not make so much difference to Jean, for, although she isn't rich, she isn't exactly poor, either, you know, and has a good many nice things, but Helen never seems to have any. So I thought I'd have a little talk with you and get you to send out a cute little camera for each of them and never let them know where they came from. Wouldn't that be great fun? But I want to pay for them. You can use ten dollars of my money, and not send me my allowance for two weeks; I've got enough to last."

"And what will my poverty-stricken lassie do meantime?" asked Mr. Reeve.

"Oh, she is not so poverty-stricken as you think," laughed Toinette. "She won't suffer. And then I wanted to ask you if there wasn't some way of helping Helen in her art work. She wants so much to go abroad with Miss Preston, but has no more idea of ever being able to do so than she has of going to the moon. What would it cost, papa? Isn't there some way of bringing it about? Couldn't you have a talk with Miss Preston and find out all about it, and then we could plan something, maybe."

Toinette had become very earnest as she talked, and was now leaning toward her father, her hands clasped in her lap, and her expressive face alive with enthusiasm.

Mr. Reeve hated to spoil the pretty picture, but said, in the interested tone so comforting when used by older people in speaking to young folk: "I am sure we can evolve some plan. I shall be very glad to speak to Miss Preston before I return to the city, and haven't the slightest doubt that great things will come of it."

"How lovely! You're just a darling! I'm going to hug you right here behind the curtains!" cried Toinette, as she sprung up and clasped her arms about his neck.

"Haven't you one or two more favors you'd like to ask?" said Mr. Reeve, suggestively.

"No, not another one, just now," she answered, laughing softly. "Too many might turn your head, and mine, too. But it is so good to have you home once more. You don't know how lonely I've been without you, daddy. There wasn't anyone in the world who cared two straws for me till you came back and I came here. But I've got you now, and I'm not going to let you go very soon again, I can tell you. You are too precious, and we are going to have lovely times together by-and-by when I grow up, aren't we?"

"We are not going to wait till then, sweetheart; we are going to begin right off, this very minute. I can't afford to waste any more precious time; too much has been wasted already," he said, as he raised the pretty face and kissed it, and then, drawing her arm through his, added: "Now let me do the honors. Introduce me to your friends, and let me see if seven years' knocking about this old world has made me forget the 'Quips, and Cranks, and Wanton Wiles, Nods, and Becks, and Wreathed Smiles' I used to know."

They left the snuggery, and, blissfully conscious of her honors, Toinette presented her father to the girls. Just how proud they were of the marked attention he showed to each I'll leave it to some other girls to guess. He danced with them, took them to supper, sought out the greatest delicacies for them, and played the gallant as though he were but twenty instead of forty-two. "He treated us just as though we were the big girls," they said, when holding forth upon the subject the next day.

Twelve o'clock came all too soon.

Mr. Reeve remained over night, and the following day found an opportunity to have a long talk with Miss Preston—a talk which afforded him great satisfaction for many reasons.

Toinette, with several of the other girls, escorted him to the train, and gave him a most enthusiastic "send-off."

In the course of a few days a package was delivered at the school. Had bomb-shells been dropped there they could hardly have created more excitement. Jean's house was only a few blocks from the school, and one Saturday morning—for the cameras were obliging enough to choose that day to appear—Mrs. Rockwood's sitting-room was the scene of the wildest excitement.



CHAPTER XXII

"WE'VE GOT 'EM! WE'VE GOT 'EM!"

Mrs. Rockwood was in her sitting-room one morning. It was Saturday, and a day of liberty for Jean. She had gone over to the school to spend a few hours with Helen, and Mrs. Lockwood did not expect her home until lunch-time, but, happening to glance from her window about ten o'clock, what was her surprise to see two figures approaching, one with a series of bounds, prances and jumps, which indicated a wildly hilarious and satisfied frame of mind in Jean, and the other with a subdued hop and skip, and then a sedate walk, which, although less demonstrative, was quite as indicative of a very deep and serene happiness to any one familiar with Helen.

A moment later the front door slammed, and two pairs of feet came tearing up the stairs as though pursued by Boer cavalry, and two eager voices cried:

"We've got 'em! We've got 'em! We've got 'em!" and both girls came tearing into the room to cast themselves and two very suggestive looking parcels upon Mrs. Rockwood.

"What in this world has happened?" she asked, in amazement, for both girls were breathless, and could only point at the parcels in her lap and say: "Open them! Open them, quick!"

Mrs. Rockwood was a woman who entered heart and soul into her daughter's pleasures, and nothing was ever quite right in Jean's eyes unless her mother shared it. Every little plan must be talked over with her, and it was pretty sure not to suffer any from one of her suggestions. Helen spent a great deal of time with Jean and was devoted to Mrs. Rockwood. Consequently, when the cameras arrived at the school that morning, and they found out that there was really no mistake, but that they were certainly intended for the persons whose names were so plainly written upon the boxes, and sent in Miss Preston's care, they could hardly wait to get over to Jean's house to show their treasures to her mother. Many had been the surmises as to whom had sent such beauties, but Toinette kept a perfectly sober face, and no one suspected the secret.

Carefully removing the wrappings, Mrs. Rockwood brought the contents of the boxes to view. She was as much surprised as the girls, and exclaimed: "Why, who could have sent them to you, and how did anyone learn that you were so anxious to have them? Such beauties, too!"

"That is the funniest part of it all, for we never told a soul, and didn't mean to till we had them, and now here they are. I believe St. Nick must have heard us wishing for them," said Helen.

"And to both of us, and just alike! Think of it! Oh, moddie, isn't it lovely?" and Jean threw her arms about her mother's neck by way of giving vent to her feelings.

"I'm as delighted as you and Helen are, dear, only I wish we might learn who our benefactor is."

"Yes, isn't it too bad. Well, it may crop out later. I thought first it must be Miss Preston, but she said that she did not know any more about it than we did," said Helen.

"Now, when may we take our pictures, and what shall we take?" cried Jean.

"You suggest something, Mrs. Rockwood; it will be nicer if you do it," said Helen, dropping down upon her knees beside Mrs. Rockwood, and placing her arm around her friend's waist.

Mrs. Rockwood drew her close to her side as she replied:

"Let me examine these treasures which have arrived so mysteriously, read the directions concerning them, and then we'll see what we'll see," and she began to read: "Take the camera into a perfectly dark closet, where no ray of light can penetrate (even covering the keyhole), and then place within it one of the sensitive plates, being careful not to expose the unused plates. Your camera is now ready to take the picture, etc." "That is all very simple, I'm sure, and if the taking proves as simple as are the directions you need have little apprehension of failure. But your directions add very explicitly that you must not attempt to take a picture unless the day is sunny. So I fear those conditions preclude the possibility of your taking any upon this cloudy day, and you will have to possess your souls in peace till 'Old Sol' favors you."

"Oh, dear, isn't that too bad! I thought we could take some right off. Don't you think we might at least try, mamma?"

"I fear they would prove failures; better wait a more favorable light."

As though to tantalize frail humanity, "Old Sol" remained very exclusive all day, and, even though Helen remained till evening in the hope that he would overcome his fit of sulks, nothing of the kind happened, and she was forced to go back to the school without one.

"Just wait till Monday, and we'll do wonders; see if we don't," said Jean, as she bade her farewell, little dreaming what wonders she was destined to do with her magical box ere the sun set Monday night.

"I'll ask Miss Preston to let me come over at four o'clock on Monday, and then we'll go out in the little dell and get a lovely picture. You know the place I mean: where that old clump of fir-trees stands by the ruined wall," said artistic Helen.

But when Monday arrived unforeseen difficulties arose for Jean. The day was the sunniest ever known, and, while waiting for Helen to come, she got out the precious camera to set the plates.

"Why, mamma, there isn't a dark closet in the whole house; not a single one," cried Jean, coming into her mother's room as she was dressing to go out on Monday afternoon. "Now, where in this world am I to open my plate-box, I'd like to know?"

Mrs. Rockwood laughed as she turned toward Jean, whose face was the picture of dismay. "True enough, there isn't. Now, who would have supposed that the architect who designed this house, and put a window in every closet, could have been so short-sighted as not to anticipate such a need as the present one?"

"But what am I to do?" desperately.

"Try putting a dark covering over the windows."

"I have, but it's just no use, for I can't get it pitch dark to save me."

"And to think that barely forty-eight hours ago I was congratulating myself that every closet in the house could be properly aired. Alas! how do our recent acquisitions alter our views?"

"Now, moddie, don't laugh, but stop teasing me, and just think as hard as ever you can how I am to find a dark place."

Mrs. Rockwood thought for a few moments, and then said:

"I have it! Mary's pot-closet, under the back stairs; that is as dark as a pocket, I'm sure."

"There! I knew you'd find a way; you always do. Just the very place, and now I'm going straight down to fix it. Good-bye," and, kissing her mother, away she flew.



CHAPTER XXIII

A CAMERA'S CAPERS.

"Mary!" cried Jean, as she bounced into the kitchen, where the maid, a typical "child of Erin," who worshipped the very ground Jean trod upon, stood at the sink paring her "taties" for the evening meal, "see my new camera; I'm going to take a picture with it, and I've got to go into your pot-closet to fix the plates."

"A picter, is it? And will ye be afther takin' a picter wid that schmall bit av a black box? How do ye do it at all, I do' know."

"Oh, I go into a dark closet and put a gelatine plate in the box, and then I go outdoors and take my picture."

"A gilitin plate, is it? Thin, faith, ye'll take ne'er a picter this day, for Oi'm jist afther usin' the last schrap av gilitin in the house to make the wine jilly fer the dinner."

"I don't mean that kind of gelatine; the kind I use is already prepared on little plates in this box, and I have to go in the dark closet to fix them."

"Faith, I'd fix thim out here, thin, where ye can see what ye're about. It's dungeon dhark in the pot-closet."

"That is exactly what I want, and, please, don't come near it, or open the door while I'm in there, will you?"

"No, no; I'll not come near ye. The minute I've done me taties it's down in the laundry Oi'm goin', an' Oi'll not bother ye at all; but here, take this schmall, little candle wid ye whan ye go in, fer it's that dhark ye'll not see yer hand forninst ye," and she caught up a candle from the shelf.

"No, no! I don't want any light; the darker it is the better."

"It's crackin' yer head aff ye'll be."

"No, I sha'n't," said Jean, as she whisked into the closet and drew the door together just as Mary started down the back stairs to the laundry.

Had the closet been designed for an eel-pot it would have proved the most complete success, for getting into it was a very simple matter, whereas, getting out required considerable ingenuity. Absorbed in the one idea of getting the plates placed in the camera, Jean entirely forgot the peculiarities of the fastening upon the door. As she slammed it together every ray of light vanished, and she was instantly enveloped in an Egyptian darkness. Carefully opening her box, she drew from it one of the plates, touched it with her fingers to find which side was coated with the gelatine preparation, placed it in the camera and turned to leave the closet.

"Now, I'll have a picture in just about two jiffs," she said, and pushed against the door. To her surprise, it did not open. Another push, with the same result. It then dawned upon her that the spring-bolt had fastened upon the outer side. Feeling carefully about in the pitch darkness, she laid her things upon the shelf and tried to find a way of getting out. But, push, shake and rattle as she might, it was useless; the door remained tightly fastened.

"Mary," she called, "come and let me out, please."

No response.

"M-a-r-y! I'm locked in; come let me out!"

"What in the whorld is the matter wid ye?" came from the foot of the stairs.

"I'm locked in and can't get out; come and open the door!"

"Och, worra! Don't be callin' to me not to open the door; didn't Oi tell ye Oi wouldn't come near ye, and Oi won't. It's goin' down to the bharn Oi am, and ye needn't be for worritin', at all, at all," and receding footsteps proved Mary's words only too true.

"Now, I'm in a pretty fix, am I not? Like enough she won't come back for twenty minutes, and here I've got to stay. Plague take the old bolt!"

What imp of mischief made Mary return to the laundry by the cellar-door, take up her basket of freshly laundered clothes, and, after carrying them up to Mrs. Rockwood's bedroom, go on to her own in the third story to dress for the afternoon, must forever remain a mystery. But this she did, and, as Jean heard her go up the back stairs, beneath which she was securely fastened in the pot-closet, she thumped and pounded with renewed energy. But the only response was:

"No, no; not for the whorld, darlint, would Oi disthurbe ye and spoil yer purty picter."

About an hour later Mrs. Rockwood, returning from her call, met Helen upon the front piazza.

"Has Jean got everything ready to take the pictures?" she asked, eagerly. "It is such a perfect day for it, and I am so anxious that I can hardly wait. It seems too good to be true that we have really got cameras at last, doesn't it?"

"It seems as though the fairies must have been aware of your great desire to have them, and so took matters into their own hands," replied Mrs. Rockwood, as she unfastened the front door with her latch-key and held it open for Helen to enter.

As they entered the hall they were greeted with a series of muffled thumps and bangs.

"I do wish Mary would remember what I have so often told her about breaking her kindling upon the cellar floor," she exclaimed.

Rattle, rattle! Bang, bang! and then a crash as though the roof were falling.

"What under the sun can be the matter!" exclaimed Mrs. Rockwood.

Just then Mary appeared at the head of the stairs.

"Why, Mary, what is all this noise?"

"Shure, it was comin' down mesilf Oi was to see. Saints presarve us, can there be thieves in the house, Oi do' know!"

"Rather noisy thieves, I should think. Where is Miss Jean?"

"Out in the fields beyant, wid her bit av a camela takin' her picter, Oi'm thinkin'. 'Twas there she said she'd be goin' afther she came out of the pot-closet—saints have mercy! Could she git out at all, at all?" and Mary tore down the stairs, with Mrs. Rockwood and Helen close at her heels. She reached the closet, flung open the door, and beheld a spectacle. Seated on the floor, in the midst of a scattered array of pots, kettles and frying-pans, her box of plates upset, her precious camera in her lap, and blissfully unconscious that the slide was open, sat Jean, a very picture of despair.

"Mighty man! And have ye been in here all this toim, an' not to be smothered dead!" cried Mary.

"How could I be anywhere else, I'd like to know?" said Jean, indignantly. "I called and called, but I couldn't get you to let me out," and, bouncing up, she scrabbled the plates back into their box, then caught up the camera to see if all was as it should be with that. As she jumped up the slide closed, and, quite unaware that it had ever been open, she announced to her nearly convulsed audience:

"Well, I'm out at last, and now I hope I can take a picture; come on, Helen," little dreaming that the treacherous sunlight, which flashed through the hall window and straight into the pot-closet, had already printed a most perfect one on the plate.

A few moments later both she and Helen were out in the fields back of the house, and had snapped charming little scenes.

Bemoaning her unintentional trick, Mary went back to her work, while Mrs. Rockwood went up to her room to laugh heartily over the mishap, never suspecting that the funniest part would appear in the sequel.

A half hour later the girls came flying into her room to say, excitedly:



"We've taken them! We've taken them!"

"And I know they will be just lovely, for the sun shone right on the trees and the ruins. How I wish we could develop them; don't you, Helen?"

"Yes, I'd like to know how, and, now that I have the camera, I shall get a developing outfit and learn; but let's take these right over to Charlton's and have him develop them for us."

They started for the village to leave the plates to be developed, and waited with what patience they could for the following day, when the photographer promised to send them the proofs.

They came, and one at least was truly a marvel.

In the foreground of Jean's was a pretty clump of fir-trees growing beside an old ruined stone wall, under which nestled a bunch of dry goldenrod. But the background! Did ever the maddest artist's brain conceive of such? Clear and distinct, where sky should have been, stood—a frying-pan!



CHAPTER XXIV

WHISPERS

March, with its winds and storms, slipped away as though glad to whisk such trying days off the calendar, and, ere the girls realized it, Easter vacation was upon them, and capricious April was playing the schoolgirl herself, with one day a smile and the next a frown. But, like the schoolgirl, her smiles were all the sunnier for the frowns.

It must indeed be a dull, prosy old heart which cannot respond to the soft beauty of early spring, and want to frisk and frolic for very sympathy with all the new life springing into existence all about it. And there were no dull or prosy ones at Sunny Bank.

For some time the girls had known that this would be Miss Howard's last year with them; but now little whispers began to fly about, as little whispers have a trick of doing, that Miss Howard was about to enter another school, where she would be pupil instead of teacher, and there learn the sweetest lesson ever taught on this big earth—a lesson which says, "Not mine and thine, but ours, for ours is mine and thine;" and, while they rejoiced in her happiness, they were nearly inconsolable at the thought of losing her, for she had filled a very beautiful place in their lives—far more beautiful than they suspected. It was always Miss Howard who entered into all their little plans and pleasures, participated in their joys, and sympathized with their sorrows.

She was little more than a girl herself, yet possessed the strength of character sometimes wanting in a much older person, and by it set a beautiful example for her girls to follow. And they followed it unconsciously to themselves and to her, for never was there a more modest little body than Miss Howard, and had anyone hinted that she was a mighty balance-wheel to her fly-away girls, a source of encouragement to her timid ones, an inspiration to her ambitious ones, and an object of very sincere affection to all, she would probably have been the most surprised person in the school. Yet such was undoubtedly the fact, and it would have been a very wrong-headed girl, indeed, who was not ready to yield to her influence.

"If I felt criss-cross with all the world, I believe I'd have to smile back when Miss Howard smiled at me," said Toinette, shortly after she became a pupil in the school. "Her eyes are just as soft as the little Alderney bossie's, and her lips look sort of grieved if the girls look cross."

And so the whispers grew louder and louder till just after the Easter holidays were over, and then all who loved her best learned that early in June wedding bells would ring and a very bonny bride would step forth from Sunny Bank, with several bonny bridesmaids leading the way, and one maid of honor to scatter the posies which were to be symbolical, as all hoped, of her future pathway through life.

And then arose the all-important question as to whom Miss Howard would choose for that great honor, and excitement ran high.

All the girls had a strong suspicion that it would be Toinette, although, to do her justice, Toinette herself did not suspect it. Still, Miss Howard had taken a keen interest in the girl ever since she entered the school, and felt strongly drawn toward her, being quick to see her good qualities, and to understand that the undesirable ones were very largely the result of unfortunate circumstances. So she had striven in her sweet and gracious way to help Toinette without words, and had been a strong support to Miss Preston.

As the warm spring days made wood and field to blossom, the girls spent a great deal of their time out of doors. Sunny Bank's grounds were very beautiful, and the adjacent field and woodland very enticing at that season. Basket-ball was a favorite source of amusement, and the lawn devoted to it as soft and smooth as velvet. So nearly every afternoon the team could be seen bounding about like so many marionettes, and if touseled hair and demoralized attire resulted, what did it matter? Rosy cheeks and ravenous appetites were excellent compensations.

It was the fifteenth of April, and Toinette's birthday. Many a climb had the expressman's horse taken up the long hill leading to Sunny Bank that morning, for, if Toinette had but few friends, she certainly had a very generous father, who meant that she should have her full share of birthday remembrances, and they kept coming thick and fast all day. With each came a funny note to say that he was sending still another package because he did not want her to have all her surprises in a lump; they would seem so much more if coming in installments. So they kept coming all day long, and by four o'clock her room looked like a fancy bazaar. Last of all to arrive was a large box upon which was printed in flaring scarlet letters: "Not to be opened till it is ten A. M. in Bombay."

The box stood in the hall when Miss Preston passed through the hall to dinner, and, unless suddenly stricken with ophthalmy, she could not fail to see the flaring notice. "Ah," she said, softly, to herself, "you have a triple mission, you inanimate bit of the carpenter's skill: first, to teach my girls a lesson in longitude and time, second, to mutely ask my permission for a frolic to-night, and, third, to suggest that when birthdays arrive it would be a most auspicious time for the "C. C. C.'s" to hold their revels, and that Diogenes' tub, if not himself, would be welcome, so I had better act upon the hint and contribute my share. Thank you, sir," and, with a funny little nod to the box, she went on to the dining-room.

"What is the joke, Miss Preston?" asked Cicely, as Miss Preston took her seat.

"Do you think I'm going to spoil it by revealing it so soon? No, indeed," and she laughed softly.

When dinner was ended the girls flocked around the box and curiosity ran riot. "What does that mean, Miss Preston? Do tell us."

"I have other matters of such importance on hand that I must deputize Miss Howard to unravel the mystery for you," she said, as she slipped away to the upper hall where the telephone was placed, and a moment later the girls heard the bell jingle and a funny, one-sided conversation followed. "Hello, Central! 1305. Is this 1305? Send me the usual order. Yes, four kinds. Eight. Well packed. Be prompt."

The porter carried the big box to Toinette's room and removed the lid for her. Such an array! I'm not going to attempt to tell about it, but shall let every girl who has ever attended a chum's birthday feast mention the articles of which that feast consisted, and then, after combining the entire list, they can form some idea of the contents of Toinette's box.

"Fly, Cicely, and hunt up every C. C. C., and a dozen besides! We can never dispose of such a cartload of stuff in a week if we don't have the entire school to help us," cried Toinette, as she lifted one thing after another from the box.

There is a saying that "Ill news flies fast," but, in my humble opinion, it is as a stage-coach beside the Empire State Express when compared to the fleetness of good news. So it did not take long to start this bit like an electric fluid through the school, and what sort of "Free Masonry" filled in details so successfully I know not.



CHAPTER XXV

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THIS TIME OF NIGHT?"

It so happened that of the ten resident teachers but three were at home that evening; the others having joined a theatre party going to town, and it would be midnight before they returned.

Those at home were Miss Preston, Miss Howard, and, unfortunately, Mrs. Stone. Of the first two mentioned the girls felt small apprehension, for they understood them pretty thoroughly, but Mrs. Stone was an obstacle not so easily surmounted, and it seemed to them that she was never more ubiquitous.

At nine-thirty Miss Preston had bade all good-night in an unusually solicitous manner, wishing each happy dreams. Miss Howard had also retired to her room promptly at the stroke of the clock, and everything worked most auspiciously excepting the tucking away of Mother Stone, and she positively refused to be tucked, but kept prowling about like a lost spirit, till Ruth said, in desperation: "If she doesn't get settled down pretty soon I'll do something desperate; see if I don't."

From room to room she went, popping her head in at one to ask if there was anything she could do for this girl, listening at the next door for sounds of insomnia, creeping stealthily on through the corridors to learn if any girl who ought to be en route for Sleepy Town had by chance missed her way.

She had made her way as far as the lower end of the hall, where on one side the stairs leading to the third story joined it, and on the other a door opened into the bath-room, when a rustle at the head of the stairs caused her to glance quickly in that direction; but it was too dark for her to see anything at the top of them. She paused to listen, and her sharp ears detected the sound again. That was sufficient. Up she flew and came plump upon Lou Cornwall, who had not had time to fly. Lou was stout and did not move quickly, and was fair prey for Mrs. Stone, who was as thin as a match, and managed to glide about like a wraith.

Lou was arrayed in her bath-robe, and had her cap and mask in her hand. Quickly concealing them behind her lest Mrs. Stone's sharp eyes should discover them even in the dark, she stood stock still waiting developments. Mrs. Stone stooped from her towering height of five feet nine to peer into the face of the plump little figure huddled in the corner. "How you startled me," she said. "Why are you standing here when everyone else is in bed, and what are you doing up this time of night?"

"I had to get up, Mrs. Stone."

"Why, may I enquire?"

"I am going to the bath-room."

"Then, why in the world don't you go and not stand huddled up here as though you were bent on some mischief? It is no wonder that we suspect you when you take such extraordinary ways of doing perfectly simple things. Go on at once, and, if you have been hesitating because you are timid, I'll wait here till you return," and down she planted herself upon the top step to mount guard.

Groaning inwardly, away went Lou, muttering: "If I don't keep you perched there till you nearly freeze, my name isn't Lou Cornwall!"

And keep her she did, till Mrs. Stone had another trouble added to her many, for she began to fear that Lou had been taken ill, and went to the bath-room door to speak to her. Finding that she could not hold out any longer, out she came, and, after receiving some very emphatic admonitions from Mrs. Stone, crept away to her room disgusted with herself, the world at large, and Mrs. Stone in particular.

Meantime, the other girls began to suspect that Lou had fallen into ambush, and sent out a scout to reconnoiter, and it was not many seconds before the scout came scuttling back with the alarming information that the enemy was close at hand; in fact, that she was even now coming upon them in force, for, when Mother Stone found that Lou did not come from the bath-room as promptly as she thought she should, all her suspicions were instantly aroused, and she was keen to make discoveries.

The girls had planned to meet in Toinette's room, and creep from there to the old laundry as soon as all were assembled. About a dozen were already there, but, when the scout returned with such dire tidings, they decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and all made haste to get back to their rooms ere the enemy appeared. But, alack-a-day! that enemy could flit about in a surprisingly lively manner, and, ere some of them had reached safety behind their own doors, she came in view. To get to their rooms now was out of the question, so, making a virtue of necessity, they all slipped into a large closet used by the housemaids for their brooms, etc.

Whether it was from a wholesome fear that Miss Preston would be very apt to criticize a too pronounced vigilance that Mrs. Stone refrained from opening the girls' doors, but contented herself with simply listening, I cannot say, but if she heard no sound within she always passed on and left them to their innocent (?) slumbers. So on she went from one room to another, but, luckily, the alarm had gone before, and at each room darkness and profound silence prevailed. Satisfied that "all was well," she murmured something about, "It is always well to be upon the alert, for once the girls understand that someone is sure to detect the first signs of mischief, they are far less liable to carry it to excess," she set off for her own room. In passing by the housemaid's door she saw that it was not tightly closed and locked, as was the custom at night, and, with a joyous chuckle at her own astuteness, she pounced upon it, locked the door, and withdrawing the key sailed triumphantly to her room, where, serene in her sense of well-doing, she fell as sound asleep as her nature permitted.

Meantime, how fared it with the mice in the trap? When the key was turned in the door, and they were made prisoners, nothing but the pitch darkness which enveloped them as a garment prevented each girl's face from plainly announcing to her neighbor: "Here is a pretty kettle of fish!" There were five in the closet: Ruth, Edith, Pauline, May and Marie. Luckily, a resourceful party. When all sound from the hall had ceased, Ruth gave just one howl, and then jumped up and down three times as hard as she could jump, by way of giving vent to her state of mind. Fortunately, the door was a heavy one and the sound did not reach Mother Stone's ears.

"You crazy thing!" exclaimed Edith, "next thing you know you will have her after us again."

"Suppose we do; we've got to get out somehow, haven't we?"

"Yes, but she is the last one in the world we want to let us out. What a fix! If the girls only knew of it, they would come and let us out."