"How could they when she has the key, I'd like to know?"

Edith groaned: "I never thought of that plagued old key. Bother take her and it, too! Why couldn't she have gone to bed just as everybody else did, and have minded her own business, too."

"That was exactly what she thought she was doing," laughed May.

"It's all very well to laugh, but how are we to get down to the laundry, I'd like to know; or the girls ever find out where we are?"

While all this talking had been going on, little Marie, the liveliest, slightest, most quick-witted girl in the school, had been doing a lot of thinking, and now turned to the others and said:

"Do you see that scrap of a window up there?"

"Yes, we see it, but it might as well be a rat-hole, for all the good it will do us; nothing but a rat could crawl through it!"

"Don't be too sure," answered Marie, with a knowing laugh. "I can get through a pretty small space when occasion demands, and, if I'm not much mistaken, the demand is very urgent just at this moment."

"How under the sun can you reach it, even if you can get through it after you've reached it?"

"What good have you derived from your gymnastic training this winter, I'd like to know, if you have to ask me that?" demanded Marie.

The window was one of those odd little affairs one sometimes sees built in houses, perhaps simply to excite curiosity and make one wonder why they were ever built at all, for they do not seem to be of the slightest use. The one in question was situated high up in the closet, and had probably been put there for ventilating purposes, if anyone ever felt inclined to get a step-ladder and clamber up to open it. It was shaped like a segment of a circle, was only about eighteen inches high at the widest part, and fastened at the top with a bolt. Getting at it in broad daylight would not have been an easy matter, and now, with only the light of the moon shining through it, it seemed an impossibility.



CHAPTER XXVI

"LOVE (AND SCHOOLGIRLS) LAUGH AT LOCKSMITHS"

"Here, I'm going to take command of affairs, since no one else seems inclined to," cried Marie. "May, you are the strongest girl here; just give me a shoulder, will you?"

"What shall I do?"

"Stand close to the wall underneath the window, and let me get on your shoulder; it may hurt a bit, but we can't stay stived up in here all night. Lend a hand, Ruth, and boost me up."

A step-ladder of knees and arms was formed, and up scrambled Marie as nimbly as a squirrel. Then another obstacle confronted her. The window had probably never been opened since it was built, and, having never been called upon to do its share in the economy of that household, was disinclined to begin now. Marie's slender fingers were dented and pinched in vain; that window remained obdurate.

"For mercy sake come down and give the old thing up! My shoulder is crushed flat," said May.

"Wait just one second longer, and I'll have it; see if I don't. Ruth, hand me that stair-brush, please."

Ruth gave her the brush, and, saying to May: "Now, brace yourself for a mighty push," she used the handle as a lever, gave a vigorous jerk, when away went bolt, window, Marie and all. Down she came with a thud, but, luckily, on a pile of sweeping cloths, which saved her from harm.

Scrabbling up, she cried: "Never mind, I'm not hurt a bit; now boost me up again, and let me see what is outside."

She was promptly lifted up, and, poking her saucy head out into the moonlight, drew in long whiffs of the sweet night air, which was wonderfully refreshing after the stuffy closet.

"The shed is about ten feet below, girls. If I had anything to lower myself down with I could easily reach it; I'm almost afraid to let myself drop, the shed slopes so."

"Hang fast a second while Ruth and I tie the sweeping-cloths together," cried May, and quickly catching up the calico covers they began to tie them together.

"See that you tie them tightly," warned Marie. "I've had one bump already, and I don't want another."

The cloths were soon ready, and one end handed to her. She fastened it securely about her waist, and, warning the others to hang on for dear life, she began to crawl through the narrow opening.

"My goodness, she is just like a monkey," said Pauline. "I never could have done it in the world," a most superfluous assertion, as no one in the world would ever have suspected her of being able to.

Away went Marie, vanishing bit by bit from their sight till only her laughing black eyes, with the soft dark hair above them, were visible in the moonlight. The girls lowered away slowly, and presently felt the strain upon the cloths relax.

"She's on the shed! Good!" said Edith, "and now she'll have us out in less than jig time."

But "many's the slip twixt the—lip and the birthday box," and the girls began to suspect Marie of treachery to the cause ere they again heard her voice.



Meantime, how fared it with her? Once upon the shed all seemed plain sailing, but the shed was somewhat like the mountains Moses climbed so wearily; it gave her a glimpse of the promised land without permitting her to enter it. The ground was fully sixteen feet below her, and to reach it without some means other than her own nimble legs was obviously impossible. The shed was only a small one built out over the kitchen, but just beyond, with perhaps five feet dividing them, was the end of the piazza roof, and if she could only reach that she could let herself down to the ground by the thick vines growing upon it. But those five feet intervening looked a perfect gulf, and how to get over them was a poser. Jump it she dared not; step it she could not. It began to look as though she must signal to the girls in the closet to haul in their big fish, when she chanced to spy something sticking up through the honeysuckle vines. Crawling carefully down to the edge of the shed, she peered over, and saw the ends of the gardener's ladder. Pauline had not made a mistake when she called her a monkey, for in just one second she was at the bottom of that ladder.

"Now I'm all right, and will soon have the girls free," and off she scurried to the side of the house upon which Toinette's room was situated. Gathering up a handful of soft earth she threw it against the window, but with no result. Then a second one followed. Had she but known it, Toinette and her revellers had long ago given them up, and were now down in the old laundry spreading forth their array of goodies. After wasting considerable time, Marie suddenly bethought her of the above fact, and instantly skipped off to that Mecca.

There was not a ray of light visible, but, happily, sight is not the only sense with which we are endowed, and Marie's ears were as keen as her eyes. Giving the three signal taps upon one of the tightly closed window-blinds, she waited a reply. But the girls were not expecting taps from that quarter, and at once became suspicious. But precious moments were fleeing, and Marie was becoming desperate, so, flinging prudence to the winds, she gave three sounding bangs upon that window, and called out:

"If you don't open this window and let me in I'll set Mother Stone on your track, sure as you live!"

Open flew the window, and a moment later Marie was relating her experiences to them. Then came the question of rescuing the others. Not an easy one to answer. But Marie had gone so far, and, being a very resourceful little body, had no notion of giving up yet, and saying to the revellers: "I'm going to let those girls out if I have to take the door down to do it," off she flitted, as quickly and silently as a butterfly. In less time than it takes to tell it she stood outside their prison, and saying, encouragingly: "Don't give up, girls; I'll soon have you out," she slipped into the sewing-room opposite, and emerged a second later with the little oil-can and screw-driver from the machine drawer.

"For gracious sake, what are you going to do?" whispered Cicely, who had come with her to help if possible.

"Something I once saw a carpenter at our house do, if I can. Sh! Don't make any noise," and, reaching up to the top hinge, Marie dropped a few drops of oil from her can upon it, and then treated the lower one in the same manner. The hinges were what are known as "fish hinges," the door being held in place by a small iron peg slipped into the sockets of the hinge. After she had oiled them, she placed her screw-driver under the knob of the peg, when, lo! up it slid as easily as could be, and when both had been carefully slid out of place, nothing prevented the door from being softly drawn away from the hinges, swung outward, and if it did not open from left to right, as it had been intended to open, it was quite as easy to walk through it when it opened from right to left. To slip it back into place, when five giggling girls had escaped, was equally easy, and no one would ever have suspected the skillful bit of mechanical engineering that had taken place under their very noses at ten-thirty that night.



CHAPTER XXVII

ARIADNE'S CLUE

The manner in which those liberated girls skipped down to the laundry was certainly not snail-like. They had nearly reached it when Ruth's feet became entangled in a piece of string, and, stooping down to loosen it, she discovered a slip of paper fastened to the end, and a large pin which had evidently stuck it fast to the door-casing. No doubt some of the girls had brushed against it in their hurry-scurry to reach the laundry, and, but for the ill wind which blew five of them into the housemaid's closet, this significant scrap of paper would never have been discovered. The candle they carried was brought to bear upon it, and they read the following words:

In ancient days, so the stories say, One Theseus found a remarkable way Of reaching a point he wished to gain, And down to posterity came his fame.

So, perhaps, posterity may also do well To follow a "clue," but never to tell Just what they found at the further end, Lest a rule should break instead of bend.

"What can it mean? Where does it lead to?" were the questions eagerly whispered.

"Come on, and let's find out," was Ruth's practical remark, and she began to wind up the string. There seemed no end to it, and it led them through the corridor, out of that into the kitchen, then out to a small store-room built beneath the kitchen porch. Here the end was tied to a very suggestive-looking tub.

Had Diogenes succeeded in discovering an honest man he could not have felt greater satisfaction than these girls felt at the sight of that modest little oval tub, with its sawdust covering; and the way in which it was pounced upon, and borne in triumph to the laundry, brings my story of that night's revels to a climax, and no more need be told.

When the twelve o'clock train whistled it was the signal for the revels to end, and, ere the carriages which were to meet the theatre-goers could bring them up the hill, Sunny Bank was as quiet and peaceful as though all its inmates had been dreaming for hours.

The weather had become beautifully soft and balmy for the middle of April, and the girls were able to sit out of doors, and do many of the things they had not hoped to do till May should burgeon and bloom.

A few days after the frolic Toinette was sitting in one of the pretty little summer-houses, of which there were several dotted about the grounds, when Miss Howard came in and took her seat beside her.

"You have been playing at hide-and-seek with me without knowing it," she said, "for I have been searching for you everywhere, and only discovered you here by the glint of the sunshine upon your hair."

"Did you want me, Miss Howard? I'm sorry you had to hunt for me," answered Toinette. "What can I do for you?"

"Give me some wise advice," said Miss Howard, smiling.

"I give you advice!" exclaimed Toinette.

"Yes; don't you think you can?"

"I shall have to know what it is about before I dare say yes or no, Miss Howard."

"You know that I am going to leave you in a few weeks, dear, and I want my leave-taking to be closely identified with my girls, whom I have learned to love so dearly, and whom, I think, love me as well as I love them. I have spent many happy years in this school, first as pupil and then as teacher, and it has been a very dear home to me. Now I am going away from it forever, and though the future looks very enticing, and I have every reason to believe that it will be happy, still I cannot help feeling sad at the thought of leaving the old life behind. These are serious confidences for me to burden you with, Toinette, but you have crept into a very warm corner of my heart since you became a pupil here, and I know that there is a wise little head upon these shoulders," said Miss Howard, as she placed her hand on Toinette's shoulder.

The girl reached up, and drawing the hand close to her cheek held it there, but did not speak.

"So now," continued Miss Howard, "I am going to ask you to help my outgoing from this happy home to be a pleasant one, by being my maid of honor when the time comes; will you, dear?"

"You want me to be the maid of honor, Miss Howard? You don't truly mean it? There are so many other girls whom you have known so much longer, and whom you must love better than you do me; although I don't believe they can love you any better than I do," said Toinette, naively.

"That is just it, dear. I do love them all, and am sure that they are very fond of me. But in your case it is just a little different. All these girls have pleasant homes, and many loved ones in them who plan for their happiness, and to whom they will go directly vacation begins. For many years you, like myself, have had no home but the one a school offered, and which, unlike mine, was sometimes not as happy a home as it might have been, I fear. So, you see, we have, in one way, had a bond of sympathy between us even before we knew it to be so. And now we have still another, for when we leave here in June we shall each go to our own dear home; you to one your father shall make for you, I to the one my husband will provide for me."

A soft, pretty color had crept over Miss Howard's face as she spoke, and a very tender look came into her beautiful eyes. Truly, she was carrying something very sweet and holy to the one who was to bear that name.

"So we shall step out into the new life together, shall we not, Toinette, and each will be the sweeter for our having done so?" asked Miss Howard.

"It is too lovely even to think about, Miss Howard. I don't know how to make you understand how proud and happy it makes me to think that you chose me from among all the others, and I hope they will not feel that you should not have done so. Do you think they will mind?"

"On the contrary, they are delighted with my choice, for I told them my reasons, as I have told them to you, and they see it in the same light that I see it."

"Then I shall be the happiest girl in Montcliff," cried Toinette.

"No, next to the happiest," said Miss Howard, laughing softly.

"Well, I shall be the happiest in my way, and you in yours," and Toinette wagged her head as though it would be of no use for Miss Howard to try to make her concede that point.

"And now let us plan our maid of honor's toilet, and also what our six bridesmaids must wear. It was upon that important question I wished your advice, and, now that you know, do you feel qualified to give it?"

"Oh, how lovely!" cried Toinette. "Why, Miss Howard, it is almost like planning for my own wedding, and you are too sweet for anything to let me."



CHAPTER XXVIII

"WHEN BUDS AND BLOSSOMS BURST"

The planning of the toilets took considerable time, and Miss Howard felt that she had made no mistake when she asked the girl's advice. Like her father's, Toinette's taste was unerring, and when she said:

"Wouldn't it be pretty to have the girls represent flowers?" Miss Howard was delighted with the idea.

"What flowers would you suggest, dear?" she asked.

"Let me think just a moment, please," said Toinette, and she rested her chin upon her hands, a favorite attitude of hers when thinking seriously of anything. "How would a lily, a violet, a pansy, a daffodil, a narcissus, and a snowdrop do?"

"How pretty!" exclaimed Miss Howard. "What put such a picturesque idea in your head? It is beautiful, and can be carried out admirably. You must be my fair and lovely lily; then shall come my violet and daffodil; then my narcissus and lilac; then my pansy and modest little snowdrop. That will exactly suit Helen."

"Who are to be the bridesmaids?"

"Edith, May, Ruth, Marie, Natala and Helen."

"How nice of you to choose all the younger girls; it makes us feel so important. Now, let's plan just what the dresses are to be," said Toinette, becoming quite excited, and looking at Miss Howard as though all must be completed ere they left the summer-house.

"I am waiting for your suggestions," said she.

"Wouldn't it be pretty to have all the dresses made of white chiffon, or something soft like that, and have white, violet and yellow slips under them? Then have the hats trimmed with the flowers they represent. Would you like that, Miss Howard?"

"Yes, immensely; but now I want to think about Helen. You know she has very limited means, and what might seem a small outlay for the others would probably be a large one for her, and I do not want to tax her resources, much as I wish to have her for one of my bonny maids."

"Yes," said Toinette, meditatively, "I suppose the dresses will be rather expensive, but it would be too bad not to have Helen; she is so sweet and is so fond of you, Miss Howard."

"Yes, she is a dear child, and I have felt a great interest in her from the moment she entered the school. I wish I knew of some way of bettering her circumstances. Mr. Burgess is a most estimable man, but not one liable to advance rapidly through his own efforts, I fear. He is most reliable and capable, but seems to lack the push so essential in this bustling day and age. He would prove invaluable in any position of trust, but would never secure such if it depended upon his own efforts to do so."

Toinette had listened very attentively while Miss Howard was talking, and when she finished said:

"When papa was out here for the dance I spoke to him about Helen, and we had such a nice little talk. The next day he spoke with Miss Preston about those very things, but I do not know what came of it. I wish I did. His business affairs bring him into contact with so many large firms of different kinds that I am almost sure he could secure something for Mr. Burgess. Do you know what I am going to do?" said Toinette, eagerly, "I am going to write to him right off, tell him all about our plans; may I? About the wedding, the bridesmaids, and everything; then I am going to ask him if he has heard of anything that he thinks would help Mr. Burgess, and, who knows, maybe, by the first of June all will be fixed up so nicely that Helen can have things as nice as the other girls—and, oh, Miss Howard!—wouldn't it be lovely if she could go abroad with Miss Preston?" and Toinette clasped her hands in rapture at the very thought.

Miss Howard laughed a happy little laugh, and, taking Toinette's face in both her hands, kissed her cheeks very tenderly, saying as she did so:

"I see that I made no mistake in my estimate of your character, dear, although I did not bargain for quite such a wise, resourceful little head and efficient helper as you have proved. How did you manage to think out so much in so short a time?"

"I suppose it is because my brains have never been overburdened with thoughts for other people," said Toinette, with an odd expression overspreading her face, "and so the part of them devoted to that sort of thing has had time to develop to an astonishing degree. But I guess I'd better begin to use the power before it becomes abnormal; Miss Preston says that abnormal development of any sort is dangerous," and she gave a funny little laugh as she glanced slyly into Miss Howard's eyes.

Miss Howard understood the quaint remark, and, rising from her seat, said: "I shall not soon forget our little talk, but must leave you now for the 'school ma'am's' duties. One of them will be to endeavor to persuade Pauline that it was not Henry VIII. who sought to reduce the American Colonies to submission, nor Lafayette who won the battle of Waterloo. Good-bye," and away tripped Miss Howard over the soft green lawn.

Toinette sat for a few moments, and then, springing up, said to herself: "I might as well go and write that letter this very minute, and I do hope papa will know of something right off. How lovely it would be!"

The letter was soon written, and within two hours was speeding upon its way to New York. Toinette had reasoned well, and, as good luck would have it, the letter arrived at a most auspicious moment. As Mr. Reeve sat reading it, his face reflecting the happiness he felt at receiving it so close upon the one which came to him every Monday morning, a client was shown into his office.

It happened to be one who was about to embark upon a new line of business in which he was venturing large sums of money, and which required capable, trustworthy men to carry out his plans. He had consulted with Mr. Reeve many times before, and nearly all details were completed; the few that remained dealt with minor matters, so Mr. Reeve felt considerable satisfaction at the thought of having brought all arrangements through so successfully. But it was certainly anything but a contented face he saw before him when he glanced up from Toinette's letter upon Mr. Fowler's entrance, and his first words were: "Well, for a prosperous capitalist, you bear a woeful countenance, Ned."

"If mine is woeful, yours certainly is not," was the prompt answer. "You look as though you had been the recipient of some very pleasing news."

"A pretty good sort," said Mr. Reeve, smiling. "The sort that makes a man feel old and young at the same time. Ever get any of that?"

"Don't know as I do; it must be a rare specimen," said Mr. Fowler, dryly. "Better let me know the kind it is; perhaps it will counterbalance the kind I have for you this morning; confound it!"

Seeing that Mr. Fowler was really disturbed about something, Mr. Reeve dropped his bantering tone, and went to serious matters. He then learned that the bookkeeper whom Mr. Fowler had engaged for the new line of business, and who would also act as his confidential clerk and office manager, would be unable to accept the position, as he was called to England by the death of his father, and would in future make his home there. This was a serious loss to Mr. Fowler, for he had known this man for years, and felt deep satisfaction at the thought of having such an efficient assistant.

"And now," he said, when he had told Mr. Reeve all the facts, "who under heavens am I to find to fill his place at such short notice, I'd like to know? Such men are not to be picked up at every corner."

"Read that letter," was all Mr. Reeve said, and handed him Toinette's letter.

Mr. Fowler took the letter, and began reading with a very mystified expression, as though he could not for the life of him understand what a letter from Mr. Reeve's daughter had to do with his private affairs. But, as he read, his expression changed, and when he came to the end he said: "Well, it may be Kismet; can't say. Funnier things have happened. Look into it, will you, Clayton? I'm sick and tired of the thing, particularly when I thought all important details settled."

And Clayton Reeve did "look into it" very thoroughly, leaving no stone unturned which would help him to learn all that it was necessary to know about Mr. Burgess, and nothing could possibly have been more gratifying than what he learned. As a result of it, Mr. Burgess was offered the position from June first, and the salary offered with it seemed a princely one to him as compared to the one he had received as clerk in the bank in Montcliff. It would be hard to understand the happiness which that schoolgirl letter brought to one family, or how the writing of it changed two lives very materially, and a third completely.



CHAPTER XXIX

COMMENCEMENT

Many a girl has asked: "Why do they call it commencement when it is really the end?" If they have not found out why, I am not going to tell the secret. But one thing I have found out is this: Never in after life do we ever feel quite so important as we do when that day has been reached upon our life's calendar.

It was no exception at Sunny Bank, and when the fifth of June dawned that year it found a busy, bustling household. No, I am not telling the exact truth: it was not when it dawned, but fully three hours later, and then began the hurry-scurry which continued till all were assembled in chapel to listen to the opening prayer of the good man who had for many a year opened the Sunny Bank commencement exercises.

He had grown old in faithful service in Montcliff, and was beloved and revered by all.

It is of no use for me to tell you all about those exercises; to an outsider they were exactly like many others that had taken place before; to the girls themselves they were unique, and stood out pre-eminent above all others. Everybody was there who had the smallest excuse for being, and just how happy six bodies were I will leave you to learn from what follows.

The exercises were to take place in the evening, and all day long relatives and friends of the girls arrived thick and fast. Among the first was Toinette's father. "Couldn't wait till evening, you see," he cried, as he met Toinette at the railway station. "Yes, it is all settled; I got them by a lucky chance at the very last moment."

"Did you say anything to Mr. Burgess about it?" asked Toinette.

"No, I have not seen him; daresay he has had his hands full since the first. We'll speak to Miss Preston first, and then call at the Burgess' and tell them."

"How perfectly splendid! Oh, daddy, you are a perfect wonder! How do you ever manage to fetch things about so successfully?"

"Because I have found a wonderful incentive to spur me on," he answered as he handed her into the carriage which was waiting for them, and they whirled off up the hill.

"And you will stay here till after the wedding, won't you?" asked Toinette, snuggling close to his side and slipping her arm through his.

"What! Five whole days? What will you do with me all that time?"

"No danger of your suffering from ennui, I guess," laughed Toinette. "I will guarantee to keep you occupied. And then, daddy, after all is over we'll go off together, and won't we have glorious times!" and she gave a rapturous little bounce at the thought of the delightful days to come.

Miss Preston was to sail for Europe on the fifteenth of June, five days after Miss Howard's wedding, and six girls were to go with her. When it became an understood thing that Mr. Burgess' financial affairs were to be so improved, the possibility of Helen making one of the party was talked over, although Mrs. Burgess was filled with dismay at the thought of having her daughter take such a step upon such short notice; it seemed a tremendous thing to that quiet, home-staying body. Still, Miss Preston had long been anxious to have Helen go with her, and, now that there seemed no further obstacle to her doing so, could not make up her mind to go without her.

She had talked it over with both Mr. and Mrs. Burgess, but, it must be confessed, had met with only lukewarm enthusiasm. Furthermore, it was very late in the day to secure stateroom accommodation upon the steamer by which Miss Preston would sail, her own and the girls having been engaged for weeks.

Helen herself said very little, but Miss Preston knew that the girl's heart had long been set upon going, and this year the route planned took in the very points she had most wished to visit, and which would prove the most profitable for her to visit. In desperation, Miss Preston turned to Mr. Reeve once more, for she had found him a most resourceful man, and one not likely to be easily baffled.

The result was that he had succeeded in making a mutually agreeable exchange of staterooms with some other people, and was now primed and ready to carry the war into the enemy's country.

Soon after luncheon they all drove to Stonybrook, a town about ten miles from Montcliff, and Helen's home. Evidently their persuasive powers were strong, for ere the visit ended it was decided that Helen should make one of Miss Preston's party to sail with her "over the ocean blue," and some very happy people drove back to Montcliff that afternoon.

The house seemed very quiet after the girls' departure for their homes on the day following commencement, for, excepting those who lived too far away to return for the wedding, and would remain as Miss Preston's guests until after the tenth, all had left that morning, and when a house has been filled with twenty-five or thirty girls, and all but eight or ten suddenly depart from it, the quiet which ensues cannot be overlooked.

Mr. Reeve gave himself up to the enjoyment of his five days' vacation as only a busy man can, and when I add that he was a very happy man, too, I need say no more.

The year had been one of many experiences both for him and for Toinette, and for both was ending far more happily than he had hoped it would. The future seemed to promise a great deal to them both, for they were growing to understand each other better every day, and Toinette was developing into a very lovely, as well as a very lovable, companion. They had planned a delightful summer vacation, to be spent in travelling leisurely from place to place, as the fancy took them, and Toinette had suggested nearly all.

The five days at Montcliff were spent in driving about the beautiful country, playing tennis, rambling about the pretty woods, and doing an endless number of delightful nothings, as people can sometimes do when they fully make up their minds to put aside the cares of the world for a time.

They soon came to an end, and then came Miss Howard's wedding day.

There has always seemed something inexpressibly sweet in Longfellow's words in reference to the forming of new ties and establishing the new home. In Miss Howard's case it was to be a home filled with all the sweetest hopes that can come into a woman's life: hopes sanctified by love and founded upon respect. Could they have a firmer foundation? The future held great promise for her, although worldly-minded folk might say that the step she was about to take was not marked off by a golden mile-stone, nor the path she would follow be paved with a golden pavement. She knew that quite well, and had wisely decided that a noble character and a brilliant mind were excellent substitutes, however agreeable it may be to have the former, and, also, that the former minus the latter are fairy gold.



CHAPTER XXX

"O FORTUNATE, O HAPPY DAY"

"O fortunate, O happy day, When a new household finds its place Among the myriad homes of earth, Like a new star just sprung to birth, And rolled on its harmonious way Into the boundless realms of space!"

As though all that was loveliest had united to do her honor, and make the boundary-line between the old and the new life one to be long remembered by all who stood beside her at it, the day set for Miss Howard's wedding was all that Lowell has written about it. It was as "rare" and "perfect" as dear Mother Nature could make it for one of her loveliest children.

The girls had dressed the church, until it seemed a very bower of bloom, and at every turn Miss Howard would find the posies of which she was so fond. The three colors, if white may be called a color, chosen for the bridesmaids' dresses were used in the decorations, and altar, chancel, transept and aisles were brilliant with daffodils, narcissuses and lilacs, which filled the church with their perfume.

The wedding was to take place at four o'clock, and when that hour arrived little space was left in the church for the tardy ones.

Nearly all the girls had returned for the ceremony, and a bonnier lot it would have been difficult to find than that which filled the front pews of the church, for Miss Howard would have them all near her, insisting that none of the other guests could possibly have the same loving thoughts for her that her girls would have.

Promptly at the stroke of four the great organ rolled out its message to all, and, after her few distant relatives had been conducted to their seats, Miss Howard's bonny bridesmaids appeared, following another fancy of hers by walking together, with the ushers leading. First came Edith and Marie; Edith's yellow golden hair a perfect background for the big white chip hat, with its masses of violets, and her fair, soft skin made softer and fairer by the fairy-like chiffon draped so artistically over the pale violet satin beneath it. A daintily gilded basket filled with violets told all the story.

Saucy and pert beside her walked the little brownie Marie, looking for all the world like the bobbing daffies in her white basket. One wanted to sing the old nursery rhyme: "Daffy-down-dilly has come to town," for they were nodding a friendly greeting from her hat, and seemed to lend their golden sheen to the satin beneath the white chiffon gown.

Behind them followed May Foster and Natala King. May's bronze-brown hair and brilliant coloring were a perfect foil for the creamy-white narcissus blossoms on her hat and the creamy-white of her gown. While Natala's light-brown hair and hazel eyes needed just the lilac tints to show how pretty they were.

Then came Ruth and Helen. Could Miss Howard have chosen two who, placed beside each other, would have formed a more pronounced contrast? Not even the solemnity of the occasion could overcome Ruth's ruling passion, curiosity: she was determined to see all to be seen if it rested with her to do so. Nor were the pert pansy blossoms upon her hat, nodding a welcome to all, more on the alert. Or could those which peeped from the folds of her pansy-yellow gown, with its white chiffon draperies, smile in a more friendly manner than did Ruth, as she walked slowly up that aisle, with shy, modest Helen at her side. Helen looked the snowdrop to perfection, for if the pansies needed Ruth's gypsy coloring for a foil, the snowdrops needed Helen's pale blonde daintiness for theirs. The only color which relieved its pure white was the deep green of the wax-like leaves, and the contrast was perfect. The dress was of that soft silvery white only to be contrived by the combination of satin and chiffon, and Helen looked very lovely.

Behind them, a dream of fairness, walked Toinette. Through the chiffon of her gown ran fine golden threads, which caused it to glint and glisten as the sunbeams. The white satin underneath was of that peculiar ivory tint which combines so exquisitely with gold tints. Her hat was made of the chiffon, and trimmed with Easter lilies, which nestled in its soft folds and against the beautiful golden hair beneath them. Her basket was also white, and she was a fitting emblem of the pure soul she was leading to the altar.

Then came the bride, her hand resting lightly upon the arm of the friend who had led her along the greater part of her life's pathway, for Miss Preston had been Miss Howard's "guide, philosopher and friend" almost as long as she could remember. Very stately did she look, as she walked up that aisle to give away at the altar something which the years had rendered very precious to her, for sometimes "old maids' children" are more dear to them than are the children who claim the love of parents.

Miss Preston was very proud of her honors.

But no words can describe the girl who walked at her side, her beautiful face made transcendently so by the tenderest, holiest thought that can fill a woman's heart: that she is about to become the wife of the man she loves. She seemed to forget the church and all who were gathered there to witness her happiness, and the soft, dark eyes looked straight before her to the altar, where her husband to be awaited her, as though that altar was to her as the entrance to the holy of holies; as, indeed, it was.

How brief is a marriage ceremony! A few words are spoken and two lives are changed forever, never again to be the same as they were less than ten minutes before, but filled with new duties, new obligations, and the responsibilities we must all assume when we utter the words: "I will." God meant that it should be so, and it is one of this world's many blessings.



The reception Miss Preston gave for her "adopted daughter," as she called Miss Howard, now Mrs. Chichester, was long talked over by the school, and quoted by the girls as "our reception" for months.

Mr. and Mrs. Chichester sailed for Europe on the same steamer which carried Miss Preston and her girls, and a happier, merrier party it would have been hard to find. Toinette and Mr. Reeve went to bid them farewell and a pleasant voyage, and the last faces those upon the great ship saw as they swung out into the stream were Toinette's and her father's.

And now we, too, must leave them—leave them to the happy summer vacation, when they learned how dear they were to each other, and what a dear old world this is, after all, when two people manage to look at it through little Dan Cupid's spectacles.

THE END