Dorothy was puzzled for a second, then, as she saw that Patricia really meant what she said, she was thankful that the laughter had not been understood by the silly little singer.

Patricia had actually thought that they were foolishly amused by the song.

It had been quite another thing that annoyed Patricia, and that was the evident pleasure that Nancy's dancing had given, and on the day after the social, she was vexed to have to hear the other girls talking about it.

"I'd think you never saw any one dance before," she said, when Betty Chase said that Nancy's dancing was "simply lovely."

"Well, I never did see a girl dance like that," said Betty.

"Well, she ought to dance. She's had enough training, besides she used to dance on the stage. Who couldn't dance if they had a chance like that?"

"A whole lot of people couldn't," said Betty, sharply. "I couldn't for one, and I guess there are a few others."

"Do you mean me?" Patricia asked, sharply, her eyes flashing.

"I mean any one silly enough to say that Nancy's dancing was anything but wonderful," Betty said, and she turned to Valerie, leaving Patricia to talk to herself, or to no one, if she chose.

Patricia had hoped to lessen interest in Nancy, but what she had said had had an opposite effect.

It had increased their already lively interest to such an extent that many who had not yet met her were wild to know her, and those who already were her friends were eager to question her as to her career. They longed to hear all about her training, her first appearance at the theater, and countless questions they wanted to ask her. Patricia had made Nancy more popular than before.



CHAPTER VIII

A BIT OF SPITE

For several days Patricia was so busy thinking, that Arabella felt rather lonely. Arabella had been writing a letter to her Aunt Matilda, and endeavoring to answer all the questions that that peculiar woman had asked. It had occupied her spare time for two days, and was not yet ready to mail.

"O dear!" sighed Arabella, "I don't like to write letters."

"Don't write them," Patricia advised.

"Why, Patricia Levine! You know if I didn't answer Aunt Matilda's letter she'd pack her suit-case, and come right here!"

"Good gracious! Hurry up and finish it," cried Patricia. "I wouldn't want her coming here."

"I've got a cold, so I couldn't go out to mail it," drawled Arabella.

"Don't let that stop you," cried Patricia, "for I'll gladly go out to mail it for you, if it'll keep your Aunt Matilda away."

Later, when Patricia went down the hall on the way to post the letter, she saw that Dorothy's door was slightly ajar. Of course Patricia's sharp eyes saw it, and, because she never could resist the temptation to listen, where she might hear something not intended for her ears, she paused.

Nancy was speaking of the man that she had seen standing at the edge of the forest, on the day of the sleigh-ride. Again she told Dorothy how it had frightened her, adding:

"He looked just like Bonfanti, the ballet-teacher, and I believe if I should look from our window and see him out there, looking toward this house, I'd not dare to go out for days."

Dorothy tried to comfort her, by saying:

"But, Nancy dear, we've not seen him since that day, and he's miles away from here by this time, as likely as not."

Patricia needed to hear no more. She could not make Nancy less popular, but here was a fine chance for annoying her.

It was strange what pleasure it afforded Patricia to make others unhappy! She never seemed to know that in striving to annoy others, she was constantly proving that she herself was disagreeable.

She hastened out to the nearest mail box with the letter, and then returning to her room, sat down to think.

"I wish you'd talk," said Arabella. "It's awful dull this cloudy afternoon."

Patricia was in no mood for talking, and Arabella dared not insist.

It was after dinner when the pupils met in the cheery reception-hall for a little chat before going to their rooms, that Patricia saw her chance, and took it.

Some one asked Nancy if she and Dorothy had been out for their usual walk.

"It seemed a bit raw," she replied, "so we remained in."

Patricia, who had been moving nearer, now stood at Nancy's elbow.

"Did you notice a big, dark man, this morning looking up toward your window?" she asked: "Do you know who he is? We saw him the day of the sleigh-ride, and that was weeks ago. I believe he is always right around here, for I don't know how many times I have seen him. He always simply stares toward your windows. I thought perhaps you knew him."

Nancy turned pale, and Mrs. Marvin, who was near them, saw Dorothy draw Nancy closer as if to protect her.

"Is Nancy ill?" she asked kindly.

Patricia had left the hall when she saw Mrs. Marvin speaking to Dorothy.

Dorothy explained how frightened Nancy had been ever since the sleigh-ride, a few weeks before.

"Come into my apartment and tell me all about this. I am greatly interested," she said.

They were only too glad to escape the curious eyes that now were watching them, and together they told Mrs. Marvin the story of Nancy's career. When they reached the point where Patricia had told them of the man who had stood looking up at their windows that afternoon, a look of relief passed over her face, and she actually laughed.

"You two dear little friends may rest easy to-night," she said, "for the man whom you saw at the edge of the woods, and the man who was here to-day, looking up at your windows, as Patricia said, are one and the same person. He is a man who has made a study of all plant life, and especially wise is he in regard to vines and trees.

"To-day he was trying to decide just what sort of vine would thrive best on this sunny side of the house. His name is not nearly so picturesque as Bonfanti. It is Jonathan Scroggs. Not a fine name, surely, but his name has never hindered him in his profession. He is one of the best florists in the country, he knows all about beautiful vines and trees, and he is also a landscape gardener. He can take a plain little cottage, with a small piece of land, and plant just the right kind of trees on the place, train vines over the porch so as to render it charming, and make the bit of land into a tiny park, so dainty, so altogether lovely that people will come from far and near to see the 'beauty spot.' Now do you care in the least what his name is?"

"Indeed I do not," Dorothy said, firmly.

"And oh, how glad I am that he is not Professor Bonfanti!" Nancy said. "It was silly to be so frightened, but if only you knew how hard those months were when he was training me, and old Uncle Steve was threatening all sorts of things if I did not dance well! You see, I was really ill with fear, and homesickness, and Uncle Steve did not seem to see that the more he threatened, the more ill I became. Oh, if I should talk all day, I could not tell you half the misery of those days. Only yesterday one of the girls said that she would not have minded any of the harsh things if only she could have danced on the stage. That is what she thinks, but she doesn't know!"

"Well, Nancy, to-day you are nervous and tired, but I have quieted all your fears, and assured you that you are safe here at Glenmore. Some day when we can arrange it, I would enjoy hearing more of your little career."

"And I'd be willing to tell you, Mrs. Marvin; you've been so kind, and you've comforted me. I shall sleep to-night without any horrid dreams."

Mrs. Marvin felt that Patricia had really intended to frighten Nancy, and she decided to have a quiet little talk with her, and if possible, learn what had prompted her to do so unkind a thing.

* * * * *

It was an odd combination that "Glenmore," one of the best of schools for girls in the country, modern in every respect, and absolutely "up-to-date," should be situated in a town that was quaint, and picturesque, with inhabitants as fanciful, and superstitious as one would find if he had traveled back a century.

True, there were residents who had recently come to the place for a summer home, but the old people of the place clung to their old time superstitions, their firm belief in "signs," their legends handed down from one generation to another, and the newcomers humored them, listened to their "yarns," and asked to hear more. Many of these stories were quite as interesting as any folk tales, and none could tell them with finer effect than old Cornelia Derby.

It was Marcus who had pointed her out to several of the girls who, one morning, chanced to be standing near the gate as the old woman came up the street.

"Oh, Marcus, do you really mean that she can tell all sorts of quaint stories about this old town?" cried Betty Chase.

"I sure does," said Marcus, "and 'nuffin' pleases her like gittin' a chance ter tell 'em ter folks as is willin' ter listen."

"Now, Valerie," said Betty, turning to her chum, "let's get her to tell us some of the stories she knows about the fine old houses, and the people that once lived in them."

"Fine!" cried Valerie, "but where would we find her?"

"She lives in a little old hut, 'round behin' the hill over there!" said Marcus, "an' all yo' has ter do is ter go up dis street, an' yo'll sure spot it, long 'fore yo' reach it, 'cause the top half er dat hut is red, an' the bottom half is whitewash. It sure looks mighty quare!"

"Let's take a walk over there to-morrow, when our lessons are prepared," said Valerie, "but," she added, "I hope we find it."

"Yo' couldn't miss it," said Marcus, "for all yo' has ter do is ter go up dis street, an' turn ter yo' left, den go a piece, an' turn ter yo' right, an' walk 'til yo' come ter a big yaller house, an' dat's 'bout half-way. Nex' yo' cross a field, skip over de place where de brook is in summer an' come ter a piece er wall, stone wall, 'tis, an' it don't seem ter b'long ter no place 'tall, an' de hut is jes' a little ways beyond."

The sound of a bell sent them hurrying toward the house.

"Do you expect to remember all that?" Valerie asked on the way to the class-room.

"If you do you'll be a wonder. I've forgotten it now."

Betty nodded confidently.

"We'll go over there to-morrow," she said.

The next afternoon, Betty helped Valerie with some puzzling problems that must be solved before starting out.

Then with confidence on Betty's part, and much doubt in Valerie's mind as to their ability to find the hut, they set off on the long walk. After twice enquiring of people whom they met, of taking a long walk in the wrong direction, and retracing their steps, they finally espied the piece of stone wall that seemed to belong to "no place at all," as Marcus had said.

Glad to rest, they paused there to look about them, and to wait for Vera and Elf, who had promised to meet them. Neither was in sight, although they had said that they would be prompt. Snow and ice had fled, and now everywhere were signs of spring. Vera had declared that the long walk was what she needed, and Elf had said that she would endure the walk for the sake of hearing the quaint stories of the town and its people that old Cornelia would tell.

At the end of the wall Betty and Valerie waited.

"I'd not wait much longer," Valerie said.

"I surely will not!" Betty replied, "for if they are coming, they'll be here in a few minutes."

It was evident that the two girls had, for some reason, been detained, and Betty determined to wait no longer.



"Come!" she cried. "We'll go on now to the little hut, and if Vera and Elf come poking along a half-hour later, they can just sit on this wall, and see if they enjoy waiting as well as we did."

It was but a short distance, and they ran part of the way to make up for lost time, but when they reached the gate they found, as Valerie glanced at her tiny watch, that it was later than they thought, and was already about time for them to turn toward Glenmore, if they did not wish to be late.

Hours were strictly kept at the school, and all pupils must return from recreation in time to give themselves personal care, and be in the lower hall at five-thirty for a friendly chat before going to the dining-room at six.

Mrs. Marvin insisted that every pupil look her best at all times.

It was now four o'clock. It would take a half-hour to reach Glenmore. That meant that not more than a half-hour could be spent at the hut.

There was no answer to their repeated knocking, but as they turned to go they saw old Cornelia coming toward them along the road, a big basket on her arm.

"Well, well, two fine little callers I find waiting for me," she said. "And what can I do for you?"

"We wanted you to tell us all about some of the old buildings and the interesting stories about the people who lived in them," said Betty, "but it's so late now that I don't believe there's time. We have to be back at Glenmore at five."

"Then sit right down here on my garden-seat and I'll tell you the shortest tale I know, and some other day if you come when you have more time I'll tell you more."

"Oh, that will be fine!" they cried, as with one voice.

"How would you like to hear about the wishing-well?"

"That sounds great!" declared Betty and then: "Could you begin it with 'Once upon a time?'"

"Surely," was the quick response, "and now I think of it, I'm sure you must have passed the old wishing-well on your way here. The old well was supposed to have magic power, and long ago when the old Paxton House was standing, people came, for miles around, to be near the old well in the garden, and wish for their heart's desire, feeling sure that their wish would be granted.

"Of course the idea was absurd, but the townspeople of those days were superstitious, so that if those things that they wished for beside the well never came to them, they thought that they must have forgotten to ask for them in the right way, and later they would try again.

"If they obtained the thing that they had wished for, they laid their good fortune entirely to the fact that the old well must have approved of them."

"And where is it!" Valerie asked. "You said that we must have passed it."

"The old well has a flat wooden cover over it now, with an iron bar to keep it in place, lest some one be careless and fall in, though now the wild blackberry vines have nearly hidden it from sight. Even now when only young leaves are on the brambles, the thorny stems make a network over the cover. The old Paxton House was gone before my time," Mrs. Derby said, "but a part of its fine wall remains. It was upon that wall that the wishers sat.

"Did you happen to notice a fine piece of wall that seemed to belong to no one at all, and ended in a broad field?"

"The idea!" cried Betty. "Why we sat on that piece of wall, and could have 'wished' just as well as not, if only we'd known it."

"And it's almost half-past four now," said Valerie. "S'pose we run along toward Glenmore, and stop just long enough to sit on the wall and wish. We can be on time at five, if we do that. Then we could come over some day when we've more time, and hear all about the well, and other stories, too."

It was a good idea, because it was already so late that they could remain but a few moments longer, so with an urgent invitation to come again, and a promise to do so, they ran back to the old wall, looking back to wave their hands to the little woman who waved in return.



CHAPTER IX

THE WISHING-WELL

"Isn't it funny to think that we stopped at the very place to wish, and never knew it?" said Valerie, as they ran along the foot path that would take them back, the shortest way to the wall, and the wishing-well.

"Not so 'funny' as that we'd take so much time and trouble to wish when we get there," said Betty.

"Why is it odd?" Valerie asked, stopping squarely in front of Betty, and looking at her with round eyes.

"Oh, because we're acting exactly as if we believed in the old well," Betty said, looking a bit annoyed, yet keeping straight on toward the wall.

"Well, of course we're not so silly as to really and truly believe it could grant our wishes, but it's no harm to try," responded Valerie.

Betty laughed.

"Oh, we don't believe it all, Yet we must believe a little We b'lieve the water boils When the steam comes from the kittle.

"It's dark inside the drum, Yet we hear the drumming well, But that we wished beside the wall We'll never, never tell."

"Where did you hear those verses?" Valerie asked.

"That's a funny song my brother sings. I made the second verse to fit to-day."

"Why, Betty Chase! Who'd think you could make poetry?" cried Valerie, looking Betty over, as if it were the first time she had ever seen her.

Betty laughed gayly.

"I guess Mrs. Marvin would tell you it wasn't poetry. Don't you remember she told us the other day that many people could write verses, but that verses were not always poetry?"

"Well, all the same, I like the funny verses," Valerie said, "and here we are at the wall again."

"And here's luck to us, and our wishing!" cried Betty.

She sprang up on the wall beside Valerie, and for a moment the two sat thinking.

It was Valerie who first spoke.

"I've been trying to think what to wish for," she said, "and now all at once I know. Mother told me to work hard this year, so as to stand high in my class, and Aunt Phyllis said if I could finish in June with ninety per cent. average she'd give me a beautiful ring. Yes, that's what I'll wish for by the old well, and after I've wished it, I'll work harder than ever so that my wish will come true. Well, why do you laugh?" she asked, looking not only amazed, but rather vexed at Betty, who could not stop laughing even when she saw that Valerie was far from thinking it a joke.

"Well, what have I said that is so awfully funny?" she asked sharply.

"Don't be provoked, Valerie," Betty said, but her shoulders shook although she tried to check her laughter.

"I was only thinking," she continued, "how generous you were to help the old well out so nicely. Just as soon as you've wished, you'll start right out to work hard enough to just make the wish come true, well or no well, and I do believe, if your aunt gives you the ring, you'll forget how hard you worked, and you'll be saying: 'I do more than half believe in the wishing-well!'"

Valerie was never long angry, and she laughed as she answered:

"Well, Miss Wise-one, are you going to wish, and then sit back and wait to see if it 'comes true'?"

"I'll wish just for fun, but I don't believe what she said about the old well any more than you do, Valerie Dare. We'd be silly to even think that an old well had any power to grant wishes," Betty said, but Valerie laughed again.

"Then why did we bother to sit on this wall and wish?" she said.

"We might just as well wish while we're waiting along the road."

"Come on!" cried Betty. "You wished on the wall beside the well, and I'll wish as we walk along, and we'll see which gets what she wished for."

"All right," agreed Valerie, "but I do hope you'll get yours, Betty."

"I'm as likely to, as if I'd kept sitting by the well," Betty said, "for I wish for what just couldn't happen."

"Why Betty Chase! Why don't you wish for something that you've a chance of getting," said Valerie, stopping squarely in front of Betty.

"Because I have everything I want but one thing," was the quiet reply.

"And that one thing is—what?" queried Valerie.

"I love Dorothy Dainty, and I don't want to say 'good-by' to her when school closes. I'd like to be where she is this summer, but that couldn't be. You see our summer home is lovely, and we go there every year. Father and mother like the country better than the shore, but I like the beach, and the water best. Dorothy and Nancy will go home to Merrivale, but whether they spend the summer there, or go away to some other place, it won't make much difference to me. It's not likely to happen that they'll come to the quiet little town where we are to spend the summer."

Betty's merry face now wore such a sober expression that Valerie said:

"Well, I still say I wish you'd wanted something that really could happen."

At that moment some one appeared just around a bend of the road, some one wearing the gayest of colors, and with her a little old-fashioned figure in a dark brown dress.

"Look! Patricia and Arabella are coming this way, and they look as if they were planning something great. Just see how close together their heads are! I don't know Arabella very well, but when Patricia is 'up to' anything, it's pretty sure to be mischief."

"Oh, I don't know," Valerie. "It's just as likely to be some way she's planning for a chance to show off."

Betty laughed.

"Did you hear Vera Vane telling about the afternoon that Patricia knocked at her door, and said that she had come to 'make a call'?"

"I didn't hear that," said Valerie. "What did she do?"

"She was wearing all the rings and bangles that she owned, and in her hand was a card-case, just as if she were grown up. She sat on the tip edge of her chair, and she kept taking out her handkerchief, and shaking it because it was drenched with perfumery, and when she went, she emptied the card-case on the table, and Vera counted the cards. Say, Patricia had left fifty. Wasn't that funny?"

"Hush—sh!" breathed Valerie, "she might hear you."

Patricia rushed forward, while Arabella, as usual, hung back, preferring to stare at Betty and Valerie through her spectacles, rather than have a little chat.

She wanted to watch their faces, and see if they were greatly surprised with the news that Patricia had to tell.

"Guess where we're going!" Patricia cried, "but you couldn't guess, so I'll tell you. We're going over to the well, the one that's called the wishing-well," she explained, "and we mustn't tell what we mean to wish for, 'cause if you tell, you wouldn't get your wish. Did you know that?"

Betty said that she had not heard that.

"I'll tell you to-morrow just how to find it, but we can't stop now. There isn't time."

"Late!" cried Valerie. "I guess you two are late. We think we have to hurry to get to Glenmore on time, and you are going away from school every minute. Why don't you go to the well, if you want to, to-morrow."

Arabella thought that they ought to turn back, but Patricia seized her hand, and the two commenced to run.

"They'll be a half-hour late," said Valerie, looking after the flying figures.

"And 'The Fender' will be waiting for a chance to scold them when they come in," said Betty.

As they pushed the gate open, they saw a little figure disappearing around the corner of the house.

"That was Ida Mayo," said Valerie.

"I didn't see her face. Are you sure it was Ida?" Betty asked.

"Oh, it was Ida," Valerie answered, "and I do wonder why she stays in her room all the time. If she happens to come down when the girls are out, she runs, the moment she sees any of us coming."

"It's a long time ago that she was sick," Betty replied, "but she must be all right by this time. I wonder why she ran when she saw us? We don't know her well enough to stop her to talk. She's bigger than we are, and she's three classes above us."

"Who told you she stayed in her own room all the time?" continued Betty.

"Patricia Levine said so," Valerie said.

"Why, Valerie Dare, you know Patricia tells—well—things that aren't really true," said Betty.

"Well, we don't see Ida, now, as we used to," Valerie said.

"That might just happen," said Betty.

It happened that what Patricia had said was true.

The so-called "beautifier" had injured the skin so severely that it required time to heal it.

Mrs. Marvin had said that Ida was feeling far from well, which was true.

Her vanity had prompted her to do a foolish thing, and she had suffered for it, both because of her painful face, and because in her nervousness, she had cried until completely tired out.

Mrs. Marvin had talked with her kindly and wisely, she had let old Judy take her meals up to her room, and she had personally given her private instruction, for she pitied the silly girl, and sought to keep curious ones from annoying her.

Ida had hastened away when she had seen the two younger girls coming because there still were traces on her cheeks of the burning caused by the patent "beautifier," and she seemed more afraid of the comments of the younger girls, than of her own classmates.

As the two girls entered the hall they saw that the tall clock marked the time as quarter-past five.

"Fifteen minutes to fix up just a bit," said Betty. "Come on!"

They raced up the stairs and soon reached their room.

Valerie was ready first, because Betty had found a letter waiting for her, and promptly sat down to read it.

"You'd better not stop to read it," cautioned Valerie, "for when we came in we had only fifteen minutes to—"

But just then Betty gave a little cry of delight.

"Oh-oo! Just listen to this!" she cried. "Father says we are to go to the shore this summer just for a change, and already he has rented the summer place." She clapped her hands, and laughed with sheer happiness.

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that to-night. I do believe I'll dream about it," she said.

The half-hour for social chat was over, and dinner was half through when Patricia and Arabella entered the dining-room.

All eyes were turned upon them.

Patricia held her chin very high, and looked as if she were thinking: "I know I'm late, but what of that?" She was assuming a boldness that she did not feel, whereas Arabella was absolutely natural. She felt frightened, and looked—just as she felt.

"Wouldn't you like to know what they wished?" whispered Valerie, to which Betty whispered in reply:

"I'd like to know, but they wouldn't tell us."

It was a fixed rule at Glenmore that the pupils must be present at the social half-hour, and then be sure of being prompt at six, the dinner hour. Patricia and Arabella were the first to break that rule.

* * * * *

There was to be a week's vacation, and all but four of the pupils were to spend it at home.

They were Patricia and Arabella, Dorothy, and Nancy.

Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte were still traveling, and Mrs. Vane had asked Vera to bring Dorothy and Nancy home with her for the week. Already they had planned enough pleasure to last a month, and Vera was still racking her busy brain to think of other things that they might do.

The pupils were welcome to remain at Glenmore if they wished, and Patricia had decided that that was just what she would do.

Arabella had hesitated. She was fond of her father, and she had intended to go home for the week, but Patricia had declared that they would stay at Glenmore, and Arabella was no match for Patricia, so it was settled that they would remain at the school.

The week at Vera's home opened charmingly.

Mrs. Vane had given the week over to Vera and her three little guests.

"It isn't quite a week," she said when she greeted them, "for you have arrived Monday afternoon, and you must leave Saturday morning. That gives us Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and we must make each day delightful."

"It always is delightful here," said Dorothy, "and it seemed so good to come to you when mother was away."

Mrs. Vane drew Dorothy closer. She knew that at heart, sweet Dorothy was a bit homesick.

"We'll have a pleasant little home evening with music and games," she said, "and you'll all feel rested by to-morrow. I'll not tell what I've in store for to-morrow. That is a secret," she said.

Of course Vera coaxed, and the others tried to guess, but Mrs. Vane remained firm, only laughing as their guessing grew wilder.

"Mother truly can keep a secret, but I can't," said Vera. "I mean to keep it but first thing I know, I'm telling it."

"We all know that," said Elf, and Vera joined in the laughter of the others.

Tuesday was fair, and Mrs. Vane, at lunch looked at the four bright faces before her, Vera, a small copy of herself; Elf, whose mischievous face was truly elfish; Nancy, whose gypsy beauty always pleased, and Dorothy, blue-eyed, fair-haired, whose lovable disposition shone from her eyes, and made her sweet to look upon.

"We shall take a trip to Fairy-land this afternoon," she said, "and must start directly after lunch."

That was all that she would tell, and as they motored up one busy street, and down another, she enjoyed watching their eager faces, and listening to their chatter.

Fairy-land proved to be a wonderful play, depicting Elf-land with fairies, water nymphs, elves and witches, goblins, and gnomes, with exquisite scenery, beautiful costumes, and graceful dancing that held them entranced, from the time that the curtain went up until the grand march of the fairies at the finale.

The "grown-ups" in the audience were delighted, so it was not strange that Mrs. Vane's party was spellbound.

Of them all, Nancy best understood the perfect art of the dancing. She had been drilled in those dainty steps, and she saw how cleverly each did her part.

It was an afternoon of enchantment, and when the play was over, the gay little party howled along the broad thoroughfare toward home and they talked of the beautiful fairy play, and the graceful girls who had danced as nymphs.

The four days passed so quickly that when Saturday dawned, it seemed hardly possible that it was time to return to Glenmore.

There had been a wonderful exhibition of paintings for Wednesday, a huge fair for Thursday at which Mrs. Vane bought a lovely gift for each as a souvenir.

Thursday they had motored out beyond the city where willows were showing their misty green, and gay little crocus beds were in bloom. They had stopped for lunch at a pretty restaurant that looked for all the world like a rustic cottage, and then had returned to find Rob Vane waiting to greet them, as they drew up to the house.

"Hello!" he called to them before they had alighted.

"How is this, that a fellow gets a week's vacation, and comes home from school to find only servants to greet him?"

"Why, Robert, I am glad enough to have you home for a week. I thought you were to stay at school for extra coaching?"

"That's what I wrote in my last letter," said Rob, "but I passed exams. with flying colors. I was nervous, and feared I wasn't prepared, but say! I was needlessly scared, for I not only 'passed,' but snatched the prize for mathematics."

"I am proud of you, Robert, and your father will be pleased," Mrs. Vane said, her fine eyes shining.

"And I'm proud of you, Rob," cried Vera, rushing at him, and clasping her arms about him.

"Hi, Pussy Weather-vane, it's good to have a little sister," said Rob, swinging her around until she was dizzy.

"Are you glad to see me, too?" he asked, laughing at her flushed cheeks, and touzled, flaxen hair.

"Oh, Rob! So glad, even if you do shake me up until I look wild," Vera said, clinging to his arm, and dragging him toward the little guests.

"I dare to say he's the best brother in the world because neither one of you has a brother, so you won't be offended."

"Spare my blushes, Vera," cried Rob. "Say, girls, I'm mighty glad to see you. How long are you to stay? A week?"

"We are going back to Glenmore Saturday," Dorothy said, "and we start at nine in the morning. There is no one at the Stone House but the servants, and it was so lovely to come home with Vera."

"It surely was the best thing that you could do," Rob replied earnestly, for he knew by a slight quiver in her voice that Dorothy was a bit homesick.

Nancy heard the odd little quiver when Dorothy was speaking, and she hastened to speak of cheery things.

"We've had just the dearest visit, and we've been to the theater, to a big fair, to see a hall hung with beautiful pictures, and how we have enjoyed it all!" she said.

"I'll do the entertaining to-morrow," said Rob. "I'll take you all to see something that will be no end of fun."

"What will it be, Rob?" Vera asked, but Rob tweaked her curls, and laughed.

"That's my secret," he said, and they had to be satisfied with that.



CHAPTER X

A LIVELY WEEK

Dorothy woke very early the next morning, and turned to look at Nancy, to find that Nancy was looking straight at her. They both laughed.

"I was wondering if you were awake," Nancy said.

"I turned to look at you, Nancy, to see if your eyes were open," Dorothy said. "I was going to ask you if you knew that Patricia and Arabella were spending the week at Glenmore."

"I knew it, because when I told Patricia that we were to spend the week at Vera's home, she looked, for just a second, as if she were provoked because she had not been invited, too. Then she hurried to say that she'd rather stay at Glenmore. That Arabella was to stay, too, and that she thought they would have a finer time than we."

"I wonder how they amused themselves," Dorothy said. "Glenmore would be so quiet with all the girls away."

"And Miss Fenler would have all the time to watch them, with none of the other pupils to care for," responded Nancy.

"Dorothy, Nancy! Come down so I can tell you something!" called Vera.

They heard Mrs. Vane say gently:

"Don't hurry them, Vera."

They were half-way down the stairs, however, and in the lower hall they saw Elf, already up, because she had shared Vera's room, and Vera had awakened her.

"Rob has told me! Rob has told me!" Vera said, dancing around Dorothy and Nancy. "Bob has told me, and I couldn't wait to tell you. He's going to take us out into the country to our summer place, and there we'll go to a little country circus! Won't that be great? He came home just in time."

"That will be great fun," said Dorothy, "and after we've seen it, we can talk it over, all the way back."

"Let's get ready now!" cried Vera.

"Why, Vera! It is only eight o'clock, and the circus begins at two, so Bob said," Elf remarked, with the thought of calming Vera, but that was not so easily done.

"But it's a two-hour ride out there. Come up to my room, Elf, and help me choose a dress," Vera replied, as she caught Elf by the hand and rushed up the stairway. How they laughed.

The morning sped on wings, and lunch was served early.

Just as they were leaving the house, the postman brought a letter for Dorothy that had been remailed from Glenmore, and she took it with her to read, if there was an opportunity.

The ride out from the city over fine roads, and along beautiful avenues, was delightful, and the jolly little party reached "Vane Villa," earlier than they had thought possible.

"Dorothy is aching to read her letter," Vera said, "so sit out here and read it, Dorothy dear," she continued, "and Rob will take Elf around to see the kennels, and I'll tag along with them, for if I stay here, I'll talk and talk so you won't know what is in your letter after all."

It was a kind thought, and a bit of tact that careless, flighty Vera often showed.

Dorothy opened her letter, and commenced reading. After a few lines she looked up, her eyes shining.

"Nancy, come here, and listen to this.

"They are already on the homeward trip, and the first of May Mother and Aunt Charlotte will be at the Stone House, and we are to join them a week later. Already Mother has written to Mrs. Marvin, and we are to be excused for the last two weeks at Glenmore, and away we'll speed toward Merrivale and home."

"Oh, I am so glad!" Nancy cried as she pressed Dorothy closer.

"And that isn't all," said Dorothy, "for hear this:

"I'm sure, dear, that you and Nancy will be delighted to know that, after a short stay at the Stone House, we shall go to Foam Ridge for the summer. You are both so fond of the shore, and the salt air."

Nancy's eyes were bright, and there was a droll twinkle in them.

Drawing closer, Nancy whispered a rare bit of news.

"Do you mean that?" Dorothy asked. "Are you sure?"

Nancy laughed and nodded.



"Perfectly sure," she said, "for only the day before vacation Betty told me that her mother had just written to say that for a change they were to spend the summer at the shore, and she said: 'Isn't "Foam Ridge" a pretty name.' I didn't think to tell you, because I never dreamed that we would be going to the same place. I knew you'd be pleased, for you like Betty Chase as well as I do."

"Oh, I am truly glad that we shall see Betty at the shore."

"Hello!" shouted Rob. "Anybody thinking of going to the circus!"

"Yes! Yes!" they cried, and ran to join Rob and Vera and Elf.

For a small circus it proved to be quite a show. There were trained dogs that were really clever, there were trained elephants, but best of all there were some handsome horses, whose riders did wonderful vaulting, tumbling, and riding, springing over hurdles, and through covered hoops.

When they left the tent the girls were delighted with the show, and Rob said it made him think of his early ambition to be a circus performer.

"Why wouldn't you like to now?" asked Vera. "If I had ever wanted to, I'd want to now. I wouldn't change my mind. Well, I don't see why you all laugh!" she cried, looking in surprise from one to the other.

It was small wonder that they laughed. Vera rarely held one opinion for more than half a day, and had been known to have a half-dozen minds inside of an hour!

* * * * *

It was a jolly party that took the train for Glenmore on Saturday morning. Rob had taken them to the station, bought a a box of candy for each, and waited until the last moment to leave the train.

"If Miss Fenler has been watching Patricia this week she has been busy," said Elf, when they had settled themselves for the long ride.

"She could easily watch Arabella, she is so slow," Dorothy said.

It happened that Mrs. Marvin had told Miss Fenler to closely watch both girls who had chosen to spend the week's vacation at the school.

School without lessons would be fine, they thought.

"I think Arabella Correyville, if she were here alone, would be very little care, but Patricia Levine is as full of queer notions as any girl could be, and she plans the oddest mischief, and then drags slow little Arabella into it. Patricia never tries to help her out, and she invariably laughs if Arabella is caught.

"Arabella is so slow that she really doesn't know that Patricia rules her, while Patricia rules, and laughs at Arabella for obeying.

"I promise to watch them, and I am likely to be more closely employed than during a regular school session," Miss Fenler said in reply.

The first day passed without any especial happening, but the next day the two set out for a walk, soon after breakfast, and did not return until just before six.

"You were not here at one o'clock for lunch," Miss Fenler said. "Where were you?"

"I lunched with a friend," said Patricia, and Arabella drawled, "So did I."

"I did not know that you had friends here in town," Miss Fenler said, in surprise. They were, of course friends, and they had lunched together. What they had said had been true, but surely not honest.

Arabella stared stupidly at Miss Fenler, and Patricia imitated her stolid friend, too. It was easier to look dull than to answer more questions.

On the third day Mrs. Marvin was absolutely amazed to glance toward her window just in time to see Patricia entering the house with a cat in her arms.

Questioned as to where she obtained the cat she said that a boy gave it to her, that she didn't know his name, or where he lived.

"Where do you expect to keep it?" asked Miss Fenler, who had been sent to meet her.

"I thought I could keep her in the little shed that's next to the kitchen, and then Judy could feed her," was the answer, given as confidently as if the whole matter were settled.

Mrs. Marvin came out into the hall in time to hear what Patricia said.

"I think we can arrange to let puss remain if she is to be under Judy's care," she said, "for only yesterday she told me that the mice are becoming very bold, and they are too wise to go into the traps that she sets."

A sound of falling pans, flat-irons, and other kitchen utensils made them start. Patricia clung to the cat, although it was making desperate efforts to get away.

"Ow-oo-o! O massy sakes! Yow-hoo!" shouted Judy as she burst the door open, and tore out into the hall.

"Dem mices'll kill me yit, I do b'liebe!" she yelled. "De windows, an' do's is shet, an' dey's prancin' on de kitchen' flo. Oh-oo!"

"Hush, Judy, hush!" Mrs. Marvin said. "We've a cat with us, and she is just in time."

"I sho' won't go nigh dat kitchen wid no cat, nor nuffin' else," Judy said, her eyes rolling in terror.

"Pooh!" cried Patricia, "I'd be glad to put her out there before I get any more scratches," and going to the end of the hall, she opened the door, and dropped puss on the floor.

In less time than it takes to tell it the cat had caught the two tiny mice, that had been far more afraid of the big colored woman, than she had been of them, and that is saying a great deal.

Patricia was never inclined to be in any way obliging. She was one of those unpleasant girls who find no joy in being kind or helpful.

Whatever she did, was done wholly for her own sake, and Judy eyed her with suspicion when she saw how promptly she took the big cat to the kitchen.

Having given the cat over to the care of Judy, Patricia raced up the stairway to her room.

Judy rolled her eyes to look after her.

"Wha' fo' she done dat?" she asked of Miss Fenler, who stood near her.

"Wha' fo'? I axes. Dat ar young miss done bring dat cat home ter hab in her room fo' a pet. How happen her to gib it up ter Judy?"

"Nonsense, Judy. She knows, as all the pupils know, that it is a fixed rule at Glenmore, that no pupil can have a pet in her room."

"All de same, Miss Patrichy meant dat cat ter be up in her room, long o' dat ar Carbale gal."

Judy never could get Arabella's name correctly. Sometimes it was "Carbale," then it was "Corbille," but never once had she managed to call it Correyville.

"Well, the cat is in the kitchen now, and you must look out for her. Keep her in for a few days until she feels that this is home, and then she will stay," Miss Fenler said, and returned to her account-books.

Thursday the two girls were in their room all day, reading, and devouring a "treat" that Patricia had smuggled in. It was much the same menu that Patricia usually chose, without a thought as to how the different things would combine.

Who but Patricia Levine would ever think of eating ice-cream, and big green pickles at the same time?

The reason that she would have given for eating them at the same time would have been that she liked both.

They ate the papers of ice-cream first before it could melt, and then, each took a huge green pickle, and a favorite book, and settled down to read.

When the lunch hour arrived, Patricia felt a bit "queer," while Arabella felt decidedly "queerer."

Neither cared to eat, but they dared not stay away from the dining-room, so both went down to the table, but they made only a pretense of eating.

Early in the afternoon both felt hungry. Patricia rushed to the closet, and returned with some chocolate eclaires, and a bottle of olives.

"I'll eat an eclaire," said Arabella, "but maybe I'd better not eat olives with it."

"Well, of all things!" cried Patricia. "Let me tell you what you don't know. Eclaires and olives just b'long together. Don't act funny, Arabella."

Arabella, always afraid of being laughed at, ate not only one eclaire, but two, and a dozen olives, as well.

During the afternoon, they ate four crullers, two pickled limes, two ham sandwiches, and a pound of fudge.

Patricia could eat anything, and any amount of food without any ill effect, but Arabella was really sick when the hour for dinner arrived.

When Mrs. Marvin questioned Patricia, she said that Arabella had a headache, and that she had said that she was not hungry.

Mrs. Marvin sent a waitress up to their room with some toast and tea for Arabella. Arabella barely tasted it, and the girl returned to report that Miss Arabella looked sick, and really could not eat.

The next day found her much like her usual self, and Patricia proposed a walk.

"I'll go with you in a minute," said Arabella.

"What are you waiting for?" snapped Patricia. She turned, and saw that Arabella was shaking some green pills from a bottle.

"It's hard work trying to mind two people who say different things," complained Arabella. "Aunt Matilda told me to take these green pills every hour, wherever I happen to be, and Mrs. Marvin says I must not be continually taking medicine in the class-room. How can I do both?"

"Don't take it at all!" cried Patricia.

"But my health—"

"Oh, bother your health," said Patricia. "I should think you'd be sick of hearing about it."

"I am," confessed Arabella.

"Then pitch every one of those bottles out, and see what happens! No wonder the girls here call you the 'medicine-chest.' The doses you take make me sick just to see them."

Arabella looked sulky, and when Patricia started for a walk, Arabella refused to go. She was usually afraid of Patricia, and did as she directed, but when she became sulky, not even Patricia could move her, try as she might.

Arabella was standing near the window when Patricia returned, and what she saw was anything but pleasing.

At the end of a leash was a small, shaggy, yellow dog, of no especial breed!

Arabella detested dogs, and was desperately afraid of them as well.

She told herself that the dog would also be in Judy's care, and was wondering how he would get on with the cat, when she heard a loud whisper outside the door.

"Let me in, quick!" it said, and when Arabella opened the door, Patricia stumbled over the dog who had run between her feet, and the two landed on the middle of the rug in a heap.

"There! Isn't he a beauty?" Patricia asked and without waiting for an answer continued, "A man told me he was a valuable dog that ought to bring fifty dollars, but because he was going to leave town, he let me have him, for two dollars, and threw in the leash. Wasn't that a bargain?"

"What are you going to do with him?" Arabella asked. "Oh, take him away! I don't want him sniffing at me!"

Patricia made an outrageous face, and tugged at the leash.

"Keep him in this room until I go home, and then take him with me," she said.

"I'll not sleep in this room if that dog is kept in here!" declared Arabella.

"Where will you sleep?" Patricia asked, coolly. "They wouldn't let you sleep out in the hall, and if I put the dog out there, 'The Fender' will take him."

By extreme care, Patricia managed not to do anything that would make him bark.



CHAPTER XI

AN INNOCENT SNEAK-THIEF

The little dog had slept all night, but when morning came he wanted to go out for a romp. Patricia tied him to the leg of the bed, gave him some breakfast and sat on the floor beside him to stop him if he began to bark.

Thus far he had been very quiet, only softly growling, and stopping that when Patricia held up her finger and told him he must "keep still."

"Why do we have to review?" Patricia said as Arabella took up a book.

"The idea of looking into my history to see when Virginia was settled at Jamestown when any one knows it was in fourteen ninety-two!"

"O my, Patricia! That's wrong," Arabella said, "That's when Columbus discovered America."

"Well, for goodness' sake! Couldn't he have landed in Virginia, and settled it at the same time?" demanded Patricia. She was desperately angry, but Arabella persisted.

"Don't you know, Patricia, it couldn't have been settled in fourteen ninety-two?"

"Oh, don't bother me about that!" said Patricia, and Arabella, peering at her through her goggles decided that it would be wise to do no more correcting.

"I don't think Miss Fenler is fair," said Patricia, "for she marked my history paper only forty-two, and I just know it ought to have been higher than that. And my spelling she marked only thirty-eight last month, and all because I put an r in water, spelling it 'warter,' and I'm sure that's not bad."

"You put two t's in it, too," said Arabella.

"I will again if I want to," snapped Patricia.

"There's the breakfast-bell. He's sure to bark while we're down-stairs," Arabella said. She hoped that he would, so that he might be given other quarters. He looked up as the door closed, and was about to bark when he saw one of Arabella's slippers, and grabbing it, retired under the bed to chew it.

It was a rule that the maids should make the beds, and put the rooms in order while the pupils were at breakfast, and on that morning it fell to Maggie's share of the work to care for the only room now occupied.

She was a good-natured Irish girl, and she entered the room singing:

"'Now, Rory, be aisy, don't tase me no more, 'Tis the—'"

"Och, murther! Murther! There's a man under the bed, an' he grabbed me by me shoe,—oh! oh!"

Down-stairs she ran, screaming all the way, declaring that there was a man up-stairs, and calling for some one brave enough to "dhrive him out."

Her terror was very real, and Marcus was called in to oust the intruder.

"It must be a sneak-thief," said Miss Fenler.

"It am a sneak-thief," said Marcus, appearing with the small dog in his arms.

"He stole a slipper, an den sneaked under der bed ter chew on it. Sure, he am a sneak-thief, but I knows a cullud gemman what wants a dog, an' I guess he's 'bout the right size. Dey has a pow'ful small house, an' him an' his wife, an' seben chilluns lib in dem two rooms, so he couldn't want no bigger dog dan dis yar."

"Why nobody can give that dog away!" shrieked Patricia. "I bought him yesterday, and paid the man two dollars for him. He's mine!"

"Do you mean to tell me, Patricia, that you bought that dog and deliberately brought him here, when you knew that it was against the rules of the school?" Mrs. Marvin asked.

"You kept the cat," said Patricia.

"Because I let the cat remain, you decided that it would be safe to do practically the same thing again, did you?" Mrs. Marvin's usually kind voice sounded very cold now.

"He isn't a cat, so 'tisn't the same," Patricia said with a pout.

"We must find an owner for him, Marcus," Mrs. Marvin said.

"I won't let him go!" screamed Patricia.

"You cannot keep him here."

"Then I'll go back to my aunt's house at Merrivale, and take him with me," said Patricia.

"Do as you like about that," Mrs. Marvin said quietly, "but you must choose."

"I've choosed, I mean 'chosen,'" said Patricia. "I'll go right straight off, and take the dog with me."

It looked like haste and anger, but for weeks Patricia had been so far behind the others of her class, that she believed that any day Mrs. Marvin would send her home with a letter stating that she had been neglecting study, and must give up her place to some ambitious pupil. Patricia preferred to go of her own choice, so she rushed to her room, and began to pack her belongings.

Arabella stood watching her as if not fully realizing that she was losing her chum.

She was not quite so dull as she appeared. She was sorry to have Patricia go, and she was not at all sure that she would like her room all to herself. At the same time she was comforting herself with the thought that there would be no one to make her eat things that she ate for the sake of peace and that nearly always made her ill, or to drag her into mischief that she, herself would never have thought of. When Patricia's trunk was strapped to the back of the carriage, and she stood on the porch, her suit-case in one hand, her other hand holding the dog's leash, she turned to Arabella.

"Well, aren't you going to say something, now I'm ready to start?" she asked.

"Do'no' what to say," drawled Arabella.

Arabella had spoken the truth, which, however, was not complimentary, and Patricia was offended.

Arabella, looking after her tried to decide just how she felt. She would miss Patricia, because at times she was a lively chum, but she was quick to take offense, and Arabella was always doing something that displeased her.

Then, too, Arabella had a very small allowance, while Patricia spent money with a free hand, and always "shared" with Arabella. But what joy was there in eating the oddly chosen "treats"?

Arabella decided that as there was but a short time before the closing of school, it was, perhaps, the best thing that could have happened, that Patricia had decided to go back to Merrivale. It seemed strange that she should prefer to be with her aunt in Merrivale, rather than with her mother, at their home in New York, but those who knew were not surprised.

Mrs. Levine was as strange in some respects, as her little daughter was in others. If Patricia enjoyed being away from home, Mrs. Levine, flighty, and weak-willed, was glad to be free from the care of Patricia.

The aunt was very glad of the money paid for Patricia's board, so every one concerned seemed satisfied.

Surely Patricia was having but little training, but who was there to complain?

Being away from home had one decided advantage, Patricia thought.

She could ask for money when she needed clothing, and when she received it she could make her own choice of hats, coats, or dresses, and what a lively choice it was!

She had rightly earned the title of the "Human Rainbow."

She had heard the name, and she liked it. She thought that it implied that her costumes were gay, rather than dull colored.

Mrs. Marvin breathed a sigh of relief when Patricia had actually left Glenmore, and Miss Fenler remarked that Arabella was really too slow to get into mischief, now that she had no one to assist her.

* * * * *

The ride had been a long one, and the car had been hot after the early morning. Vera complained that she was fairly roasted, while Elf declared that she had breathed smoke from the open windows until she believed that she would smell smoke for a week. Dorothy and Nancy made little fuss about either smoke or heat, bearing the discomforts of the trip patiently, and laughing when Vera fumed.

"Well, I know, if I were a man," said Vera, "I could make some kind of an engine that would go like lightning, and have neither smoke nor cinders. I told Rob that, and he said, 'Oh, don't let it stop you because you're not a man. Just go ahead, Pussy Weather-vane, and plan it. The companies won't refuse to use it because it wasn't invented by a man!'

"Now, isn't that just like a boy? What time do I have to do things like that? Doesn't he know that I have lessons, and all sorts of things that hinder me?"

"Why do you girls laugh at everything I say, just as Rob does?" she concluded, looking in surprise, from one merry face to the other.

"Oh, but Vera, you are funny when you sputter," said Elf.

"I s'pose I am," agreed Vera, "and I don't much care. I'm sure I'd rather make you laugh, than make you look sober."

"Look! Look!" cried Dorothy.

"We're almost to Glenmore!"

"Not yet," said Vera.

"Oh, but Dorothy is right," said Nancy, "for look there where the river glistens in the sun."

"And see that big Club House right over there," Dorothy said, pointing toward a handsome building of which the town of Glenmore was justly proud.

"But it doesn't seem quite like—"

Vera's remark was interrupted by the trainman, who opened the door and shouted, "Glenmore! Glenmore!"

"I guess it did look like it," Vera said, as she sprang out on the platform, followed by her three laughing companions. Marcus was waiting for them.

"Yo'-all git in, an' we'll git dar as quick as we kin. Mis' Marvin, she say all the other pupils is arriv, an' she hopes you fo' will be some prompt."

"We came as soon as the train would bring us," said Elf.

"But dat train am an hour later dan de time-table say."

"Do you believe that?" Elf asked of the others, as they rode along.

"They must have changed the time-table," Nancy said.

Marcus turned his head to shout:

"No, miss, no. Nobody doesn't neber chane nuffin' in Glenmore!"

Mrs. Marvin was on the porch, as the carriage turned in at the gateway, and she stepped forward to greet them as they sprang out on the walk.

"I was beginning to wonder what had detained you, when I was delighted to see the carriage coming around the bend of the road. You are just in time to go to your rooms and 'freshen up' a bit before dinner, and— Why, Arabella Correyville! What does this mean?"

A drenched and bedraggled figure was mounting the steps. Her hair, and garments were dripping, she had lost her goggles, and without them her eyes had a frightened stare.

"I didn't mean to look like this," she said, "but I lost the key to my room. I'd locked the door when I went out, and I wanted to study some before dinner. I climbed up onto the edge of that hogshead that the workmen had left right beside the trellis that runs up by my window. I meant to get in at my window, but I fell and got into a hogshead of dirty water. 'Twasn't very pleasant," she drawled.

One might have thought, from the manner in which she said it that most people would have enjoyed the "ducking"!

Mrs. Marvin looked discouraged. This was the girl that could not get into a scrape, now that she had no one to drag her in!

"Miss Fenler, will you assist Arabella in making herself presentable before six? It is after five-thirty now."

Miss Fenler looked anything but pleased, but she dared not refuse. Arabella seemed quieter than ever when she came down the stairway, her wet garments exchanged for dry ones, and her straight hair primly braided, thanks to Miss Fenler.

Doubtless she had not recovered from her surprise when she found herself in the hogshead. It always required time for Arabella to recover from any new idea, or unusual happening.

The other girls were giving the four who had just returned a gay welcome, and Dorothy slipped her arm around Betty Chase, and told her the fine news that during the summer they were both to be at Foam Ridge.

"Oh, Dorothy!" cried Betty, her dark eyes shining, "I was delighted when mother wrote that we were going there, just because I so love to be at the shore, and now to think that you and Nancy are to spend the summer there,—oh, it is such a dear surprise."

"But listen, every one!" cried Valerie Dare. "That's all very fine for Betty, but the other bit of news isn't quite so nice. Dorothy Dainty and Nancy Ferris are to leave Glenmore two weeks earlier than the rest of us. Say! Do you think we'll miss them?"

"Oh, Dorothy Dainty! Why do you go so soon?"

"And take Nancy with you, too! Say, do you have to?"

"Can't you stay longer?"

These and many more were the queries called forth by Valerie's statement.

It was small comfort for them to listen when Dorothy explained.

The fact remained, that they did not want to have her leave before school closed. She had endeared herself to her classmates, and to many others whom she met at socials, and after school sessions. Nancy shared her popularity, and both prized the loving friendship that had made their stay at Glenmore so pleasant.



CHAPTER XII

A GLAD RETURN

"We're glad to think that to-night we shall be at home at the Stone House, and that we'll be with Mother and Aunt Charlotte again, and we're really sorry to say 'good-by' to Glenmore and the pleasant friends that we have found here," Dorothy said, as she stood on the porch with Nancy, waiting for Marcus, who was to take them to the station.

"That's just the way we feel," said Nancy. "Glad and sorry at the same time."

"Well, let me tell you, I don't feel two ways at once," cried Vera. "I feel just one way. I'm just fearfully sorry!"

Mrs. Marvin had bidden them "good-by," after having expressed her approval of their work as pupils, and her regret that they must leave too early to have a part in the program at the final exhibition. On the train that they were to take, there was no stop long enough to obtain anything to eat, so Judy had put up a tempting lunch of sandwiches, cake, and fruit.

Betty and Valerie had a box of chocolates for each, and Ida Mayo, now wholly recovered, came in at the gate just in time to offer each a lovely rose from a cluster that she carried.

Arabella came slowly out to join the group on the porch, and seeing Ida Mayo offering her roses, she decided not to be outdone.

"Here, wait 'til I find something," she said, thrusting her hand deep into her pocket. After a moment's search she produced two bottles of pills, one pink and the other green.

"Take 'em with you," she said, offering one to Dorothy, and the other to Nancy. "One is for a 'tired feeling,' and the other is for feeling too good. I've forgotten which is which, but if you take them both, you're sure to feel all right during the long car-ride."

There were stifled giggles, for surely bottles of medicine were curious gifts to offer, and the group of girls thought it the drollest thing that Arabella had yet done.

For only a second did Dorothy hesitate. She did not, of course, want to accept the funny gift, but she saw Arabella's cheek flush, as little Lina Danford laughed softly, and she did the kindest thing that she could have done.

"Thank you," she said, gently, then to the others she added: "Arabella is eager to have us both feel fine when we reach Merrivale."

The soft laughter ceased, and Ida Mayo said to a girl who stood near her: "Isn't that just like Dorothy Dainty! She doesn't want those pills any more than you or I would, but she won't let Arabella feel hurt."

"She is dear, and sweet," was the whispered reply, "and so is Nancy."

At last Marcus arrived, and as they rode along the avenue, they waved their handkerchiefs to the group on the porch until they turned the corner, and were out of sight.

The long car-ride was much like any all-day ride. Rather pleasant at first, a bit tedious on the last hour, but oh, the joy of the home-coming!

Mrs. Dainty had felt the first separation from Dorothy keenly, and she could not school herself to be calm when for the first time in months she would see her sweet face again, so she sent the limousine over to the station, and with a desperate effort at patience, waited at home for the sound of its return.

Aunt Charlotte was more calm, but so long had Nancy been under her care that she seemed like a little daughter, and now, with Mrs. Dainty she sat waiting, and each smiled when she caught the other watching the clock.

Of course the train was late in arriving at Merrivale, and Mrs. Dainty was just beginning to be anxious when the limousine whirled up the driveway, and stopped. John opened the door, and in an instant Dorothy found herself held close in loving arms.

"Dorothy, my darling, I can never be parted from you again. If it is a question of travel, I will not go unless you go with me, and if it is education, then you must have private tutors at home."

"Oh, yes, yes!" agreed Dorothy.

"At first the newness amused me, but the last half of the time grew harder and harder to bear. I knew you needed the rest and change and I did my best. When I found that you had come home two weeks earlier, I could hardly wait till this morning to start."

"We've tried to be cheerful for each other," Nancy said, looking out from her shelter in Aunt Charlotte's arms, "but oh, how good it is to be at home!"

Mollie Merton, and Flossie Barnet had waved to them as they turned in at the great gate, and Uncle Harry had swung his cap gayly, and looked the genuine pleasure that he felt at seeing them again.

"Let's go over to see Dorothy and Nancy," Flossie said, but Uncle Harry laid his hand gently on her arm.

"Not just now, Flossie dear," he said. "My little niece is truly glad to see them, but I think there will be things to talk over, and they have been apart for months, so they should have this evening uninterrupted by any friends."

"I guess that's so," said Flossie, "but it's hard to wait until to-morrow to tell them how glad we are to see them."

"I love dat Dorothy girl, myself," said Uncle Harry's small daughter, "and I love dat Nancy girl, too. Dat Dorothy girl always has candy for me, and dat Nancy girl makes hats for my dolly."

Uncle Harry swung the tiny girl up to a seat on his shoulder, and his blue eyes twinkled as he looked into the little, eager face.

"Don't you love them when they aren't giving you something?" he asked.

"Oh, yes!" said the little maid, "but I love them harder when they do."

"Then you'll love me 'harder' than you do now if I give you a ride up to the house?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, yes!" she cried, and she laughed gayly as she rode in triumph up the driveway, and into the house.

The evening was spent in the big living-room, with a small fire blazing in the fireplace. It had been warm and sunny all day, but when evening came, an east wind had risen, and the happy little party was glad to sit cosily in doors. Dorothy and Nancy listened entranced while Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte told of their travels. They had been south, they had been west, and they had brought home beautiful souvenirs of every place at which they had stayed.

Then Dorothy and Nancy told of the life at Glenmore, of the new friends that they had met, and of Arabella and Patricia.

It was a happy evening.

Mr. Dainty had found it impossible to reach home until a week later, but he had written a longer letter than usual, and had sent one especially to Dorothy, and it seemed almost as if he were really talking to her as she read it.

Bright and early next morning Mollie and Flossie raced over to the Stone House, and the four chattered so fast, that the old gardener at work near the fountain, took off his hat, and for a moment stood listening. He was not near enough to know what they were saying, but he heard their happy voices, now talking, now laughing, and he spoke his thoughts.

"Hear that now, hear that! An' will any man tell me that a garding is a reel garding widout the sound o' merry voices? Sure, it's been so still here the past few weeks that I begun ter talk ter meself, just ter break the stillness, but it didn't do the trick, fer me voice ain't what yo calls 'moosicle.' Oh, hear them now! It does me good, so it does."

There was news, and a plenty of it to tell, and when Dorothy and Nancy had told the happenings at Glenmore, Mollie and Flossie took their turn, and related all the Merrivale news.

"You know Sidney Merrington used to be so lazy last winter that he didn't get on at all at school," said Flossie. "Arithmetic was all that really vexed him, but because he had low marking for that, he wouldn't try hard to do anything else.

"Well, Mollie promised to help him, (you needn't bother to poke me, Mollie, for I will tell) and she did help him every day, and after a while he began to help himself, and last week his average on the exam. was ninety-three. Wasn't that fine? He never would have got that if Mollie hadn't helped him."

"Mollie, you were dear," said Dorothy.

"And Tess Haughton is ever so much nicer than she was," Mollie said, "for she doesn't do anything now that seems,—why not quite true. That doesn't sound just as I mean it. I know how to say it now. I mean that she isn't sly. She is a good playmate, and a good friend."

"Oh, that's fine!" Dorothy and Nancy cried, as if with one voice.

"There's another fine thing to tell," said Flossie. "Reginald Dean, with the help of his big dog saved a little boy from drowning. Reginald saw him fall from the bridge, and he never stopped to think that he isn't very big himself, but jumped right in, and was doing his best to save him, when all at once his strength gave out, and he called for help. He never dreamed that his dog had followed him, until with a splash he jumped into the water close beside him, grabbed his clothes, and dragged the two boys out."

"Wasn't that great?" said Dorothy, her hands tightly clasped, her eyes shining. "Reginald has the new bicycle that he so wanted. His father gave it to him, because he had been brave enough to forget danger, and rush to aid the other boy," said Mollie, "and the dog is wearing a new collar with a brass plate on it, engraved, 'I'm a Life-Saver.'"

"Katie Dean said she was almost sure that she saw Patricia Levine yesterday," said Flossie, "but I said I thought she must still be away at school. Do you know where she is now?"

"She might have seen her, for she left Glenmore before we did," Dorothy said, and she was just in the midst of telling how Patricia had brought the big cat home, and next had appeared with a little dog, when Mollie said:

"Here she comes now. Why, she has a dog with her!"

"That's the one," said Nancy, "and she has him on a leash now, just as she did at Glenmore. I wonder if her aunt likes him. He tears and chews everything he can get hold of."

"Hello!" called Patricia, as soon as she saw them, then, "My! What did you and Nancy get sent home for?"

"We weren't sent home," Nancy said, indignantly.

"Now, Nancy Ferris, Glenmore doesn't close until next week, and here are you two at home."

"That is no sign that we were sent," said Dorothy. "Mother sent for us."

"Oh, was that it?" Patricia said saucily, and then turning to Mollie she asked:

"How do you like my dog? He isn't a pretty dog, but he knows everything, and he always minds. My friends think it is just wonderful the way he minds me. I taught him to. Stop!" she cried. "Stop, I tell you. I won't let you chew the edge of my skirt. Will you stop? Oh, well I don't care if you do chew it. It's an old dress, anyway."

She saw that he would not stop.

"I've named him Diogenes. I don't know who Diogenes was, but I liked the name and he's such a hand to dodge, I thought I'd call him 'Dodgy' for short. Well, I'm sure I don't see why you look so amused. I think I've chosen a grand name for him. Come on, Dodgy!" but the small dog lay down.

"Well, well, how you do act! Come on! Up the street! Come!"

The dog got up, yawned, and then, taking a good hold on the leash, he snatched it from Patricia's hand, and made off with it, as fast as he could scamper, Patricia after him at top speed.

"He minded me that time," she turned to say, then resumed her chase.

* * * * *

The next few days were filled with preparation for the trip to Foam Ridge, and Dorothy and Nancy could think of little else.

Both had felt the constraint at Glenmore which was really necessary at so large a school.

The freedom from study, with its fixed hours would be refreshing.

There would be fine surf at Foam Ridge, and the two had "tried on" their new bathing-suits at least a dozen times. They had studied the elaborate booklet that showed in colors, the beauty-spots of the place, and Dorothy had received a letter from Betty Chase, saying that in a short time she would be there to join them in their sports.

They were wondering what new friends they would make during the summer. Betty, they knew, would be a lively companion.

Of the gay summer at the shore, of the fun and frolic, of the unexpected things that happened, one may read in

"DOROTHY DAINTY AT FOAM RIDGE."



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THE DOROTHY DAINTY SERIES

By AMY BROOKS

Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by the Author

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Dorothy Dainty Dorothy's Playmates Dorothy Dainty at School Dorothy Dainty at the Shore Dorothy Dainty in the City Dorothy Dainty at Home Dorothy Dainty's Gay Times Dorothy Dainty in the Country Dorothy Dainty's Winter Dorothy Dainty in the Mountains Dorothy Dainty's Holidays Dorothy Dainty's Vacation

"LITTLE DOROTHY DAINTY is one of the most generous-hearted of children. Selfishness is not at all a trait of hers, and she knows the value of making sunshine, not alone in her own heart, but for her neighborhood and friends."—Boston Courier.

"DOROTHY DAINTY, a little girl, the only child of wealthy parents, is an exceedingly interesting character, and her earnest and interesting life is full of action and suitable adventure."—Pittsburg Christian Advocate.

"No finer little lady than Dorothy Dainty was ever placed in a book for children."—Teachers' Journal, Pittsburg.

"MISS BROOKS is a popular writer for the very little folks who can read. She has an immense sympathy for the children, and her stories never fail to be amusing."—Rochester (N.Y.) Herald.



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THE RANDY BOOKS

By AMY BROOKS

12mo CLOTH ARTISTIC COVER DESIGN IN GOLD AND COLORS

ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR PRICE, Net, $1.00 EACH



The progress of the "Randy Books" has been one continual triumph over the hearts of girls of all ages, for dear little fun-loving sister Prue is almost as much a central figure as Randy, growing toward womanhood with each book. The sterling good sense and simple naturalness of Randy, and the total absence of slang and viciousness, make these books in the highest degree commendable, while abundant life is supplied by the doings of merry friends, and there is rich humor in the droll rural characters.

Randy's Summer Randy's Good Times Randy's Winter Randy's Luck Randy and Her Friends Randy's Loyalty Randy and Prue Randy's Prince



"The Randy Books are among the very choicest books for young people to make a beginning with." —Boston Courier.

"The Randy Books of Amy Brooks have had a deserved popularity among young girls. They are wholesome and moral without being goody-goody." —Chicago Post.



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THE PRUE BOOKS

By AMY BROOKS

Illustrated by the Author 12mo Cloth Net, $1.00 each

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Cunning little Prue, one of the most winsome little girls ever "put in a book," has already been met in another series where she gave no small part of the interest. She well deserved books of her own for little girls of her age, and they are now ready with everything in the way of large, clear type, and Miss Brooks's best pictures and her pleasing cover designs to make them attractive.

Little Sister Prue Prue's Merry Times Prue at School Prue's Little Friends Prue's Playmates Prue's Jolly Winter

"Miss Brooks always brings out the best ways of acting and living and provides a good deal of humor in her original country characters."—Watchman, Boston.

"Few writers have ever possessed the faculty of reaching the hearts and holding the interest of little girl readers to the extent Miss Brooks has."—Kennebec Journal, Augusta, Me.

"To know Prue is to love her, for no more winsome little girl was ever put in a book, and her keen wit and unexpected drolleries make her doubly attractive."—Kindergarten Magazine.



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For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

Only Dollie

By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha Davidson Square 12mo Cloth $1.00 net



This is a brightly written story of a girl of twelve, who, when the mystery of her birth is solved, like Cinderella, passes from drudgery to better circumstances. There is nothing strained or unnatural at any point. All descriptions or portrayals of character are life-like, and the book has an indescribable appealing quality which wins sympathy and secures success.

"It is delightful reading at all times."—Cedar Rapids (Ia.) Republican.

"It is well written, the story runs smoothly, the idea is good, and it is handled with ability."—Chicago Journal.

The Little Girl Next Door

By NINA RHOADES. Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00 net

A delightful story of true and genuine friendship between an impulsive little girl in a fine New York home and a little blind girl in an apartment next door. The little girl's determination to cultivate the acquaintance, begun out of the window during a rainy day, triumphs over the barriers of caste, and the little blind girl proves to be in every way a worthy companion. Later a mystery of birth is cleared up, and the little blind girl proves to be of gentle birth as well as of gentle manners.

Winifred's Neighbors

By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha G. Davidson Large 12mo Cloth $1.00 net

Little Winifred's efforts to find some children of whom she reads in a book lead to the acquaintance of a neighbor of the same name, and this acquaintance proves of the greatest importance to Winifred's own family. Through it all she is just such a little girl as other girls ought to know, and the story will hold the interest of all ages.



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For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

The Children on the Top Floor



By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson, $1.00 net

In this book little Winifred Hamilton, the child heroine of "Winifred's Neighbors," reappears, living in the second of the four stories of a New York apartment house. On the top floor are two very interesting children, Betty, a little older than Winifred, who is now ten, and Jack, a brave little cripple, who is a year younger. In the end comes a glad reunion, and also other good fortune for crippled Jack, and Winifred's kind little heart has once more indirectly caused great happiness to others.

How Barbara Kept Her Promise

By NINA RHOADES Large 12mo Cloth Illustrated by Bertha Davidson $1.00 net

Two orphan sisters, Barbara, aged twelve, and little Hazel, who is "only eight," are sent from their early home in London to their mother's family in New York. Faithful Barbara has promised her father that she will take care of pretty, petted, mischievous Hazel, and how she tries to do this, even in the face of great difficulties, forms the story which has the happy ending which Miss Rhoades wisely gives to all her stories.

Little Miss Rosamond



By NINA RHOADES Illustrated by Bertha G. Davidson Large 12mo $1.00 net

Rosamond lives in Richmond, Va., with her big brother, who cannot give her all the comfort that she needs in the trying hot weather, and she goes to the seaside cottage of an uncle whose home is in New York. Here she meets Gladys and Joy, so well known in a previous book, "The Little Girl Next Door," and after some complications are straightened out, bringing Rosamond's honesty and kindness of heart into prominence, all are made very happy.

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For sale by all bookseller or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON

"Brick House Books"

By NINA RHOADES

Cloth 12mo Illustrated $1.00 net each

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Priscilla of the Doll Shop



The "Brick House Books," as they are called from their well-known cover designs, are eagerly sought by children all over the country. There are three good stories in this book, instead of one, and it is hard to say which little girls, and boys, too, for that matter, will like the best.

Brave Little Peggy

Peggy comes from California to New Jersey to live with a brother and sister whom she has not known since very early childhood. She is so democratic in her social ideas that many amusing scenes occur, and it is hard for her to understand many things that she must learn. But her good heart carries her through, and her conscientiousness and moral courage win affection and happiness.

The Other Sylvia



Eight-year-old Sylvia learns that girls who are "Kings' Daughters" pledge themselves to some kind act or service, and that one little girl named Mary has taken it upon herself to be helpful to all the Marys of her acquaintance. This is such an interesting way of doing good that she adopts it in spite of her unusual name, and really finds not only "the other Sylvia," but great happiness.

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For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO., BOSTON



TOP-OF-THE-WORLD STORIES

Translated from the Scandinavian Languages

By EMILIE POULSSON and LAURA POULSSON

Illustrated in two colors by Florence Liley Young

Price, Net, $1.25



These stories of magic and adventure come from the countries at the "top of the world," and will transport thither in fancy the children who read this unusual book. They tell of Lapps and reindeer (even a golden-horned reindeer!), of prince and herd-boy, of knights and wolves and trolls, of a boy who could be hungry and merry at the same time—of all these and more besides! Miss Poulsson's numerous and long visits to Norway, her father's land, and the fact that she is an experienced writer for children are doubtless the reasons why her translations are sympathetic and skilful, and yet entirely adapted to give wholesome pleasure to the young public that she knows so well.

"In these stories are the elements of wonder and magic and adventure that furnish the thrill so much appreciated by boys and girls ten or twelve years of age. An aristocratic book—one that every young person will be perpetually proud of."—Lookout, Cincinnati, O.

"In this book the children are transported to the land they love best, the land of magic, of the fairies and all kinds of wonderful happenings. It is one of the best fairy story books ever published."—Argus-Leader, Sioux Falls, S.D.

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For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Boston



YULE-TIDE IN MANY LANDS

By MARY P. PRINGLE and CLARA A. URANN

Fully illustrated and decorated

12mo Cloth Price, $1.25 Net



The varying forms of Christmas observance at different times and in different lands are entertainingly shown by one trained in choosing and presenting the best to younger readers. The symbolism, good cheer, and sentiment of the grandest of holidays are shown as they appeal in similar fashion to those whose lives seem so widely diverse. The first chapter tells of the Yule-Tide of the Ancients, and the eight succeeding chapters deal respectively with the observance of Christmas and New Year's, making up the time of "Yule," or the turning of the sun, in England, Germany, Scandinavia, Russia, France, Italy, Spain, and America. The space devoted to each country has at least one good illustration.

"The descriptions as presented in this well-prepared volume make interesting reading for all who love to come in loving contact with others in their high and pure enjoyments."—Herald-Presbyter, Cincinnati.

"The way Yule-Tide was and is celebrated is told in a simple and instructive way, and the narrative is enriched by appropriate poems and excellent illustrations."—Cleveland Plain Dealer.

"It is written for young people and is bound to interest them for the subject is a universal one."—American Church Sunday School Magazine.

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For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Boston



LITTLE FOLKS OF ANIMAL LAND

Photographed and described by

HARRY WHITTIER FREES

Sixty Full-page Pictures of Animal Pets, Costumed, Posed, and Photographed from Life Each with a Descriptive Story Square 8vo Cloth Photographic Cover-insert, End-leaves and Jacket

Price, Net, $1.50; Postpaid, $1.70



There is no other book like this, nor has there been. Mr. Frees has no equal in the posing and photographing of pet animals, especially kittens and puppies, which he delights to clothe in quaintly human style and cause to appear intently engaged in all manner of human duties and pastimes. His clever imagination also lends itself readily to entertaining story-telling. The result is a book that surprises and delights all who see it. Each of sixty half-tones from photographs of living, costumed pets is faced by a page of bright descriptive narrative. The continuation of story-interest is remarkably good, and the pictures are a wonderful proof of what skill can do when combined with patience and kindness.

"The novelty of the year in children's books, exquisitely illustrated and printed, and appealing to every lover of pets. The only way to really know and enjoy this wonderful volume is to get it and live with it. There is no other book like this, nor has there been any."—Universalist Leader.

"We hardly know of such a delicious book for little children, with sixty little stories and the same number of lovely full-page pictures of cats and dogs and dolls, for the delight of grown-ups just as surely as the little folks. It is a pleasant little feast all the way through for the eyes and the tender feelings."—Herald and Presbyter.

"There is a good deal of both fun and sentiment in the stories, and they will appeal to all lovers of pets."—Brooklyn Daily Eagle.

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For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Boston



THE SLEEPY-TIME STORY-BOOK

By RUTH O. DYER

With Frontispiece by ALICE BARBER STEPHENS and Fifty-four Pen-and-ink Illustrations by BERTHA DAVIDSON HOXIE Decorative End-leaves and Title-page

Price, Net, $1.00; Postpaid, $1.10



Intelligent mothers have learned better than to spoil the restful sleep of a child, and probably exert an unfortunate influence upon his disposition and character, by tales of ogres, dark woods, and savage beasts. They know he cannot rest well with his mind excited and his blood quickened by tales of adventure, but are at a loss to answer the natural plea for a bed-time story in a way that shall interest and yet soothe. The simple nature-stories in this attractive book are the prescription of an expert for all such cases. Using familiar objects, they, with words adapted to a lulling tone of voice, will hold the attention of a child until refreshing drowsiness comes to bring healthful rest.

"A unique and delightful volume of restful stories by which the mother may put her little child to bed. They meet not only the need of the mother who thinks she does not know how to tell stories, but their slow cadences must be almost magical in the way of lulling a child to refreshing drowsiness."—Bulletin of the American Institute of Child Life.

"In the fashion of prose lullabies, Ruth Dyer has put together a little volume of twenty-five short stories. Each deals with the things of every-day child experiences, and aside from the standpoint of nap-time stories, forms a pleasant lesson for the child consciousness in making it aware of its surroundings."—The Churchman.

"Pretty little bedside tales of the tranquilizing order are grouped in this neat little book for the pleasure of little people and the relief of mothers."—Detroit Free Press.

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For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. Boston



New Editions of Two Favorite Books

THE LANCE OF KANANA

A STORY OF ARABIA

By HARRY W. FRENCH ("Abd el Ardavan")

Two-color illustrations by Garrett Net, $1.00



Kanana, a Bedouin youth, though excelling in athletic prowess, is branded, even by his father, as a coward because he prefers the humble lot of a shepherd to the warrior's career that he, the son of a sheik known as the "Terror of the Desert," was expected to follow. "Only for Allah and Arabia will I lift a lance and take a life," he maintained. Opportunity to prove his worth soon comes, and the supposed coward, understood too late, becomes in memory a national hero.

"The stirring story of the loyalty and self-sacrifice of a Bedouin boy is well worth the attractive new edition in which it now presents its rare pictures of fervid patriotism."—Continent, Chicago.



THE ADVENTURES

OF MILTIADES PETERKIN PAUL

By JOHN BROWNJOHN

Frontispiece by John Goss Illustrated by "Boz"

Quarto Net, $1.00



Here is a child classic reissued in a finer and handsomer form, in response to the persistent demand of those who know the mirth-provoking quality of the exploits of the ingenious small boy named Miltiades Peterkin Paul and spoken of as "a great traveler, although he was small." Whoever has once enjoyed the story of the restless little lad who imitated Don Quixote, and did many other things, is permanently charmed by it.

"This youthful Don Quixote, with his travels and exploits, drives 'dull care' away from the elders and delights the juniors."—Watchman, N.Y.

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For sale by all booksellers or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the publishers

Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co., Boston



HOME ENTERTAINING

What to Do, and How to Do It

Edited by WILLIAM E. CHENERY

12mo Cloth Price, Net, $.75 Postpaid, $.85



This book is the product of years of study and the practical trying-out of every conceivable form of indoor entertainment. All the games, tricks, puzzles, and rainy-day and social-evening diversions have been practised by the editor; many are original with him, and many that are of course not original have been greatly improved by his intelligence. All are told in the plainest possible way, and with excellent taste. The book is well arranged and finely printed. At a low price it places within the reach of all the very best of bright and jolly means of making home what it ought to be—the best place for a good time by those of all ages.

THE END