"Oh, Polly, I thought you were never coming." Then he saw her face.

"That old—" he said under his breath. "Polly, don't ever go into her room again. I wouldn't," as they hurried off downstairs.

"She won't let me," said Polly, her head drooping, and the brightness all gone from her face. "She won't ever let me go again, I know."

"Won't let you? Well, I guess you'll not give her a chance," cried Jasper hotly. "Polly, I do really wish that father would tell her to go away."

"Oh, Jasper," cried Polly, in alarm, "don't say one word to Grandpapa. Promise me you won't, Jasper."

"Well, father is tired of her. She wears on him terribly, Polly," said Jasper gloomily.

"I know," said Polly sadly. "And oh, Jasper, if you say one word, he will really have her go. And I was so bad to her, you know," and the tears came into Polly's brown eyes.

"Well, she must have been perfectly terrible to you," said Jasper.

"Polly—Jasper—where are you?" came in old Mr. King's voice.

"Here, father," and "Here, Grandpapa," and Clare running up the steps, the little party was soon in the carriage.

"Promise me, Jasper, do," implored Polly, when Grandpapa was explaining to Cathie about the great actor they were to see, and Clare was listening to hear all about it, too.

"Oh, I won't," promised Jasper, "if you don't wish me to."

"I really wouldn't have you for all the world," declared Polly; and now that this fear was off from her mind, she began to pick up her old, bright spirits, so that by the time the carriage stopped at the theatre, Polly was herself again.

Jasper watched her keenly, and drew a long breath when he saw her talking and laughing with Grandpapa.

"You are going to sit next to me, Polly," said the old gentleman, marshalling his forces when well within. "And Jasper next. Then, Cathie, you will have a knight on either side."

"Oh, I can't sit between two boys," cried Cathie, forgetting herself in her terror.

"I won't bite you," cried Clare saucily.

"I will see that Clare behaves himself," said Jasper.

"You'll do nicely, my dear," said Mr. King encouragingly to her; then proceeded down the aisle after the usher. So there was nothing to do but to obey. And Cathie, who would have found it a formidable thing to be stranded on the companionship of one boy, found herself between two, and Polly Pepper far off, and not the least able to help.

"Now, then," said Jasper, taking up the program, "I suppose father told you pretty much all that was necessary to know about Irving. Well—" And then, without waiting for a reply, Jasper dashed on about the splendid plays in which he had seen this wonderful actor, and the particular one they were to enjoy to-night; and from that he drifted off to the fine points to be admired in the big playhouse, with its striking decorations, making Cathie raise her eyes to take it all in, until Clare leaned over to say:

"I should think you might give Cathie and me a chance to talk a little, Jasper."

"Oh, I don't want to talk," cried Cathie in terror. "I don't know anything to say."

"Well, I do," said Clare, in a dudgeon, "only Jasper goes on in such a streak to-night."

"I believe I have been talking you both blue," said Jasper, with a laugh.

"You certainly have," said Clare, laughing too.

And then Cathie laughed, and Polly Pepper, looking over, beamed at her, for she had begun to be worried.

"The best thing in the world," said old Mr. King, "was to turn her over to those two boys. Now, don't give her another thought, Polly; she'll get on."

And she did; so well, that before long, she and Clare were chatting away merrily; and Cathie felt it was by no means such a very terrible experience to be sitting between two boys at a play; and by the time the evening was half over, she was sure that she liked it very much.

And Polly beamed at her more than ever, and Jasper felt quite sure that he had never enjoyed an evening more than the one at present flying by so fast. And old Mr. King, so handsome and stately, showed such evident pride in his young charges, as he smiled and chatted, that more than one old friend in the audience commented on it.

"Did you ever see such a change in any one?" asked a dowager, levelling her keen glances from her box down upon the merry party.

"Never; it was the one thing needed to make him quite perfect," said another one of that set. "He is approachable now—absolutely fascinating, so genial and courteous."

"His manners were perfect before," said a third member of the box party, "except they needed thawing out—a bit too icy."

"You are too mild. I should say they were quite frozen. He never seemed to me to have any heart."

"Well, it's proved he has," observed her husband. "I tell you that little Pepper girl is going to make a sensation when she comes out," leaning over for a better view of the King party, "and the best of it is that she doesn't know it herself."

And Clare made up his mind that Cathie Harrison was an awfully nice girl; and he was real glad she had moved to town and joined the Salisbury School. And as he had two cousins there, they soon waked up a conversation over them.

"Only I don't know them much," said Cathie. "You see I haven't been at the school long, and besides, the girls didn't have much to say to me till Polly Pepper said nice things to me, and then she asked me to go to the bee."

"That old sewing thing where they make clothes for the poor little darkeys down South?" asked Clare.

"Yes; and it's just lovely," said Cathie, "and I never supposed I'd be asked. And Polly Pepper came down to my desk one day, and invited me to come to the next meeting, and I was so scared, I couldn't say anything at first; and then Polly got me into the Salisbury Club."

"Oh, yes, I know." Clare nodded, and wished he could forget how he had asked one of the other boys on that evening when the two clubs united, why in the world the Salisbury Club elected Cathie Harrison into its membership.

"And then Polly Pepper's mother invited me to visit her—Polly, I mean—and so here I am"—she forgot she was talking to a dreaded boy, and turned her happy face toward him—"and it's just lovely. I never visited a girl before."

"Never visited a girl before!" repeated Clare, in astonishment.

"No," said Cathie. "You see, my father was a minister, and we lived in the country, and when I visited anybody, which was only two or three times in my life, it was to papa's old aunts."

"Oh dear me!" exclaimed Clare faintly, quite gone in pity.

"And so your father moved to town," he said; and then he knew that he had made a terrible mistake.

"Now she won't speak a word—perhaps burst out crying," he groaned within himself, as he saw her face. But Cathie sat quite still.

"My papa died," she said softly, "and he told mamma before he went, to take me to town and have me educated. And one of those old aunts gave the money. And if it hadn't been for him, I'd have run home from the Salisbury School that first week, it was so perfectly awful."

Clare sat quite still. Then he burst out, "Well, now, Cathie, I think it was just splendid in you to stick on."

"Do you?" she cried, quite astonished to think any one would think she was "just splendid" in anything. "Why, the girls call me a goose over and over. And sometimes I lose my temper, because they don't say it in fun, but they really mean it."

"Well, they needn't," said Clare indignantly, "because I don't think you are a goose at all."

"Those two are getting on quite well," said Jasper to Polly. "I don't think we need to worry about Cathie any more."

"And isn't she nice?" asked Polly, in great delight.

"Yes, I think she is, Polly," said Jasper, in a way that gave Polly great satisfaction.

But when this delightful evening was all over, and the good nights had been said, and Mother Fisher, as was her wont, had come into Polly's room to help her take off her things, and to say a few words to Cathie too, Polly began to remember the scene in Mrs. Chatterton's room; and a sorry little feeling crept into her heart.

And when Mamsie had gone out and everything was quiet, Polly buried her face in her pillow, and tried not to cry. "I don't believe she will ever forgive me, or let me help her again."

"Polly," called Cathie softly from the next room, "I did have the most beautiful time!"

"Did you?" cried Polly, choking back her sobs. "Oh, I am so glad, Cathie!"

"Yes," said Cathie, "I did, Polly, and I'm not afraid of boys now; I think they are real nice."

"Aren't they!" cried Polly, "and weren't our seats fine! Grandpapa didn't want a box to-night, because we could see the play so much better from the floor. But we ought to go to sleep, Cathie, for Mamsie wouldn't like us to talk. Good night."

"Good night," said Cathie. "A box!" she said to herself, as she turned on her pillow, "oh, I should have died to have sat up in one of those. It was quite magnificent enough where I was."



XXII PICKERING DODGE

"Jasper!"

Jasper, rushing down the long hall of the Pemberton School, books in hand, turned to see Mr. Faber standing in the doorway of his private room.

"I want to see you, Jasper."

Jasper, with an awful feeling at his heart, obeyed and went in. "It's all up with Pick," he groaned, and sat down in the place indicated on the other side of the big round table, Mr. Faber in his accustomed seat, the big leather chair.

"You remember the conversation I had with you, Jasper," he said slowly; and picking up a paper knife he began playing with it, occasionally glancing up over his glasses at the boy.

Jasper nodded, unable to find any voice. Then he managed to say, "Yes, sir."

"Well, now, Jasper, it was rather an unusual thing to do, to set one lad, as it were, to work upon another in just that way. For I am sure I haven't forgotten my boyhood, long past as it is, and I realize that the responsibilities of school life are heavy enough, without adding to the burden."

Mr. Faber, well pleased with this sentiment, waited to clear his throat. Jasper, in an agony, as he saw Pickering Dodge expelled, and all the dreadful consequences, sat quite still.

"At the same time, although I disliked to take you into confidence, making you an assistant in the work of reclaiming Pickering Dodge from his idle, aimless state, in which he exhibited such a total disregard for his lessons, it appeared after due consideration to be the only thing left to be done. You understand this, I trust, Jasper."

Jasper's reply this time was so low as to be scarcely audible. But Mr. Faber, taking it for granted, manipulated the paper knife a few times, and went on impressively.

"I am very glad you do, Jasper. I felt sure, knowing you so well, that my reasons would appeal to you in the right way. You are Pickering's best friend among my scholars."

"And he is mine," exploded Jasper, thinking wildly that it was perhaps not quite too late to save Pickering. "I've known him always, sir." He was quite to the edge of his chair now, his dark eyes shining, and his hair tossed back. "Beg pardon, Mr. Faber, but I can't help it. Pickering is so fine; he's not like other boys."

"No, I believe you." Mr. Faber smiled grimly and gave the paper knife another whirl. And much as Jasper liked him, that smile seemed wholly unnecessary, and to deal death to his hopes.

"He certainly is unlike any other boy in my school in regard to his studying," he said. "His capacity is not wanting, to be sure; there was never any lack of that. For that reason I was always hoping to arouse his ambition."

"And you can—oh, you can, sir!" cried Jasper eagerly, although he felt every word he said to be unwelcome, "if you will only try him a bit longer. Don't send him off yet, Mr. Faber."

He got off from his chair, and leaned on the table heavily.

"Don't send him off?" repeated Mr. Faber, dropping the paper knife, "what is the boy talking of! Why, Jasper—I've called you in here to tell you how much Pickering has improved and—"

Jasper collapsed on his chair. "And is it possible that you haven't seen it for yourself, Jasper?" exclaimed Mr. Faber. "Why, every teacher is quite delighted. Even Mr. Dinsmore—and he was in favor of at least suspending Pickering last half—has expressed his opinion that I did well to give the boy another trial."

"I thought—" mumbled Jasper, "I was afraid." Then he pulled himself together, and somehow found himself standing over by Mr. Faber's chair, unbosoming himself of his fright and corresponding joy.

"Pull your chair up nearer, Jasper," said Mr. Faber, when, the first transport having worked off, Jasper seemed better fitted for conversation, "and we will go over this in a more intelligent fashion. I am really more pleased than I can express at the improvement in that boy. As I said before"—Mr. Faber had long ago thrown aside the paper knife, and now turned toward Jasper, his whole attention on the matter in hand—"Pickering has a fine capacity; take it all in all, perhaps there is none better in the whole school. It shows to great advantage now, because he has regained his place so rapidly in his classes. It is quite astonishing, Jasper." And he took off his glasses and polished them up carefully, repeating several times during the process, "Yes, very surprising indeed!"

"And he seems to like to study now," said Jasper, ready to bring forward all the nice things that warranted encouragement.

"Does he so?" Mr. Faber set his glasses on his nose, and beamed at him over them. The boys at the Pemberton School always protested that this was the only use they could be put to on the master's countenance. "Well, now, Jasper, I really believe I am justified in entertaining a very strong hope of Pickering's future career. And I see no reason why he should not be ready for college with you, and without conditions, if he will only keep his ambition alive and active, now it is aroused."

"May I tell him so?" cried Jasper, almost beside himself with joy. "Oh, may I, Mr. Faber?"

"Why, that is what I called you in here for, Jasper," said the master. "It seemed so very much better for him to hear it from a boy, for I remember my own boyhood, though so very long since; and the effect will, I feel sure, be much deeper than if Pickering hears it from me. He is very tired of this study, Jasper," and Mr. Faber glanced around at the four walls, and again came that grim smile. "And even to hear a word of commendation, it might not be so pleasing to be called in. So away with you. At the proper time, I shall speak to him myself."

Jasper, needing no second bidding, fled precipitately—dashed in again. "Beg pardon, I'd forgotten my books." He seized them from the table, and made quick time tracking Pickering.

"Where is Pick?" rushing up to a knot of boys on a corner of the playground, just separating to go home.

"Don't know; what's up, King?"

"Can't stop," said Jasper, flying back to the schoolroom. "I must get Pick."

"Dodge has gone," shouted a boy clearing the steps, who had heard the last words. So Jasper, turning again, left school and playground far behind, to run up the steps of the Cabot mansion.

"Pickering here?"

"Yes." The butler had seen him hurrying over the stairs to his own room just five minutes ago. And in less than a minute Jasper was up in that same place.

There sat Pickering by his table, his long legs upon its surface, and his hands thrust into his pockets. His books sprawled just where he had thrown them, at different angles along the floor.

"Hullo!" cried Jasper, flying in, to stop aghast at this.

"Yes, you see, Jasper, I'm played out," said Pickering. "It isn't any use for me to study, and there are the plaguey things," pulling out one set of fingers to point to the sprawling books. "I can't catch up. Every teacher looks at me squint-eyed as if I were a hopeless case, which I am!"

"Oh, you big dunce!" Jasper clapped his books on the table with a bang, making Pickering draw down his long legs, rushed around to precipitate himself on the rest of the figure in the chair, when he pommelled him to his heart's content.

"If you expect to beat any hope into me, old boy," cried Pickering, not caring in the least for the onslaught, "you'll miss your guess."

"I'm hoping to beat sense into you," cried Jasper, pounding away, "though it looks almost impossible now," he declared, laughing. "Pick, you've won! Mr. Faber says you've come up in classes splendidly, and—"

Pickering sprang to his feet. "What do you mean, Jasper?" he cried hoarsely, his face white as a sheet.

"Just what I say."

"Say it again."

So Jasper went all over it once more, adding the other things about getting into college and all that, as much as Pickering would hear.

"Honest?" he broke in, his pale face getting a dull red, and seizing Jasper by the shoulders.

"Did I ever tell you anything that wasn't so, Pick?"

"No; but I can't believe it, Jap. It's the first time in my life I've—I've—" And what incessant blame could not do, praise achieved. Pickering rushed to the bed, flung himself face down upon it, and broke into a torrent of sobs.

Jasper, who had never seen Pickering cry, had wild thoughts of rushing for Mrs. Cabot; the uncle was not at home. But remembering how little good this could possibly do, he bent all his energies to stop this unlooked-for flood.

But he was helpless. Having never given way in this manner before, Pickering seemed determined to make a thorough job of it. And it was not till he was quite exhausted that he rolled over, wiped his eyes, and looked at Jasper.

"I'm through," he announced.

"I should think you might well be," retorted Jasper; "what with scaring me almost to death, you've made yourself a fright, Pick, and you've just upset all your chances to study to-day."

Pickering flung himself off the bed as summarily as he had gone on.

"That's likely, isn't it?" he cried mockingly, and shamefacedly scrabbling up the books from the floor. "Now, then," and he was across the room, pouring out a basinful of water, to thrust his swollen face within it.

"Whew! I never knew it used a chap up so to cry," he spluttered. "Goodness me!" He withdrew his countenance from the towel to regard Jasper.

"How you look!" cried Jasper, considering it better to rail at him.

Whereupon Pickering found his way to the long mirror. "I never was a beauty," he said.

"And now you are less," laughed Jasper.

"But I'm good," said Pickering solemnly, and flinging himself down to his books.

"You can't study with such eyes," cried Jasper, tugging at the book.

"Clear out!"

"I'm not going. Pick, your eyes aren't much bigger than pins."

"But they're sharp—just as pins are. Leave me alone." Pickering squirmed all over his chair, but Jasper had the book.

"Never mind, I'll fly at my history, then," said Pickering, possessing himself of another book; "that's the beauty of it. I'm as backward in all of my lessons as I am in one. I can strike in anywhere."

"You are not backward in any now," cried Jasper in glee, and performing an Indian war dance around the table. "Forward is the word henceforth," he brought up dramatically with another lunge at Pickering.

"Get out. You better go home."

"I haven't the smallest intention of going," replied Jasper, and successfully coming off with a second book.

"Here's for book number three," declared Pickering—but too late. Jasper seized the remaining two, tossed them back of him, then squared off.

"Come on for a tussle, old fellow. You're not fit to study—ruin your eyes. Come on!" his whole face sparkling.

It was too much. The table was pushed one side; books and lessons, Mr. Faber and college, were as things never heard of. And for a good quarter of an hour, Pickering, whose hours of exercise had been much scantier of late, was hard pushed to parry all Jasper's attacks. At the last, when the little clock on the mantel struck four, he came out ahead.

"I declare, that was a good one," he exclaimed in a glow.

"Particularly so to you," said Jasper ruefully. "You gave me a regular bear-hug, you scamp."

"Had to, to pay you up."

"And now you may study," cried Jasper gaily; and snatching his books, he ran off.

"Oh, Pick," putting his head in at the door.

"Yes?"

"If the lessons are done, come over this evening, will you?"

"All right." The last sound of Jasper's feet on the stairs reached Pickering, when he suddenly left his chair and flew into the hall.

"Jap—oh, I say, Jap!" Then he plunged back into his room to thrust his head out of the window. "Jap!" he howled, to the consternation of a fat old gentleman passing beneath, who on account of his size, finding it somewhat inconvenient to look up, therefore waddled into the street, and surveyed the house gravely.

Pickering slammed down the window, leaving the old gentleman to stare as long as he saw fit.

"I can't go over there to-night, looking like this." He pranced up to the mirror again, fuming every step of the way, and surveyed himself in dismay. There was some improvement in the appearance of his countenance, to be sure, but not by any means enough to please him. His pale blue eyes were so small, and their surroundings so swollen, that they reminded him of nothing so much as those of a small pig he had made acquaintance with in a visit up in the country. While his nose, long and usually quite aristocratic-looking, had resigned all claims to distinction, and was hopelessly pudgy.

"Jasper knows I can't go in this shape," he cried in a fury. "Great Caesar's ghost! I never supposed it banged a fellow up so, to cry just once!" And the next moments were spent in sopping his face violently with the wet towel, which did no good, as it had been plentifully supplied with that treatment before.

At last he flung himself into his chair. "If I don't go over, Jap will think I haven't my lessons, so that's all right. And I won't have them anyway if I don't tackle them pretty quick. So here goes!" And presently the only sound to be heard was the ticking of the little clock, varied by the turning of his pages, or the rattling of the paper on which he was working out the problems for to-morrow.

"Oh dear me! Jasper," Polly exclaimed about half-past seven, "I don't believe Pickering is coming."

"He hasn't his lessons, I suppose," said Jasper. "You know I told him to come over as soon as they were done. Well, Polly, we agreed, you know, to let him alone as to invitations until the lessons were out of the way, so I won't go over after him."

"I know," said Polly, "but oh, Jasper, isn't it just too elegant for anything, to think that Mr. Faber says it's all right with him?"

"I should think it was," cried Jasper. "Now if he only keeps on, Polly."

"Oh, he must; he will," declared Polly confidently. "Well, we can put off toasting marshmallows until to-morrow night."

About this time, Pickering, whose lessons were all done, for he had, as Mr. Faber had said, "a fine capacity" to learn, was receiving company just when he thought he was safe from showing his face.

"Let's stop for Pickering Dodge," proposed Alexia, Clare having run in for her to go over to Polly Pepper's, "to toast marshmallows and have fun generally."

"All right; so we can," cried Clare. So they turned the corner and went down to the Cabot mansion, and were let in before the old butler could be stopped.

Pickering, whose uncle and aunt were out for the evening, had felt it safe to throw himself down on the library sofa. When he saw that John had forgotten what he told him, not to let anybody in, he sprang up; but not before Alexia, rushing in, had cried, "Oh, here you are! Come on with us to Polly Pepper's!" Clare dashed in after her.

"Ow!" exclaimed Pickering, seizing a sofa pillow, to jam it against his face.

"What is the matter?" cried Alexia. "Oh, have you a toothache?"

"Worse than that," groaned Pickering behind his pillow.

"Oh, my goodness me!" exclaimed Alexia, tumbling back. "What can it be?"

"You haven't broken your jaw, Pick?" observed Clare. "I can't imagine that."

"I'll break yours if you don't go," said Pickering savagely, and half smothered, as he tried to keep the pillow well before the two pairs of eyes.

This was a little difficult, as Clare, seeing hopes of running around the pillow, set himself in motion to that end. But as Pickering whirled as fast as he did, there was no great gain.

"Well, if I ever did!" exclaimed Alexia, quite aghast.

And the next moment Pickering, keeping a little opening at one end of the pillow, saw his chance; darted out of the door, and flinging the pillow the length of the hall, raced into his own room and slammed the door, and they could hear him lock it.

"Well, if I ever did!" exclaimed Alexia again, and sinking into the first chair, she raised both hands.

"What's got into the beggar?" cried Clare in perplexity, and looking out into the hall, as if some help to the puzzle might be found there.

"Well, I guess you and I, Alexia, might as well go to Polly Pepper's," he said finally.

"And if I ever come after that boy again to tell him of anything nice that's going to happen, I miss my guess," declared Alexia, getting herself out of her chair, in high dudgeon. "Let's send Jasper after him; he's the only one who can manage him," she cried, as they set forth.

"Good idea," said Clare.

But when Alexia told of their funny reception, Jasper first stared, then burst out laughing. And although Alexia teased and teased, she got no satisfaction.

"It's no use, Alexia," Jasper said, wiping his eyes, "you won't get me to tell. So let's set about having some fun. What shall we do?"

"I don't want to do anything," pouted Alexia, "only to know what made Pickering Dodge act in that funny way."

"And that's just what you won't know, Alexia," replied Jasper composedly. "Well, Polly, you are going to put off toasting the marshmallows, aren't you, till to-morrow night, when Pick can probably come?"

"Oh, I wouldn't wait for him," Alexia burst out, quite exasperated, "when he's acted so. And perhaps he'd come with an old sofa pillow before his face, if you did."

"Oh, no, he won't, Alexia," said Jasper, going off into another laugh. But although she teased again, she got no nearer to the facts. And Polly proposing that they make candy, the chafing dish was gotten out; and Alexia, who was quite an adept in the art, went to work, Jasper cracking the nuts, and Polly and Clare picking out the meats.

And then all the story of Pickering's splendid advance in the tough work of making up his lessons came out, Jasper pausing so long to dilate with kindling eyes upon it, that very few nuts fell into the dish. So Polly's fingers were the only ones to achieve much, as Clare gave so close attention to the story that he was a very poor helper.

In the midst of it, Alexia threw down the chafing-dish spoon, and clapped her hands. "Oh, I know!" she exclaimed.

"Oh," cried Polly, looking up from the little pile of nut-meats, "how you scared me, Alexia!"

"I know—I know!" exclaimed Alexia again, and nodding to herself wisely.

Jasper threw her a quick glance. It said, "If you know, don't tell, Alexia." And she flashed back, "Did you suppose I would?"

"What do you know?" demanded Clare, transferring his attention from Jasper to her. "Tell on, Alexia; what do you know?"

"Oh, my goodness me! this candy never will be done in time for those meats," cried Alexia, picking up the spoon to stir away for dear life. And Jasper dashed in on what Mr. Faber said about Pickering's chances for college; a statement that completely carried Clare off his feet, so to speak.

"You don't mean that he thinks Pick will get in without conditions?" gasped Clare, dumfounded.

"Yes, I do." Jasper nodded brightly. "If Pick will only study; keep it up, you know, I mean to the end. He surely said it, Clare."

It was so much for Clare to think of, that he didn't have any words at his command.

"Now isn't that perfectly splendid in Pickering!" cried Alexia, making the spoon fly merrily. "Oh dear me! I forgot to put in the butter. Where—oh, here it is," and she tossed in a big piece. "To think that—oh dear me, I forgot! I did put the butter in before. Now I've spoilt it," and she threw down the spoon in despair.

"Fish it out," cried Polly, hopping up and seizing the spoon to make little dabs at the ball of butter now rapidly lessening.

"But it's melted—that is, almost—oh dear me!" cried Alexia.

"No, it isn't; there, see how big it is." Polly landed it deftly on the plate and hopped back to her nut-meats again.

"And I should think you'd better shake yourself, Clare," said Jasper, over at him. "We shouldn't have any nuts in this candy if it depended on you."

"You do tell such astounding stories," cried Clare, setting to work at once. And Jasper making as much noise as he could while cracking his nuts, Alexia's secret was safe.

But when the candy was set out to cool, and there was a pause in which the two boys were occupied by themselves, Alexia pulled Polly off to a corner.

"Where are they going?" asked Clare, with one eye after them.

"Oh, they have something to talk over, I presume," said Jasper carelessly.

"Nonsense! they've all the time every day. Let's go over and see."

"Oh, no," said Jasper. "Come on, Clare, and let's see if the candy is cool." But Clare didn't want to see if the candy was cool, nor anything else but to have his own way. So he proceeded over to the corner by himself.

"Oho! You go right away!" cried Alexia, poking up her head over Polly's shoulder. "You dreadful boy! Now, Polly, come." And she pulled her off into the library.

"You see you didn't get anything for your pains," said Jasper, bursting into a laugh. "You'd much better have staid here."

"Well, I don't want to know, anyway," said Clare, taking a sudden interest in the candy. "I believe it is cold, Jasper; let's look."

"Polly," Alexia was saying in the library behind the portieres, "I know now; because I did it once myself: it was when you first promised you'd be a friend to me, and I went home, and cried for very joy. And I didn't want to see anybody that night."

"Oh, Alexia!" exclaimed Polly, giving her a hug that satisfied even Alexia.

"No, I didn't; and I remember how I wanted to hold something up to my face. I never thought of a sofa pillow, and I couldn't have gotten it if I had thought, 'cause aunt had it crammed against her back. Oh, my eyes were a sight, Polly, and my nose was all over my face."



XXIII THE CLEMCY GARDEN PARTY

"You may go on those errands, Hortense, but first send Polly Pepper to me," commanded Mrs. Chatterton sharply.

The French maid paused in the act of hanging up a gown. "I will re-quest her, Madame. I should not like to send Mees Polly Peppaire."

"Miss Polly Pepper!" Mrs. Chatterton was guilty of stamping her foot. "Are you mad? I am speaking of Polly Pepper, this country girl, who is as poor and low-born here in this house, as if in her little brown house, wherever that may be."

Hortense shrugged her shoulders, and hung up the gown.

"Has Madame any further commands for me?" she asked, coming up to her mistress.

"Yes; be sure to get the velvet at Lemaire's, and take back the silk kimono. I will send to New York for one."

"Yes, Madame."

"That is all—besides the other errands. Now go." She dismissed her with a wave of her shapely hand. "But first, as I bade you, send Polly Pepper to me."

Hortense, with another elevation of her shoulders, said nothing, till she found herself the other side of the door. Then she shook her fist at it.

"It ees not Miss Polly who will be sent for; it ees Madame who will be sent out of dees house, j'ai peur—ha, ha, ha!"

She laughed softly to herself all the way downstairs, with an insolent little fling to her head, that boded ill for her mistress's interests.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Chatterton was angrily pacing up and down the room. "What arrant nonsense a man can be capable of when he is headstrong to begin with! To think of the elegant Horatio King, a model for all men, surrounding himself with this commonplace family. Faugh! It is easy enough to see what they are all after. But I shall prevent it. Meanwhile, the only way to do it is to break the spirit of this Polly Pepper. Once do that, and I have the task easy to my hand."

She listened intently. "It can't be possible she would refuse to come. Ha! I thought so."

Polly came quietly in. No one to see her face would have supposed that she had thrown aside the book she had been waiting weeks to read, so that lessons and music need not suffer. For she was really glad when Mrs. Chatterton's French maid asked her respectfully if she would please be so good as to step up to her mistress's apartments, "s'il vous plait, Mees Polly."

"Yes, indeed," cried Polly, springing off from the window-seat, and forgetting the enchanted story-land immediately in the rush of delight. "Oh, I have another chance to try to please her," she thought, skimming over the stairs. But she was careful to restrain her steps on reaching the room.

"You may take that paper," said Mrs. Chatterton, seating herself in her favorite chair, "and read to me. You know the things I desire to hear, or ought to." She pointed to the society news, Town Talk, lying on the table.

Polly took it up, glad to be of the least service, and whirled it over to get the fashion items, feeling sure that now she was on the right road to favor.

"Don't rattle it," cried Mrs. Chatterton, in a thin, high voice.

"I'll try not to," said Polly, wishing she could be deft-handed like Mamsie, and doing her best to get to the inner page quietly.

"And why don't you read where you are?" cried Mrs. Chatterton. "Begin on the first page. I wish to hear that first."

Polly turned the sheet back again, and obeyed. But she hadn't read more than a paragraph when she came to a dead stop.

"Go on," commanded Mrs. Chatterton, her eyes sparkling. She had forgotten to play with her rings, being perfectly absorbed in the delicious morsels of exceedingly unsavory gossip she was hearing.

Polly laid the paper in her lap, and her two hands fell upon it. "Oh, Mrs. Chatterton," she cried, the color flying from her cheek, "please let me read something else to you. Mamsie wouldn't like me to read this." The brown eyes filled with tears, and she leaned forward imploringly.

"Stuff and nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately. "I command you to read that, girl. Do you hear me?"

"I cannot," said Polly, in a low voice. "Mamsie wouldn't like it." But it was perfectly distinct, and fell upon the angry ears clearly; and storm as she might, Mrs. Chatterton knew that the little country maiden would never bend to her will in this case.

"I would have you to know that I understand much better than your mother possibly can, what is for your good to read. Besides, she will never know."

"Mamsie knows every single thing that we children do," cried Polly decidedly, and lifting her pale face; "and she understands better than any one else about what we ought to do, for she is our mother."

"What arrant nonsense!" exclaimed Mrs. Chatterton passionately, and unable to control herself at the prospect of losing Polly for a reader, which she couldn't endure, as she thoroughly enjoyed her services in that line. She got out of her chair, and paced up and down the long apartment angrily, saying all sorts of most disagreeable things, that Polly only half heard, so busy was she debating in her own mind what she ought to do. Should she run out of the room, and leave this dreadful old woman that every one in the house was tired of? Surely she had tried enough to please her, but she could not do what Mamsie would never approve of. And just as Polly had about decided to slip out, she looked up.

Mrs. Chatterton, having exhausted her passion, as it seemed to do no good, was returning to her seat, with such a dreary step and forlorn expression that she seemed ten years older. She really looked very feeble, and Polly broke out impulsively, "Oh, let me read the other part of the paper, dear Mrs. Chatterton. May I?"

"Read it," said Mrs. Chatterton ungraciously, and sat down in her favorite chair.

Polly, scarcely believing her ears, whirled over the sheet, and determined to read as well as she possibly could, managed to throw so much enthusiasm into the fashion hints and social items, that presently Mrs. Chatterton's eyes were sparkling again, although she was deprived of her unsavory morsels.

And before long she was eagerly telling Polly to read over certain dictates of the Paris correspondent, who was laying down the law for feminine dress, and calling again for the last information of the movements of members of her social set, till there could be no question of her enjoyment.

Polly, not knowing or caring how long she had been thus occupied, so long as Mrs. Chatterton was happy, was only conscious that Hortense came back from the errands, which occasioned only a brief pause.

"Put the parcels down," said Mrs. Chatterton, scarcely glancing at her, "I cannot attend to you now. Go on, Polly."

So Polly went on, until the fashionable and social world had been so thoroughly canvassed that even Mrs. Chatterton was quite convinced that she could get no more from the paper.

"You may go now," she said, but with a hungry glance for the first page. Then she tore her gaze away, and repeated more coldly than ever, "You may go."

Polly ran off, dismayed to find how happy she was at the release. Her feet, unaccustomed to sitting still so long, were numb, and little prickles were running up and down her legs. She hurried as fast as she could into Mamsie's room, feeling in need of all the good cheer she could find.

"Mrs. Fisher has gone out," said Jane, going along the hall.

"Gone out!" repeated Polly, "Oh, where? Do you know, Jane?"

"I don't exactly know," said Jane, "but she took Miss Phronsie; and I think it's shopping they went for. Mr. King has taken them in the carriage."

"Oh, I know it is," cried Polly, and a dreadful feeling surged through her. Why had she spent all this time with that horrible old woman, and lost this precious treat!

"They thought you had gone to the Salisbury School," said Jane, wishing she could give some comfort, "for they wanted you awfully to go."

"And now I've lost it all," cried Polly at a white heat—"all this perfectly splendid time with Grandpapa and Mamsie and Phronsie just for the sake of a horrible—"

Then she broke short off, and ran back into Mamsie's room, and flung herself down by the bed, just as she used to do by the four-poster in the bedroom of the little brown house.

"Why, Polly, child!" Mother Fisher's voice was very cheery as she came in, Phronsie hurrying after.

"I don't see her," began Phronsie in a puzzled way, and peering on all sides. "Where is she, Mamsie?"

Mrs. Fisher went over and laid her hand on Polly's brown head. "Now, Phronsie, you may run out, that is a good girl." She leaned over, and set a kiss on Phronsie's red lips.

"Is Polly sick?" asked Phronsie, going off to the door obediently, but looking back with wondering eyes.

"No, dear, I think not," said Mrs. Fisher. "Run along, dear."

"I am so glad she isn't sick," said Phronsie, as she went slowly off. Yet she carried a troubled face.

"I ought to go and see how Sinbad is," she decided, as she went downstairs. This visit was an everyday performance, to be carefully gone through with. So she passed out of the big side doorway, to the veranda.

"There is Michael now," she cried joyfully, espying that individual raking up the west lawn. So skipping off, she flew over to him. This caught the attention of little Dick from the nursery window.

"Hurry up there!" he cried crossly to Battles, who was having a hard time anyway getting him into a fresh sailor suit.

"Oh, Dicky—Dicky!" called mamma softly from her room.

"I can't help it, mamma; Battles is slow and poky," he fumed.

"Oh, no, dear," said his mother; "Battles always gets you ready very swiftly, as well as nicely."

Battles, a comfortable person, turned her round face with a smile toward the door. "And if you was more like your mamma, Master Dick, you'd be through with dressing, and make everything more pleasant to yourself and to every one else."

"Well, I'm not in the least like mamma, Battles; I can't be."

"No, indeed, you ain't. But you can try," said Battles encouragingly.

"Why, Battles Whitney!" exclaimed Dick, whirling around on her. In astonishment, or any excitement, Dicky invariably gave her the whole name that he felt she ought to possess; "Mrs. Mara Battles" not being at all within his comprehension. "What an awful story!"

"Dicky—Dicky!" reproved Mrs. Whitney.

"Well, I can't help it, mamma." Dick now escaped from Battles' hands altogether, and fled into the other room, the comfortable person following. "She said"—plunging up to her chair in great excitement—"that I could be like you."

"I said you could try to be," corrected Battles, smoothing down her apron.

"And she knows I can't ever be, in all this world," declared Dick, shaking his short curls in decision, and glancing back to see the effect, "for you're a woman, and I'm always going to be a man. Why, see how big I am now!" He squared off, and strutted up and down the little boudoir.

"And you'd be bigger if you'd let me fix your blouse and button it up," declared Battles, laughing, and bearing down on him to fasten the band and tuck in the vest. "And if you were more like your mother in disposition—that's what I mean—'twould be a sight comfortabler for you and every one else. Now, says I, your hair's got to be brushed." And she led him back into the nursery, laughing all the way.

"What makes you shake so when you laugh, Battles?" asked Dick suddenly, and ignoring all references to his disposition.

"Can't help it," said Battles, beginning work on the curls; "that's because there's so much of me, I suppose," and she laughed more than ever.

"There's so very much of you, Battles," observed Dick with a critical look all over her rotund figure. "What makes it?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Battles. "Stand still, Dicky, and I'll be through all the sooner. Some folks is big and round, and some folks is little and scrawny."

"What's scrawny?" asked Dick, who always got as many alleviations by conversation as possible out of the detested hair-brushing.

"Why, thin and lean."

"Oh, well, go on, Battles."

"And I'm one of the big and round ones," said Battles, seeing no occasion in that statement to abate her cheerfulness. So she laughed again.

"I like you big and round, Battles," cried little Dick affectionately, and whirling about so suddenly as to endanger his eye with the comb doing good execution. And he essayed to put his arms around her waist, which he was always hoping to be able to accomplish.

"That's good," said Battles, laughing, well pleased. "But you mustn't jump around so. There now, in a minute you shall be off." And she took up the brush.

"I must," declared Dick, remembering his sight of Phronsie running across the lawn; "do hurry, Battles," he pleaded, which so won her heart that she abridged part of the brushing, and let him scamper off.

Phronsie was kneeling down in front of Sinbad's kennel.

"Can't you untie him to-day, Michael?" she asked, a question she had propounded each morning since the boys went back to school.

"Yes, Miss Phronsie, I think I can; he's wonted now, and the other dogs are accustomed to him. Besides, I've locked up Jerry since he fit him."

"I know," said Phronsie sorrowfully; "that was naughty of Jerry when Sinbad had only just come."

Michael scratched his head. He couldn't tell her what was on his mind, that Sinbad was scarcely such a dog as any one would buy, and therefore his presence was not to be relished by the high-bred animals already at home on the place.

"Well, you know, Miss Phronsie," he said at last, "it's kinder difficult like, to expect some dogs to remember their manners; and Jerry ain't like all the others in that respect."

"Please tell him about it," said Phronsie earnestly, "how good Prince is to Sinbad, and then I guess he'll want to be like him." For Phronsie had never swerved in her allegiance to Prince ever since he saved her from the naughty organ man in the little-brown-house days. And in all her conversations with the other dogs she invariably held up Jasper's big black dog, his great friend and companion since pinafore days, as their model.

And just then Dicky ran up breathlessly.

"Dick," announced Phronsie excitedly, "Michael is going to let Sinbad out to-day." And she clasped her hands in delight.

"Jolly!" exclaimed Dick, capering about.

"Now, Master Dick, you must let the dog alone," cried Michael. "It's time to try him with his freedom a bit. He's chafin' at that chain." He looked anxiously at Dick. "Stand off there, both of you," and he slipped the chain off.

Sinbad gave a little wiggle with his hind legs, and stretched his yellow body. It was too good to be true! But it was, though; he was free, and he shot out from his kennel, which was down in the gardener's quarters, and quite removed from the other dogs, and fairly tore—his ragged little tail straight out—across the west lawn.

"Oh, he'll run back to Joel at school," cried Dick, who had heard Joel say he must be tied at first when everything was strange; and he started on a mad run after him.

"You stay still," roared Michael; "that dog is only stretchin' his legs. He'll come back." But as well tell the north wind to stop blowing. Dicky's blouse puffed out with the breeze, as his small legs executed fine speed.

"Oh, Michael!" cried Phronsie in the greatest distress, "make Dicky come back."

"Oh, he'll come back," said Michael reassuringly, though he quaked inwardly. And so Dicky did. But it was now a matter of Sinbad chasing him; for as Michael had said, the dog, after stretching his legs as the mad rush across the lawn enabled him to do, now was very much pleased to return for a little petting at the hands of those people who had given him every reason to expect that he should receive it; and supposing, from Dick's chase after him, that a race was agreeable, he set forth; his ears, as ragged as his tail, pricked up in the fullest enjoyment of the occasion.

But Dick saw nothing in it to enjoy. And exerting all his strength to keep ahead, which he couldn't do as well for the reason that he was screaming fearfully, Sinbad came up with him easily. Dicky, turning his head in mad terror at that instant, stumbled and fell. Sinbad, unable to stop at short notice, or rather no notice at all, rolled over with him in a heap.

This brought all the stable-boys to the scene, besides Mrs. Whitney who had seen some of the affair from her window; and finally, when everything was beginning to be calmed down, Battles reached the lawn.

Sinbad was in Phronsie's lap, who sat on the grass, holding him tightly.

"Oh, Phronsie!" gasped Mrs. Whitney at that. "Michael, do take him away," as she fled by to Dick. One of the stable-boys was brushing off the grime from his sailor suit.

"The dog is all right, ma'am," said Michael, "'twas only play; I s'pose Master Joel has raced with him."

"'Twas only play," repeated little Dick, who, now that he found himself whole, was surprised the idea hadn't occurred to him before. "Hoh! I'm not hurt, and I'm going to race with him again."

"Not to-day, Dicky," said Mrs. Whitney, looking him all over anxiously.

"He's all right, ma'am," declared Michael; "they just rolled over together, 'cause, you see, ma'am, the dog couldn't stop, he was a-goin' so fast, when the youngster turned right in his face."

And Dick, to prove his soundness of body and restoration of mind, ran up to Phronsie, and flung himself down on the grass by her side.

Sinbad received him as a most pleasant acquaintance, cocked up his ragged ears, and tried to wag his poor little scrubby tail, never quite getting it into his head that it wasn't long and graceful. And then he set upon the task of licking Dick's hands all over, and as much of his face as was possible to compass.

"See that now," cried Michael triumphantly, pointing, "that dog mayn't be handsome, but he hain't got a bad bone in his body, if he does look like the Evil One hisself."

This episode absorbing all their attention, nobody heard or saw Alexia Rhys, running lightly up over the terrace. "Oh, my! what are you doing? And where's Polly?" she asked of Mrs. Whitney.

It being soon told, Alexia, who evidently had some exciting piece of news for Polly, ran into the house.

"Polly," she called. "Oh, Polly Pepper, where are you?" running over the stairs at the same time.

But Polly, as we have seen, was not in her room.

"Now then," Mother Fisher said at sound of Alexia's voice, "as we've finished our talk, Polly, why, you must run down and see her."

But Polly clung to her mother's neck. "Do you think I ought to go next Saturday morning out shopping, Mamsie, after I've been so naughty?"

"Indeed, you ought," cried Mrs. Fisher, in her most decisive fashion. "Dear me! that would be very dreadful, Polly, after we put it off for you, when we thought you had gone down to the Salisbury School. Why, we couldn't get along without you, Polly."

So Polly, with a happy feeling at her heart that she was really needed to make the shopping trip a success, and best of all for the long talk with Mamsie, that had set many things right, ran down to meet Alexia, brimming over with her important news.

"Where have you been?" demanded Alexia, just on the point of rushing out of Polly's room in despair. "I've looked everywhere for you, even in the shoe-box." And without waiting for a reply, she dragged Polly back. "Oh, you can't possibly guess!" her pale eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Then tell me, do, Alexia," begged Polly, scarcely less wrought up.

"Oh, Polly, the most elegant thing imaginable!" Alexia dearly loved to spin out her exciting news as long as possible, driving the girls almost frantic by such methods.

"Well, if you are not going to tell me, I might as well go back again, up in Mamsie's room," declared Polly, working herself free from the long arms, and starting for the door.

"Oh, I'll tell, Polly—I'll tell," cried Alexia, plunging after. "Miss Salisbury says—I've just been up to the school after my German grammar—that Mr. John Clemcy and Miss Ophelia have invited the whole Salisbury School out there for next Saturday afternoon. Think of it, after that smashed vase, Polly Pepper!"

Polly Pepper sat down on the shoe-box, quite gone in surprise.

It was as Alexia had said: a most surprising thing, when one took into consideration how much Mr. John Clemcy had suffered from the carelessness of a Salisbury pupil on the occasion of the accidental visit. But evidently one of his reasons—though by no means the only one—was his wish to salve the feelings of the gentlewomen, who were constantly endeavoring to show him their overwhelming sorrow, and trying to make all possible reparation for the loss of the vase.

And he had stated his desire so forcibly on one of the many visits to the school that seemed to be necessary after the accident, that Miss Salisbury was unable to refuse the invitation, although it nearly threw her, self-contained as she usually was, into a panic at the very idea.

"But why did you promise, sister?" Miss Anstice turned on her on the withdrawal of the gentleman, whose English composure of face and bearing was now, in its victory, especially trying to bear. "I am surprised at you. Something dreadful will surely happen."

"Don't, Anstice," begged Miss Salisbury, nervous to the last degree, since even the support of "sister" was to be withdrawn. "It was the least I could do, to please him—after what has happened."

"Well, something will surely happen," mourned Miss Anstice. "You know how unfortunate it has been from the very beginning. I've never been able to look at that gown since, although it has been washed till every stain is removed."

"Put it on for this visit, sister," advised Miss Salisbury, with a healthy disapproval of superstitions, "and break the charm."

"Oh, never!" Miss Anstice raised her slender hands. "I wouldn't run such a chance as to wear that gown for all the world. It will be unlucky enough, you will see, without that, sister."

But as far as anybody could see, everything was perfectly harmonious and successful on the following Saturday afternoon. To begin with, the weather was perfect; although at extremely short intervals Miss Anstice kept reminding her sister that a tremendous shower might be expected when the expedition was once under way.

The girls, when they received their invitation Monday morning from Miss Salisbury in the long schoolroom, were, to state it figuratively, "taken off their feet" in surprise, with the exception of those fortunate enough to have caught snatches of the news always sure to travel fast when set going by Alexia; and wild was the rejoicing, when they could forget the broken vase, at the prospect of another expedition under Miss Salisbury's guidance.

"If Miss Anstice only weren't going!" sighed Clem. "She is such a fussy old thing. It spoils everybody's fun just to look at her."

"Well, don't look at her," advised Alexia calmly; "for my part, I never do, unless I can't help it."

"How are you going to help it," cried Amy Garrett dismally, "when you are in her classes? Oh dear! I do wish Miss Salisbury would get rid of her as a teacher, and let Miss Wilcox take her place."

"Miss Wilcox is just gay!" exclaimed Silvia. "Well, don't let's talk of that old frump any more. Goodness me! here she comes," as Miss Anstice advanced down the long hall, where the girls were discussing the wonderful invitation after school.

And as the day was perfect, so the spirits of the "Salisbury girls" were at their highest. And Mr. Kimball and his associates drove them over in the same big barges, the veteran leader not recovering from the surprise into which he had been thrown by this afternoon party given to the Salisbury School by Mr. Clemcy and his sister.

"Of all things in this world, this is th' cap-sheaf," he muttered several times on the way. "A good ten year or more, those English folks have been drawin' back in them pretty grounds, an' offendin' every one; an' now, to get a passel o' girls to run over an' stomp 'em all down!"

Being unable to solve the puzzle, it afforded him plenty of occupation to work away at it.

Mr. Clemcy and Miss Ophelia, caring as little for the opinion of the stage-driver as for the rest of the world, received the visitors on the broad stone piazza, whose pillars ran the length of the house, and up to the roof, affording a wide gallery above. It was all entwined with English ivy and creepers taken from the homestead in Devonshire, and brought away when the death of the old mother made it impossible for life to be sustained by Miss Ophelia unless wrenched up from the roots where clustered so many memories. So Brother John decided to make that wrench, and to make it complete. So here they were.

"I didn't know it was so pretty," cried Clem, after the ladies had been welcomed with the most gracious, old-time hospitality, and the schoolgirls tumbled out of the barges to throng up. "It rained so when we were here before, we couldn't see anything."

"Pretty?" repeated Alexia, comprehending it all in swift, bird-like glances. "It's perfectly beautiful!" She turned, and Mr. Clemcy, who was regarding her, smiled, and they struck up a friendship on the spot.

"Miss Salisbury, allow me." Mr. Clemcy was leading her off. Miss Anstice, not trusting the ill-fated white gown, rustled after in the black silk one, with Miss Ophelia, down the wide hall, open at the end, with vistas of broad fields beyond, where the host paused. "Let the young ladies come," he said; and the girls trooped after, to crowd around the elder people.

Amongst the palms and bookcases, with which the broad hall was lined, was a pedestal, whose top was half covered with a soft, filmy cloth.

Mr. Clemcy lifted this, and took it off carefully. There stood the little vase, presenting as brave an appearance as in its first perfection.



Miss Salisbury uttered no exclamation, but preserved her composure by a violent effort.

"I flatter myself on my ability to repair my broken collection," began Mr. Clemcy, when a loud exclamation from the girls in front startled every one. Miss Anstice, on the first shock, had been unable to find that composure that was always "sister's" envied possession; so despite the environment of the black silk gown, she gave it up, and sank gradually to the ground.

"I told you so," cried Clem, in a hoarse whisper to her nearest neighbors; "she always spoils everybody's fun," as Miss Anstice, at the host's suggestion, his sister being rendered incapable of action at this sudden emergency, was put to rest in one of the pretty chintz-covered rooms above, till such time as she could recover herself enough to join them below.

"I couldn't help it, sister," she said. "I've been so worried about that vase. You don't know, because you are always so calm; and then to see it standing there—it quite took away my breath."

Oh, the delights of the rose-garden! in which every variety of the old-fashioned rose seemed to have had a place lovingly assigned to it. Sweetbrier clambered over the walls of the gardener's cottage, the stables, and charming summer-houses, into which the girls ran with delight. For Mr. Clemcy had said they were to go everywhere and enjoy everything without restraint.

"He's a dear," exclaimed Lucy Bennett, "only I'm mortally afraid of him."

"Well, I'm not," proclaimed Alexia.

The idea of Alexia being in any state that would suggest fear, being so funny, the girls burst out laughing.

"Well, we sha'n't any of us feel like laughing much in a little while," said Clem dolefully.

"What is the matter?" cried a dozen voices.

"Matter enough," replied Clem. "I've said so before, and now I know it's coming. Just look at that."

She pushed aside the swaying branches of the sweetbrier, and pointed tragically. "I don't see anything," said one or two of the girls.

"There!" "There" meant Mr. Clemcy and Miss Salisbury passing down the rose-walk, the broad central path. He was evidently showing her some treasured variety and descanting on it; the principal of the Salisbury School from her wide knowledge of roses, as well as of other subjects, being able to respond very intelligently.

"Oh, can't you see? You stupid things!" cried Clem. "He's going to marry our Miss Salisbury, and then she'll give up our school; and—and—" She turned away, and threw herself off in a corner.

A whole chorus of "No—no!" burst upon this speech.

"Hush!" cried Alexia, quite horrified. "Polly, do stop them; Miss Salisbury is turning around; and she's been worried quite enough over that dreadful Miss Anstice," which had the effect of reducing the girls to quiet.

"But it isn't so," cried the girls in frantic whispers, "what Clem says." And those who were not sure of themselves huddled down on the summer-house floor. "Say, Alexia, you don't think so, do you?"

But Alexia would give them no comfort, but wisely seizing Polly's arm, departed with her. "I shall say something that I'll be sorry for," she declared, "if I stay another moment longer. For, Polly Pepper, I do really believe that it's true, what Clem says."

And the rest of that beautiful afternoon, with rambles over the wide estate, and tea with berries and cream on the terraces, was a dream, scarcely comprehended by the "Salisbury girls," who were strangely quiet and well-behaved. For this Miss Salisbury was thankful.

And presently Miss Anstice, coming down in the wake of Miss Ophelia, was put carefully into a comfortable chair on the stone veranda, where she sat pale and quiet, Miss Clemcy assiduously devoting herself to her, and drawing up a little table to her side for her berries and cream and tea.

"Now we will be comfortable together," said Miss Ophelia, the maid bringing her special little pot of tea.

"I am so mortified, my dear Miss Clemcy," began Miss Anstice, her little hands nervously working, "to have given way;" all of which she had said over and over to her hostess in the chintz-covered room. "And you are so kind to overlook it so beautifully."

"It is impossible to blame one of your delicate sensibility," said Miss Ophelia; with her healthy English composure, quite in her element to have some one to fuss over, and to make comfortable in her own way. "Now, then, I trust that tea is quite right," handing her a cup.



XXIV THE PIECE OF NEWS

"Pepper, you're wanted!" Dick Furness banged into Joel's room, then out again, adding two words, "Harrow—immediately."

"All right," said Joel, whistling on; all his thoughts upon "Moose Island" and the expedition there on the morrow. And he ran lightly down to the second floor, and into the under-teacher's room.

Mr. Harrow was waiting for him; and pushing aside some books, for he never seemed to be quite free from them even for a moment, he motioned Joel to a seat.

Joel, whose pulses were throbbing with the liveliest expectations, didn't bother his head with what otherwise might have struck him as somewhat queer in the under-teacher's manner. For the thing in hand was what Joel principally gave himself to. And as that clearly could be nothing else than the "Moose Island expedition," it naturally followed that Mr. Harrow had to speak twice before he could gain his attention.

But when it was gained, there was not the slightest possible chance of misunderstanding what the under-teacher was saying, for it was the habit of this instructor to come directly to the point without unnecessary circumlocution.

But his voice and manner were not without a touch of sadness on this occasion that softened the speech itself.

"Joel, my boy," Mr. Harrow began, "you know I have often had you down here to urge on those lessons of yours."

"Yes, sir," said Joel, wondering now at the voice and manner.

"Well, now to-day, I am instructed by the master to send for you for a different reason. Can you not guess?"

"No, sir," said Joel, comfortable in the way things had been going on, and wholly unable to imagine the blow about to fall.

"I wish you had guessed it, Joel," said Mr. Harrow, moving uneasily in his chair, "for then you would have made my task easier. Joel, Dr. Marks says, on account of your falling behind in your lessons, without reason—understand this, Joel, without reason—you are not to go to Moose Island to-morrow."

Even then Joel did not comprehend. So Mr. Harrow repeated it distinctly.

"What!" roared Joel. In his excitement he cleared the space between them, and gained Mr. Harrow's side. "Not go to Moose Island, Mr. Harrow?" his black eyes widening, and his face working fearfully.

"No," said Mr. Harrow, drawing a long breath, "you are not to go; so Dr. Marks says."

"But I must go," cried Joel, quite gone in passion.

"'Must' is a singular word to use here, Joel," observed Mr. Harrow sternly.

"But I—oh, Mr. Harrow, do see if you can't help me to go." Joel squirmed all over, and even clutched the under-teacher's arm piteously.

"Alas, Joel! it is beyond my power." Mr. Harrow shook his head. He didn't think it necessary to state that he had already used every argument he could employ to induce Dr. Marks to change his mind. "Some strong pressure must be brought to bear upon Pepper, or he will amount to nothing but an athletic lad. He must see the value of study," the master had responded, and signified that the interview was ended, and his command was to be carried out.

"Joel,"—Mr. Harrow was speaking—"be a man, and bear this as you can. You've had your chances for study, and not taken them. It is a case of must now. Remember, Dr. Marks is doing this in love to you. He has got to fit you out as well as he can in this school, to take that place in life that your mother wants you to fill. Don't waste a moment on vain regrets, but buckle to your studies now."

It was a long speech for the under-teacher, and he had a hard time getting through with it. At its end, Joel, half dazed with his misfortune, but with a feeling that as a man, Dr. Marks and Mr. Harrow had treated him, hurried back to his room, dragged his chair up to the table, and pushing off the untidy collection of rackets, tennis balls, boxing gloves, and other implements of his gymnasium work and his recreation hours, lent his whole heart with a new impulse to his task.

Somehow he did not feel like crying, as had often been the case with previous trials. "He said, 'Be a man,'" Joel kept repeating over and over to himself, while the words of his lesson swam before his eyes. "And so I will; and he said, Dr. Marks had got to make me as Mamsie wanted me to be," repeated Joel to himself, taking a shorter cut with the idea. "And so I will be." And he leaned his elbows on the table, bent his head over his book, and clutching his stubby crop by both hands and holding on tightly, he was soon lost to his misfortune and the outside world.

"Hullo!" David stood still in amazement at Joel's unusual attitude over his lesson. Then he reflected that he was making up extra work, to be free for the holiday on the morrow. Notwithstanding the need of quiet, David was so full of it that he couldn't refrain from saying jubilantly, "Oh, what a great time we'll have to-morrow, Joe!" giving him a pound on the back.

"I'm not going," said Joel, without raising his head.

David ran around his chair to look at him from the further side, then peered under the bunch of curls Joel was hanging to.

"What's—what's the matter, Joe?" he gasped, clutching the table.

"Dr. Marks says I'm not to go," said Joel, telling the whole at once.

"Dr. Marks said you were not to go!" repeated David. "Why, Joel, why?" he demanded in a gasp.

"I haven't studied; I'm way behind. Let me alone," cried Joel. "I've got a perfect lot to make up," and he clutched harder than ever at his hair.

"Then I shall not go," declared David, and rushing out of the room he was gone before Joel could fly from his chair; which he did, upsetting it after him.

"Dave—Dave!" he yelled, running out into the hall, in the face of a stream of boys coming up from gymnasium practice.

"What's up, Pepper?" But he went through their ranks like a shot. Nevertheless David was nowhere to be seen, as he had taken some short cut, and was lost in the crowd.

Joel bent his steps to the under-teacher's room, knocked, and in his excitement thought he heard, "Come in." And with small ceremony he precipitated himself upon Mr. Harrow, who seemed to be lost in a revery, his back to him, leaning his elbow on the mantel, and his head upon his hand.

"Er—oh!" exclaimed Mr. Harrow, startled out of his usual composure, and turning quickly to face Joel. "Oh, it's you, Pepper!" which by no means lifted him out of his depression.

"Dave says he won't go without me. You must make him," said Joel, in his intensity forgetting his manners.

"To Moose Island?" asked Mr. Harrow.

Joel nodded. He couldn't yet bring himself to speak the name.

"All right; I will, Joe." Mr. Harrow grasped the brown hand hanging by Joel's side.

"Really?" said Joel, swallowing hard.

"Really. Run back to your books, and trust me."

So Joel dashed back, not minding the alluring cries from several chums, "Come on—just time for a game before supper," and was back before his table in the same attitude, and hanging to his hair.

"I can study better so," he said, and holding on for dear life.

One or two boys glanced in. "Come out of this hole," they cried. "No need to study for to-morrow. Gee whiz! just think of Moose Island, Joe."

No answer.

"Joe!" They ran in and shook his shoulders. "Moose Island!" they screamed, and the excitement with which the whole school was charged was echoing it through the length of the dormitory.

"Go away," cried Joel at them, "or I'll fire something at you," as they swarmed around his chair.

"Fire your old grammar," suggested one, trying to twitch away his book; and another pulled the chair out from under him.

Joel sprawled a moment on the floor; then he sprang up, hanging to his book, and faced them. "I'm not going. Clear out." And in a moment the room was as still as if an invasion had never taken place. In their astonishment they forgot to utter a word.

And in ten minutes the news was all over the playground and in all the corridors, "Joe Pepper isn't going to Moose Island."

If they had said that the corner stone of the dormitory was shaky, the amazement would not have been so great in some quarters; and the story was not believed until they had it from Joe himself. Then amazement changed to grief. Not to have Joe Pepper along, was to do away with half the fun.

Percy ran up to him in the greatest excitement just before supper. "What is it, Joe?" he cried. "The fellows are trying to say that you're not going to Moose Island." He was red with running, and panted dreadfully. "And Van is giving it to Red Hiller for telling such a whopper."

"Well, he needn't," said Joel, "for it's perfectly true. I'm not going."

Percy tried to speak; but what with running, and his astonishment, his tongue flapped up idly against the roof of his mouth.

"Dr. Marks won't let me," said Joel, not mincing matters. "I've got to study; so there's an end of it." But when Davie came in, a woe begone figure, for Mr. Harrow had kept his promise, then was Joel's hardest time. And he clenched his brown hands to keep the tears back then, for David gave way to such a flood in the bitterness of his grief to go without Joel, that for a time, Joel was in danger of utterly losing his own self-control.

"I'm confounded glad." It was Jenk who said it to his small following; and hearing it, Tom Beresford blazed at him. "If you weren't quite so small, I'd knock you down."

"Well, I am glad,"—Jenk put a goodly distance between himself and Tom, notwithstanding Tom's disgust at the idea of touching him—"for Pepper is so high and mighty, it's time he was taken down," but a chorus of yells made him beat a retreat.

Dr. Marks paced up and down his study floor, his head bent, his hands folded behind him.

"It was the only way. No ordinary course could be taken with Pepper. It had come to be imperative. It will make a man of him." He stepped to the desk and wrote a few words, slipped them into an envelope, sealed and addressed it.

"Joanna!" He went to the door and summoned a maid, the same one who had shaken her broom at Joel when he rushed in with the dog. "Take this over to the North Dormitory as quickly as possible." It seemed to be especially necessary that haste be observed; and Dr. Marks, usually so collected, hurried to the window to assure himself that his command was obeyed.

Mrs. Fox took the note as Joanna handed it in, and sent it up at once, as those were the orders from the master. It arrived just at the moment when Joel was at the end of his self-mastery. He tore it open. "My boy, knowing you as I do, I feel sure that you will be brave in bearing this. It will help you to conquer your dislike for study and make a man of you. Affectionately yours, H. L. Marks."

Joel swung the note up over his head, and there was such a glad ring to his voice that David was too astonished to cry.

"See there!" Joel proudly shook it at him. "Read it, Dave."

So David seized it, and blinked in amazement.

"Dr. Marks has written to me," said Joel importantly, just as if David hadn't the note before him. "And he says, 'Be a man,' just as Mr. Harrow said, and, 'affectionately yours.' Now, what do you think of that, Dave Pepper?"

David was so lost in the honor that had come to Joel, that the grief that he was feeling in the thought of the expedition to be made to Moose Island to-morrow without Joel, began to pale. He smiled and lifted his eyes, lately so wet with tears. "Mamsie would like that note, Joe."

Tom Beresford rushed in without the formality of a knock, and gloomily threw himself on the bed. "Poor Joe!" was written all over his long face.

"Oh, you needn't, Tom," said Joel gaily, and prancing up and down the room, "pity me, because I won't have it."

"It's pity for myself as well," said Tom lugubriously, and cramming the pillow-end into his mouth. "What's a fellow to do without you, Joe?" suddenly shying the pillow at Joel.

Joe caught it and shied it back, then twitched the master's note out of David's hand. "Read it, Tom," he cried, with sparkling eyes.

"I'd much rather stay back with you, Joe," Tom was saying.

"Well, you won't," retorted Joel. "Dave tried that on, but it was no good. Read it, I tell you." So Tom sat up on the bed, and spread Dr. Marks' note on his knee.

"Great Caesar's ghost! It's from the master himself! And what does he say?" Tom rubbed his eyes violently, stared, and rushed over the few sentences pellmell; then returned to take them slowly to be sure of their meaning.

"Joe Pepper!" He got off from the bed.

"Isn't it great!" cried Joel. "Give me my note, Tom."

"I should say so!" cried Tom, bobbing his head. "I shouldn't in the least mind being kept back from a few things, to get a note like that. Think of it, Joe, from Dr. Marks!"

"I know it," cried Joel, in huge satisfaction. "Well, now, you must take yourself off, Tom; I've got to study like a Trojan." He ran to the closet, and came back with his arms full of books.

"All right," said Tom, shooting out. Then he shot back, gave Joel a pat—by no means a light one;—"Success to you, old fellow!" and was off, this time for good.

And Davie dreamed that night that Joel took first prize in everything straight through; and that he himself was sailing, sailing, over an interminable sea (going to Moose Island probably), under a ban never to come back to Dr. Marks' school. And the first thing he knew, Joel was pounding him and calling lustily, "Get up, Dave; you know you are to start early."

And then all was bustle and confusion enough, as how could it be helped with all those boys getting off on such an expedition?

And Joel was the brightest of them all, here, there, and everywhere! You never would have guessed that he wasn't the leading spirit in the whole expedition, and its bright particular star!

And he ran down to the big stone gate to see them off. And the boys wondered; but there was no chance to pity him, with such a face. There was only pity for themselves.

And somebody started, "Three cheers for Joe Pepper!" It wasn't the under-teacher, but he joined with a right good will; and the whole crowd took it up, as Joel ran back to tackle his books, pinching Dr. Marks' letter in his pocket, to make sure it really was there!

Just about this time, Alexia Rhys was rushing to school. She was late, for everything had gone wrong that morning from the very beginning. And of course Polly Pepper had started for school, when Alexia called for her; and feeling as if nothing mattered now, the corner was reached despairingly, when she heard her name called.

It was an old lady who was a friend of her aunt's, and Alexia paused involuntarily, then ran across the street to see what was wanted.

"Oh, my dear, I suppose I ought not to stop you, for you are going to school."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," said Alexia indifferently; "I'm late anyway. What is it, Miss Seymour?"

"I want to congratulate you—I must congratulate you," exclaimed old Miss Seymour, with an excited little cackle. "I really must, Alexia."

Alexia ran over in her mind everything for which she could, by any possibility, be congratulated; and finding nothing, she said, "What for?" quite abruptly.

"Oh, my dear! Haven't you heard?" Old Miss Seymour put her jewelled fingers on the girl's shoulder. She had gathered up her dressy morning robe in her hand, and hastened down her front steps at the first glimpse of Alexia across the way.

Alexia knew of old the roundabout way pursued by her aunt's friend in her narrations. Besides, she cared very little anyway for this bit of old women's gossip. So she said carelessly, "No, I'm sure I haven't; and I don't believe it's much anyway, Miss Seymour."

"'Much anyway?' oh, my dear!" Old Miss Seymour held up both hands. "Well, what would you say if you should be told that your teacher was going to be married?"

Alexia staggered backward and put up both hands. "Oh, don't, Miss Seymour," she cried, the fears she had been lighting so many weeks now come true. Then she burst out passionately, "Oh, it isn't true—it can't be!"

"Well, but it is," cried Miss Seymour positively. "I had it not ten minutes since from a very intimate friend; and as you were the first Salisbury girl I saw, why, I wanted to congratulate you, of course, as soon as I could."

"Salisbury girl!" Alexia groaned as she thought how they should never have that title applied to them any more; for of course the beautiful school was doomed. "And where shall we all go?" she cried to herself in despair.

"Oh, how could she go and get engaged!" she exclaimed aloud.

"You haven't asked who the man is," said Miss Seymour in surprise.

"Oh, I know—I know," said Alexia miserably; "it's Mr. John Clemcy. Oh, if we hadn't had that old picnic!" she burst out.

"Eh—what?" exclaimed the little old lady quickly.

"Never mind. It doesn't signify who the man is. It doesn't signify about anything," said Alexia wildly, "as long as Miss Salisbury is going to get married and give up our school."

"Oh, I don't suppose the school will be given up," said Miss Seymour.

"What? Why, of course it will be. How can she keep it after she is married?" cried Alexia impatiently. She longed to say, "you goose you!"

"Why, I suppose the other one will keep it, of course; and it will go on just the same as it did before."

"Oh dear me! The idea of Miss Anstice keeping that school!" With all her misery, Alexia couldn't help bursting into a laugh.

"Miss Anstice?"

"Yes; if you knew her as we girls do, Miss Seymour, you never'd say she could run that school."

"I never said she could."

"Oh, yes, you did," Alexia was guilty of contradicting. "You said distinctly that when Miss Salisbury was married, you supposed Miss Anstice would keep it on just the same."

Little old Miss Seymour took three or four steps down the pavement, then turned and trotted back, the dressy morning robe still gathered in her hand.

"Who do you think is engaged to Mr. John Clemcy?" she asked, looking up at the tall girl.

"Why, our Miss Salisbury," answered Alexia, ready to cry, "I suppose. That's what you said."

"Oh, no, I didn't," said the little old lady. "It's Miss Anstice Salisbury."

Alexia gave her one look; then took some flying steps across the street, and away down to the Salisbury School. She met a stream of girls in the front hall; and as soon as she saw their faces, she knew that her news was all old.

And they could tell her something more.

"Miss Wilcox is going to be the assistant teacher," cried Amy Garrett.

"And Miss Salisbury announced it; why were you late, Alexia?" it was a perfect buzz around her ears. "And then she dismissed school; and we're all going down to the drawing-room now, to congratulate Miss Anstice."

Alexia worked her way to Polly Pepper and clung to her.

"Oh, Alexia, you've got here!" cried Polly delightedly. "And only think, we can keep our Miss Salisbury after all."



XXV "THE VERY PRETTIEST AFFAIR"

And Mr. John Clemcy, having put off any inclination to marry till so late in life, was, now that he had made his choice, in a ferment to hurry its consummation. And Miss Ophelia, who was still to keep the house and run the old-fashioned flower garden to suit herself—thus losing none of her honors—and being in her element, as has been stated, with some one "to fuss over" (her self-contained brother not yielding her sufficient occupation in that line), begged that the wedding might take place soon. So there was really no reason on earth why it should not be celebrated, and Miss Wilcox be installed as assistant, and thus all things be in running order for the new year at the Salisbury School.

"And they say he has heaps of money—Mr. Clemcy has," cried Alexia, in the midst of the excitement of the next few days, when everybody was trying to adjust themselves to this new condition of affairs. A lot of the girls were up in Polly Pepper's room. "And it's an awful old family back of him in England," she went on, "though for my part, I'd rather have something to do with making my name myself."

"Oh, Alexia," cried Clem, "think of all those perfectly elegant old family portraits!"

"Mouldy old things!" exclaimed Alexia, who had small reverence for such things. "I should be ashamed of them, if I were Mr. John Clemcy and his sister. They don't look as if they knew anything to begin with; and such arms and hands, and impossible necks! Oh my! It quite gives me a turn to look at them."

"We are quite distinguished—the Salisbury School is," said Silvia, with an elegant manner, and a toss of her head. "My mother says it will be splendid capital to Miss Salisbury to have such a connection."

"And, oh, just think of Miss Anstice's engagement ring!" exclaimed another girl. "Oh my, on her little thin finger!"

"It's awful old-fashioned," cried Silvia, "set in silver. But then, it's big, and a very pure stone, my mother says; and quite shows that the family must have been something, for it is an heirloom."

"Oh, do stop about family and heirlooms," cried Alexia impatiently; "the main thing is that our Miss Salisbury isn't going to desert us."

"Miss Anstice is; oh, goody!" Amy Garrett hopped up and down and softly beat her hands while she finished the sentence.

"Hush!" Alexia turned on her suddenly. "Now, Amy, and the rest of you girls, I think we ought to stop this nonsense about Miss Anstice; she's going, and I, maybe, haven't treated her just rightly."

"Of course you haven't," assented Clem coolly. "You've worried her life nearly out of her."

"And oh, dear me! I'm sorry now,"—said Alexia, not minding in the least what Clem was saying. "I wonder why it is that I'm forever being sorry about things."

"Because you're forever having your own way," said Clem; "I'll tell you."

"And so I'm going to be nice to her now," said Alexia, with a perfectly composed glance at Clem. "Let's all be, girls. I mean, behind her back."

Polly Pepper ran over across the room to slip her arm within Alexia's, and give her a little approving pat.

"It will be so strange not to make fun of her," observed Amy Garrett, "but I suppose we can't now, anyway, that she is to be Mrs. John Clemcy."

"Mrs. John Clemcy, indeed!" exclaimed Alexia, standing very tall. "She was just as nice before, as sister of our Miss Salisbury, I'd have you to know, girls."

"Well, now what are we to give her as a wedding present?" said Polly Pepper. "You know we, as the committee, ought to talk it over at once. Let's sit down on the floor in a ring and begin."

"Yes," said Alexia; "now all flop." And setting the example, she got down on the floor; and the girls tumbling after, the ring was soon formed.

"Hush now, do be quiet, Clem, if you can," cried Alexia, to pay up old scores.

"I guess I'm not making as much noise as some other people," said Clem, with a wry face.

"Well, Polly's going to begin; and as she's chairman, we've all got to be still as mice. Hush!"

"I think," said Polly, "the best way would be, instead of wasting so much time in talking, and—"

"Getting into a hubbub," interpolated Alexia.

"Who's talking now," cried Clem triumphantly, "and making a noise?"

"Getting in confusion," finished Polly, "would be, for us each to write out the things that Miss Anstice might like, on a piece of paper, without showing it to any of the other girls; then pass them in to me, and I'll read them aloud. And perhaps we'll choose something out of all the lists."

"Oh, Polly, how fine!—just the thing."

"I'll get the paper."

"And the pencils." The ring was in a hubbub; Alexia, as usual, the first to hop out of her place.

"Sit down, girls," said Polly as chairman. So they all flew back again.

"There, you see now," said Alexia, huddling expeditiously into her place next to Polly, "how no one can stir till the chairman tells us to."

"Who jumped first of all?" exclaimed Clem, bursting into a laugh.

"Well, I'm back again, anyhow," said Alexia coolly, and folding her hands in her lap.

"I'll appoint Lucy Bennett and Silvia Horne to get the paper and pencils," said Polly. "They are on my desk, girls."

Alexia smothered the sigh at her failure to be one of the girls to perform this delightful task; but the paper being brought, she soon forgot her disappointment, in having something to do.

"We must all tear it up into strips," said the chairman, and, beginning on a sheet, "Lucy, you can be giving around the pencils."

And presently the whole committee was racking its brains over this terribly important question thrust upon them.

"It must be something that will always reflect credit on the Salisbury School," observed Alexia, leaning her chin on her hand while she played with her pencil.

"Ugh! do be still." Lucy, on the other side, nudged her. "I can't think, if anybody speaks a word."

"And fit in well with those old portraits," said Clem, with a look at Alexia.

"Well, I hope and pray that we won't give her anything old. I want it spick, span, new; and to be absolutely up-to-date." Alexia took her chin out of her hand, and sat up decidedly. "The idea of matching up those mouldy old portraits!—and that house just bursting with antiques."

"Ugh! do hush," cried the girls.

"And write what you want to, Alexia, on your own slip, and keep still," said Silvia, wrinkling her brows; "you just put something out of my head; and it was perfectly splendid."

"But I can't think of a thing that would be good enough," grumbled Alexia, "for the Salisbury School to give. Oh dear me!" and she regarded enviously the other pencils scribbling away.

"My list is done." Amy Garrett pinched hers into a little three-cornered note, and threw it into Polly's lap.

"And mine—and mine." They all came in fast in a small white shower.

"Oh my goodness!" exclaimed Alexia, much alarmed that she would be left out altogether. "Wait, Chairman—I mean, Polly," and she began scribbling away for dear life.

"Oh dear me!" The chairman unfolded the first strip, and began to read. "A piano—why, girls, Miss Anstice can't play."

"Well, it would look nice in that great big drawing-room," said Clem, letting herself out with a very red face.

"Oh, my! you wrote a piano!" Alexia went over backward suddenly to lie flat on the floor and laugh. "Besides, there is one in that house."

"An old thing!" exclaimed Clem in disdain.

"Well, let's see; here's something nice"—Polly ran along the list—"a handsome chair, a desk, a cabinet. Those are fine!"

"Clem has gone into the furniture business, I should think," said Philena.

"And a cabinet!" exclaimed Amy Garrett, "when that house is just full of 'em."

"Oh, I mean a jewel cabinet, or something of that sort," explained Clem hastily.

"That's not bad," announced Silvia, "for I suppose he'll give her all the rest of those heirlooms; great strings of pearls probably he's got, and everything else. Dear me, don't I wish we girls could see them!" and she lost herself in admiration over the fabulous Clemcy jewels.

"Well, Chairman—Polly, I mean"—Alexia flew into position—"what's the next list?"

"This is quite different," said Polly, unrolling it; "some handsome lace, a fan, a lorgnette, a bracelet."

"It's easy enough to see that's Silvia's," said Alexia—"all that finery and furbelows."

"Well, it's not fair to tell what you think and guess," said Silvia, a pink spot coming on either check.

"'Twouldn't make any difference, my guessing; we all know it's yours, Silvia," said Alexia, coolly.

"Well, I think that's a lovely list," said Amy, with sparkling eyes, "and I for one would be willing to vote for any of those things."

"My mother says we better give her something to wear," said Silvia, smoothing down her gown. "Miss Anstice likes nice things; and that great big house is running over with everything to furnish with."

Polly was reading the third list, so somebody pulled Alexia's arm and stopped her. "A watch and chain—that's all there is on this list," announced Polly.

"Oh!"—there was a chorus of voices—"that's it—that's it!" and "Why didn't I think of that?" until the whole ring was in a tumult again.

It was no matter what was on the other lists. The chairman read them over faithfully, but the items fell upon dull ears. They might make suitable tributes for other brides; there was but one mind about the present for this particular bride going forth from the Salisbury School. The watch and chain was the only gift to be thought of.

"And she wears that great big old-fashioned thing," declared Silvia; "looks like a turnip—oh, oh!"

"And I do believe that's always made her so impressive and scarey whenever she got into that black silk gown," said Amy Garrett. "I never thought of it before; but it was that horrible old watch and chain."

"Girls," said the chairman, "I do really believe that it would be the very best thing that we could possibly give her. And now I'm going to tell who it was who chose it."

"Do—oh, do!" The whole ring came together in a bunch, as the girls all crowded around Polly.

"Alexia!" Then Polly turned and gave a loving little pat on the long back.

"Don't," said Alexia, shrinking away from the shower of congratulations on having made the best choice, and thought of the very thing that was likely to unite the whole school on a gift. "It's nothing. I couldn't help but write it. It was the only thing I thought of."

"Well; it was just as clever in you as could be, so there now!" Clem nodded over at her, and buried all animosity at once.

"And think how nice it will be, when it's all engraved inside the case with what we want to say," said Polly, with shining eyes.

"And a great big monogram outside," said Silvia, with enthusiasm, "and one of those twisted chains—oh, how fine!" She shook out her silver bracelets till they jingled all her enthusiasm; and the entire committee joining, the vote was taken to propose to the rest of the "Salisbury girls," on the morrow, the gift of a watch and chain to the future Mrs. John Clemcy.

And the watch and chain was unanimously chosen by the "Salisbury girls" as the gift of all gifts they wanted to bestow upon their teacher on her wedding day; and they all insisted that Polly Pepper should write the inscription; so there it was, engraved beautifully on the inner side of the case: "Anstice Salisbury, with the loving regard of her pupils." And there was a beautiful big monogram on the outside; and the long chain was double and twisted, and so handsome that Silvia's mother protested she hadn't a word to say but the very highest praise!

Oh, and the presentation of it came about quite differently from what was expected, after all. For the gift was to be sent with a little note, representing the whole school, and written, as was quite proper, by Polly Pepper, the chairman of the committee. But Miss Salisbury, to whom the precious parcel had been intrusted, said suddenly, "Why don't you give it to her yourselves, girls?"

It was, of course, the place of the chairman of the committee to speak. So Polly said, "Oh, would she like to have us, Miss Salisbury?"

"Yes, my dears. I know she would. She feels badly to go and leave you all, you know," and there were tears in the blue eyes that always looked so kindly on them. "And it would be a very lovely thing for you to do, if you would like to."

"We should love to do it," cried Polly warmly. "May we go now, dear Miss Salisbury?"

"Yes," said Miss Salisbury, very much pleased; "she is in the red parlor."

So the committee filed into the red parlor. There sat Miss Anstice, and—oh dear me!—Mr. John Clemcy!

There was no time to retreat; for Miss Salisbury, not having heard Mr. Clemcy come in, was at the rear of the procession of girls. "Here, my dears—Anstice, the girls particularly want to see you—oh!" and then she saw Mr. John Clemcy.

Miss Anstice, who seemed to have dropped all her nervousness lately, saved the situation by coming forward and greeting them warmly; and when Mr. John Clemcy saw how it was, he went gallantly to the rescue, and was so easy and genial, and matter-of-course, that the committee presently felt as if a good part of their lives had been passed in making presentations, and that they were quite up to that sort of thing.

And Polly made a neat little speech as she handed her the packet; and Miss Anstice's eyes filled with tears of genuine regret at leaving them, and of delight at the gift.

"Girls, do you know"—could it be Miss Anstice who was talking with so much feeling in her voice?—"I used to imagine that you didn't love me."

"Oh, that could never be!" cried Mr. Clemcy.

"And I got so worried and cross over it. But now I know you did, and that I was simply tired; for I never could teach like sister,"—she cast her a loving glance—"and I didn't really love my work. And, do you know, the thing I've longed for all my life was a watch and chain like this? Oh girls, I shall love it always!"

She threw the chain around her neck; and laid the little watch gently against her cheek.

"Oh!" It was Alexia who pressed forward. "You'll forgive us all, won't you, Miss Anstice, if we didn't love you enough?"

"When I want to forgive, I'll look at my dear watch," said Miss Anstice brightly, and smiling on them all.

"'Twas that horrible old black silk gown that made her so," exclaimed Alexia, as they all tumbled off down the hall in the greatest excitement. "You see how sweet she is now, in that white one."

"And the red rose in her belt," said Clem.

"And her diamond ring," added Silvia.

"And we're different, too," said Clem. "Maybe we wouldn't love to teach a lot of girls any better either, if we had to."

"Well, and now there's the wedding!" exclaimed Amy Garrett, clasping her hands, "oh!"

"What richness!" finished Alexia.

And everybody said it was "the very prettiest affair; and so picturesque!" "And those dear Salisbury girls—how sweet they looked, to be sure!" Why, St. John's blossomed out like a veritable garden, just with that blooming company of girls; to say nothing of the exquisite flowers, and ropes of laurel, and palms, and the broad white satin ribbons to divide the favored ones from the mere acquaintances.

"And what a lovely thought to get those boys from the Pemberton School for ushers, with Jasper King as their leader!"

They all made such a bright, youthful picture, to be followed by the chosen eight of the "Salisbury girls," the very committee who presented the gift to the bride-elect. There they were in their simple white gowns and big white hats.

And then came the little assistant teacher of the Salisbury School, in her pearl gray robe; singularly enough, not half so much embarrassed as she had often been in walking down the long schoolroom before the girls.

And Mr. John Clemcy never thought of such a thing as embarrassment at all; but stood up in his straightforward, manly, English composure, to take his vows that bound him to the little school-teacher. And Miss Salisbury, fairly resplendent in her black velvet gown, had down deep within her heart a childlike satisfaction in it all. "Dear Anstice was happy," and somehow the outlook for the future, with Miss Wilcox for assistant teacher, was restful for one whose heart and soul were bound up in her pupils' advancement.

Miss Ophelia Clemcy blossomed out from her retirement, and became quite voluble, in the front pew before the wedding procession arrived.

THE END