Dorothy looked so dignified and important as she finished her little speech that irrepressible Charlotte longed to tickle her or rumple her hair, two things that the neat Dorothy loathed. As she couldn't she only said meekly, "Please, ma'am, are we to choose which we'd rather cook? If we are, I prefer the apples."

"So do I," laughed Katharine; "you're not any lazier than I am, Charlotte."

"We'll have to write the names of things on slips of paper and draw for them," said Dorothy, "and no matter what you get you must do the best you can with it."

"My, but you are stern, Dolly," said Betty admiringly. "I should probably have let them spend the next half hour wrangling about what they'll do."

Charlotte, who had been made secretary, wrote the names of the various dishes on slips of paper and put them in the hat which Betty brought her. Then with a low bow she presented the hat to Dorothy, who drew the slip on which was written "scalloped oysters."

"How noble of you, Dolly, to draw the one we should all have hated," cried Ruth. "Oh, I'm not sure but this is just as bad," she added, as the slip marked "dessert" fell to her lot. Betty found herself staring at the word "popovers," while Katharine and Alice drew cake and chocolate respectively.

"Girls, I don't need to tell you that 'the lame and the lazy are always provided for,'" cried Charlotte, as she triumphantly flourished the "baked apple" slip. "I will prepare my portion of the feast and then read a while."

"Oh, I forgot to say," said Betty, "that mother suggested that the one who baked the apples might even up things by building the fire. She said one of the first duties of a cook was to know how to manage the stove."

"I wouldn't have believed it of you, Betty," groaned Charlotte, as she made up a face. "I don't know anything about building a fire. How under the sun shall I begin?"

"Read this and grow wise," answered Betty, thrusting an open cookbook under Charlotte's nose. "That tells you just how to do it."

Each of the other girls having brought a cookbook buried herself in it for the time being, while Charlotte, left to her own resources, proceeded to build the fire. First she read with great care the directions in the cookbook, and then looked rather helplessly at the stove.

"This is the front draught, of course," she murmured, "but where's the oven draught? Betty, do tell me where the oven draught is on this stove."

Betty flew over from the further side of the big kitchen, and pointed out the oven draught. Then she absorbed herself again in her book so completely that Charlotte hadn't the courage to ask for further instructions. She noticed a damper in the stovepipe, and wanted to ask about that, but pride forbade. "I'll do this alone or perish in the attempt," she said to herself with noble courage, and proceeding on the principle that she ought to change the existing condition of everything, she turned the one in the stovepipe and speedily forgot all about it. Then she put in a layer of twisted papers, laid the kindlings artistically, with air-spaces between the sticks, and before putting on the covers stood off to admire her work. She looked around for sympathy, but the girls were ail absorbed in their books, and no one gave her a glanee. Then with the sigh of unappreciated genius, she covered the stove, and touched a match to the papers through the front grate.

The kitchen was very still except for the crackle of the fire. The sunshine came like a shower of gold through the west window, glorifying everything it touched. Charlotte, feeling extremely capable, began with great energy to add an extra polish to the apples which she was to bake.

Suddenly Dorothy raised her head and sniffed the air. "I smell smoke. Oh, Charlotte, look at your stove," she cried.

Even as she spoke the smoke poured out around the covers in great volume. Clouds of smoke forced their way through hitherto unsuspected cracks.

"Open the windows," gasped Betty, whom the stinging wood smoke almost blinded.

"Perhaps I turned the dampers wrong," cried Charlotte, making a dash for the stove, and turning the oven draught. The result was disastrous, for the smoke rolled out with still greater violence, only to be met and beaten back into the room by the air from the windows. Charlotte turned the oven draught again, and then stood helpless.

Suddenly Betty bethought herself of what her mother had told her. "There's a damper in the stovepipe," she choked, covering her streaming eyes with one hand, and waving the other wildly in the air. "Did you touch that?"

"Yes," gasped Charlotte.

"Well, turn it the way it isn't, quick," and while Charlotte reached for the damper, Betty groped her way to the sink to soothe her afflicted eyes with cold water.

Coughing, and with smarting eyes, the girls stood around, while as if by magic the clouds of smoke diminished to tiny streams and then died away altogether.

"How beautifully simple," said Charlotte grimly. "That makes me feel small."

"It wasn't your fault," said Betty. "Mother told me to be sure to remember that that damper in the pipe wasn't to be changed, and of course I had to forget."

Charlotte lifted the cover, and surveyed the fire with a critical though somewhat humbled air. Then after letting it burn up a little she put in a goodly supply of coal and went back to her apples.

"The cake and the apples must go in as soon as the oven is hot," said Dorothy, emerging from her cook-book. "That will leave the oven free for my oysters and Betty's popovers."

Ruth gave a squeal of delight. "I've found a recipe for a pudding that sounds perfectly fascinating, and the cooking can be done on the top of the stove, which is an advantage."

"I can't decide between a chocolate cream cake and a cake with caramel filling," wailed Katharine, who loved rich, mushy, sweet things.

"Goodness, child," said Dorothy, with that superior air which she so often affected, "don't try anything so hard the first time. Find something simple."

"Crushed again," muttered Katharine, only loud enough for Ruth to hear. "Dolly loves to manage everything. You mustn't even breathe hard, girls, for ten minutes, and don't walk so heavily," she said as she carried her cake pan across the kitchen and deposited it in the oven. "This cake is going to be simply dandy, and my heart will be broken if it falls."

"Better not leave the oven door open so long then," said Betty, who having nothing to do for the moment was interesting herself in her neighbor's affairs.

Katharine, who had been absorbed in gazing proudly at her creation, started guiltily, and the oven door slipping from her fingers shut itself with a crash that filled her with horror.

"Do you suppose that old door's spoiled it?" she said in a despairing voice. "I don't see how it can fall, though, till it has begun to rise," she added hopefully to Betty as she went back to the table to clear away her cooking dishes.

"Just give a look at my apples when you're looking at your cake, will you, Kit?" asked Charlotte, who had produced a small book from some mysterious hiding-place, and was slipping off into a comer with it.

"That isn't fair," called Dorothy sharply, but Charlotte pretended not to hear, and Dorothy with a shrug of the shoulders gave her up as a hopeless case. Dorothy and Charlotte were apt to turn their sharp edges toward each other, though either would have defended the other had an outsider interfered.

"Dear me, things look too good to be true," said Ruth a little later as Katharine took her cake, golden-brown and deliciously light, from the oven. "It seems as though some one would have to make a failure of something."

"It won't be my apples," proclaimed Charlotte with great pride. "Now I call that an artistic piece of cookery; they're not all mushy and cooked to death, but they've split open just enough to show that they're done."

"Small credit to you," laughed Alice. "If it hadn't been for Katharine you wouldn't have come out of your book for the next hour."

"Don't be envious, Al," answered Charlotte sweetly. "Perhaps your chocolate will be as good as my apples."

"There," said Ruth with a sigh of relief, "now that can cool, and I'll put the finishing touches on later."

Suddenly the door-bell rang sharply. "You'll have to go to the door, girls," said Betty, poking her head into the dining-room, "for there's no one besides us in the house."

There was a murmur of conversation at the door, and then Ruth came flying into the kitchen with shining eyes and flushed cheeks. "There's the dearest little old woman at the door, girls," she said, "with soap and pins and needles to sell, and I'm so sorry for her because she says she hasn't sold a thing today. And she's the cleanest-looking old dear you ever saw, and don't you think we might ask her to stay to supper?"

Ruth stopped for lack of breath, and her face fell as she saw plainly that both Dorothy and Betty disapproved of her plan. She started slowly toward the door, wondering how much money she had in her purse, and whether it would be enough to get the old woman her supper, when help came from an unexpected quarter. Charlotte, who at that moment was so completely a Knight of the Round Table that she could hardly refrain from using the language of chivalry, and who saw in this instance a chance to bring chivalric ideas into practical use, said excitedly, "Why not, girls, if she's clean? She certainly can't run off with the silver with six of us to watch her."

"She's very respectable looking," pleaded Ruth; "her clothes are neat, and she looks as though—as though she'd seen better days."

"Mother said she wished we could make our club helpful to some one besides ourselves," said Betty slowly; "perhaps this is one of the ways."

"Of course it is," answered Ruth, and was about to make a wild dash for the door when she remembered that Dorothy was president and ought to have the deciding voice. "What do you say, Dolly?" she asked coaxingly. Dorothy frowned. "I don't approve of it a bit," she said, "but as you all seem to be against me I won't say anything more about it." Ruth walked slowly toward the front door, feeling very undecided, but Charlotte, who had followed her, helped her to a decision by saying softly, "Go ahead and invite her, Ruth; Dolly will come round ail right."

Seated in the kitchen the old woman didn't look at all dangerous even to Dorothy's suspicious eyes. She was dressed neatly in black, and, though politely urged, refused to take off either bonnet or shawl. Much conversation with her was impossible, for she was very deaf and mumbled so in talking that it was hard to understand her. The girls couldn't help liking the rosy face with its crown of snowy hair under a black veil, and they felt, too, that gentle glow of pride which comes of exceeding virtue. The old lady's bright eyes traveled from one to the other of them as they worked, and occasionally her whole frame trembled as though with emotion.

"Poor old soul! Perhaps she had daughters of her own," said Alice in a low voice.

It was impossible for the old woman to have heard, but it seemed almost as though she had, for just at that moment she sighed deeply, and drawing from her bag a neatly folded handkerchief wiped her eyes. Then she settled her spectacles on her nose and looked up at Ruth with a brave smile. The girls were touched by her courage, and each resolved privately to buy some of her pins and needles before she left the house.

At last everything was ready and the girls looked at the table with pardonable pride. "My, but I'm hungry," sighed Ruth, "and everything looks so good."

"I don't see why my popovers aren't poppier," said Betty anxiously. "I thought I followed—Oh, goose! Idiot! What do you think I did?" she wailed. "I wanted to be sure to have enough, so I doubled the recipe—but I forgot to double the eggs!"

Betty's despair was so comical that the girls couldn't help laughing, in spite of the fact that the popovers had not fulfilled the end and aim of their existence.

"Oh, Betty, to leave out the poppiest part of them," laughed Charlotte; "now just look at my apples; not a thing left out in cooking those."

The girls shouted again, and the old woman looked around the table as though wondering what the fun was about.

The supper progressed merrily, and everything, even the unambitious popovers, tasted good to the hungry cooke. Their guest paid the highest possible compliment to her hostesses by devouring with great eagerness everything that was offered to her. After she had been served three times to scalloped oysters, and had eaten five popovers and two baked apples, the girls looked at each other in amazement.

"The poor old thing probably hasn't had a square meal in years," said Charlotte softly.

"She'll never be able to walk if she eats ail that cake and pudding she has on her plate," said Dorothy anxiously, "and that's her second cup of chocolate. Why, she's got an appetite like—like a boy."

There was a subdued chuckle from the other end of the table followed by a laugh which ail the girls recognized. Then the old woman, very red in the face and very much hampered by her skirts, pushed back her chair and started for the door.

Quick as a flash Dorothy, looking very determined, stood with her back against the door. "Guard the other door, girls, and some one help me here!" she cried. "Now, Joe Bancroft, who helped you get up this trick?"

Joe, to whom laughter and eating were the main objects of life, threw back his head and laughed until he choked, and grew so red in the face that the girls were actually frightened.

"Oh, oh," he gasped at last, "that's done me lots of good. I think I could eat a little more supper now."

He looked so funny standing there in the neat, black skirt topped by the respectable bonnet and shawl, the spectacles and white hair, that the girls went off into shrieks of merriment. Even Dorothy, who was really angry, couldn't wholly resist the fun of the situation, but she was sober again in a moment and said sternly, "You haven't told us yet who are the others. You never got this up all by yourself, I know."

"Honor forbids me to mention the names of my partners in crime," answered Joe with great solemnity. "They will all be glad to know that you were so kind to a poor old woman—who may have had daughters of her own," he added with a naughty twinkle in his eye.

"Oh, this is too much. Do let him go, Dolly," begged Charlotte. "We know well enough that Frank and Bert are in it, and probably Phil Canfield and Jack."

"No, not Phil and Jack," said Joe quickly, and then groaned inwardly over his stupidity.

"Thanks. That's all we wanted to know," answered Charlotte with triumph in her voice.

"That's one for you, Charlotte. You had me there ail right. Now, ladies, with your kind permission I'll go, leaving you in part payment for my gorgeous supper my stock in trade."

He drew from his bag and laid solemnly on the table one paper of pins, one of needles, and a cake of soap. Then, seeing that the girls at the other door had relaxed their watchfulness, he slipped past them, through the kitchen and out the back door.

A shout of boyish laughter greeted him, and Dorothy groaned as she heard it. "Why didn't you keep him, girls? I was going to make him wash the dishes," she said mournfully.

"It's much nicer to have him out of the way," answered Ruth. "Besides, I want to taste my pudding and Katharine's cake if that greedy boy has left any of it."

"Betty's mother will be so pleased to hear that we've begun so soon to make our club helpful to some one else," observed Charlotte pensively, as they finished washing the dishes, and the club ended its first meeting with a burst of laughter.



CHAPTER VIII

CHARLOTTE'S PROBLEMS

There was a cold rain, freezing as it fell, and the outdoor world looked cheerless and forsaken. In Ruth's room the fire was evidently doing its best to make one forget that it was winter and almost Christmas. Ruth was absorbed in the tying of a gorgeous lavender bow which was to adorn a sweet-grass basket standing on the table near her. So intent was she on her work that she heard no footsteps in the hall, and she jumped violently when a voice at the door said, "Well, this is the cheerfulest place I've found. May I come in and stay a little while?"

"Why, Charlotte, of course you may. I'm delighted to see you," and Ruth's glance swept the table and bed to see if any gift were in sight which ought to be concealed.

"Don't stop your work; just let me lie here and look at the fire. Meanwhile you can say nice, soothing things to me, for I'm tired and cross." Charlotte stretched herself on the rug and even laid her cheek for an instant on the black kitten, a concession that would have filled Betty's soul with joy.

"What's the matter?" asked Ruth a bit absently, as she held the basket out at arm's length and gazed critically at the bow.

"Oh, we're in several different shades of dark-blue over at our house," answered Charlotte. "Mother has shut herself up with a raging headache, Molly has quarreled with her best chum and refuses to be comforted, and one of the twins has the earache. To crown it ail, Melina, who is usually cheerful, is going around the kitchen looking as though she'd lost her last friend, and I actually haven't had the courage yet to find out what's the matter with her. Fortunately for every one, Cousin Josie blew in, and when she saw how things were going she made me go out for an hour, and said she'd stay with the children."

"It must be hard to manage so many," said Ruth who longed to help but didn't know how. "I'm sure I think you're awfully brave to be so cheerful all the time."

"Oh, but I'm not; I'm the most doleful thing you ever knew at home sometimes. And every little while I have to play baby and fuss it all out to some one. You happen to be the victim this time, but if it hadn't been you it would have been Mrs. Hamilton, or Betty." Charlotte's voice quavered, and there was a long silence while she stared gloomily into the fire and Ruth searched her mind for something comforting to say. At last she said hesitatingly, "I wish there was something I could do to help."

"I know you do," answered Charlotte with a smile. "But you can't except just by understanding, and letting me tell my woes to you occasionally. After I've really been in the dumps I'm the most courageous thing you ever saw, and feel that I can accomplish wonders. I suppose the reason I feel blue just now is because Christmas is so near."

"Christmas! Why, don't you just love Christmas?"

"Love it! I should say not. I usually hate it."

Ruth's eyes opened very wide as she stared at Charlotte. That any sane girl should hate Christmas was incomprehensible.

"Christmas won't seem the same to me this year," she said soberly, "but I love it and I'm going to have as good a time as I can. Why do you hate it, Charlotte?"

"Oh, for various reasons. Mother always seems sicker at this season, and father looks anxious and more tired. I always feel that he's trying to squeeze out a little more money to give us a good time, and doesn't see how he possibly can. As for me, I'm so hopelessly in debt to other people in the way of presents that I shall never swim out." Charlotte tried to speak lightly, but it was a dismal failure.

"I never felt about it in just that way,—I mean about being in debt to people. I dare say I've missed giving sometimes when I should have given, if that's the way of it. I love to choose and make presents for the people I'm fond of, and that's what Christmas means to me."

"Well, that's very lovely and quite the proper way to think of it, I know, but it wouldn't seem quite so easy to you if you didn't have any money to spend."

"Why not make things?" asked Ruth innocently.

Charlotte laughed. "Bless your heart, child, doesn't it cost money to buy materials? And I do all the sewing I can possibly make up my mind to in helping to keep the twins from falling out of their clothes. You never saw such holes."

There was a long silence while Charlotte lay still, apparently trying to go to sleep, and Ruth's forehead puckered itself into wrinkles as she wrestled with a weighty problem.

Suddenly Charlotte opened her eyes. "Look here, Ruth," she said bluntly, "I didn't mean to come over here and tell a tale of woe about not having any money, and I'm ashamed because I have. Please forget all about it."

"Oh, Charlotte," cried Ruth, dropping scissors, thimble and spool with a clatter as she got up from her chair. "Oh, Charlotte, I wish you would let me do something I want very much to do."

As she spoke Ruth threw herself on the couch beside Charlotte and put her arms about her. Charlotte, who was most undemonstrative, was vaguely comforted by the friendly embrace, and to her own surprise found herself returning it.

"Charlotte," pleaded Ruth, "I've really more money than I need for Christmas presents this year, for Uncle Jerry sent me a check to use just as I please. Now won't you let me give you your present now, and give it to you in money, so that you may have the fun of using it before Christmas? Oh, oh, don't you dare say a word yet if you can't say yes," she said fiercely, putting her hand over Charlotte's mouth, and in her anxiety pressing so hard that Charlotte gasped for breath.

"Don't you see what a pleasure you'd be giving me?" Ruth went on. "I do so love to give people what they really want, and it's so hard to know. And there won't a soul know about it except us, and I'm dying to have a secret with some one."

Charlotte couldn't help laughing, Ruth's manner was so funny and anxious. "Thank you very much, Ruth, but I really couldn't," she said at last decidedly. "They wouldn't be my presents if I used your money for them; and besides, it makes me feel as though I'd no business to complain to you as I've done."

"Oh, Charlotte, they will be. It won't be my money, for I shall give it to you to use just as you please, and what's the good of having a friend if you don't tell her your troubles once in a while?"

Charlotte was silent and troubled, but she smiled a little at Ruth's mixed-up sentences. Ruth thought this was a good sign and rushed on without giving her a chance for a positive refusal.

"Don't you suppose I know how hard it is for a proud old thing like you to do it? But I'm just selfish enough to try to tease you into it because it's going to be such a favor to me. Do, Charlotte, that's a dear."

With Ruth's arms tightly around her, and Ruth's brown eyes looking at her with mischievous pleading, Charlotte found it difficult to be disappointing. "Well—" she said at last.

"You will!" cried Ruth in a tone of rapture. "Oh, Charlotte, you're a darling, and I'll do as much for you some day."

"I feel as though I'd been in a hold-up," murmured Charlotte, as Ruth released her after another violent squeeze, and went to her desk.

"I don't wonder," laughed Ruth coming back with an envelope in her hand. "Now, Charlotte, I don't want to hurry you, but your hour is up, and I think you'd better go. I have a premonition that the twins have fallen into something or other."

Charlotte rose lazily and held out her arms for the coat which Ruth was holding and into the pocket of which she had slipped the envelope. "You're a sly thing," she said. "You're afraid if I stay I'll go back on my bargain."

"Never," laughed Ruth. "You're not that kind. Can't you go into Boston with me to-morrow and do some shopping? It will be almost the last chance before Christmas."

"Why, yes. I think so. I'm almost sure I can." Charlotte started to go, but turned and gripped Ruth's hand. "You're a trump, Ruth, and you've helped me lots," she said with an effort, "but I must say I don't feel quite right about taking that money."

"Oh, but I do. I shall enjoy it more than any other present I'm giving. We'll have a great time to-morrow spending it."

Once out of the house Charlotte couldn't resist the temptation to take a peep at the contents of the envelope. As she caught a glimpse of a crisp five dollar bill her first impulse was to go immediately and make Ruth take it back. She half turned, and waited irresolutely until the cold sting of the rain forced her to realize that the middle of the street was no place for deciding a weighty question. Then she went slowly toward home, uncomfortable because she had taken the money, happy because of the affection and sympathy Ruth had shown her.

At home a more cheerful atmosphere reigned, and Charlotte felt her spirits rise as she walked into the up-stairs sitting-room where the children were. "You're an angel of peace, Cousin Josie," said Charlotte gratefully. "I'll try to keep them happy until bedtime, though I'm no such genius at it as you are."

Charlotte felt so cheered and comforted that she thought of poor Melina, whose sorrows she had not yet investigated, and turned toward the kitchen. Melina was one of those rare maids-of-all-work whose services cannot be estimated, nor can they be paid for in mere money. Coming into the family when Charlotte was a small child, she had taken each successive baby into her heart, and had worked for them all as faithfully and lovingly as if they belonged to her.

As she walked into the room she was startled to find Melina rocking hard with her apron thrown over her face and audible sniffs going on behind it. The chair was making such a noise that at first she didn't hear Charlotte, and the latter had time to wonder whether it wouldn't be better to steal away softly and come in later. She knew she should hate to be found crying and she supposed Melina would. Before she could decide Melina threw down the apron and jumped up.

"Land, how you scared me," she said huskily. "I guess I was just having a kind of a little nap."

"Oh, was that it?" answered Charlotte. She felt the delicacy of the situation, and hated to pry into things that others didn't want her to know.

"Any cookies, Melina?" she continued carelessly. "I thought I'd take some up to the children. My, but these are good! Who was it in your family used to like them so much? Oh, I know, it was your nephew down in Maine. How is he now, Melina? Does he get any better?"

Melina's answer was so indistinct that Charlotte looked at her in amazement to see two great tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. "Oh, Melina, is he worse, and is that what makes you feel so bad?" she cried sympathetically.

"No, he ain't worse. If anything he's a little mite better."

"What is the matter then? Don't you want to tell me? Perhaps father or some of us could help."

Melina shook her head. "It's only that I ain't got quite enough money to make him the Christmas present I'd planned for him, and what's worse I've been fool enough to write him it was coming. It's one of those new-fangled beds so that he can be wheeled around, and the end raises so that he can sit up a little. He's counting on it so that I can't bear to disappoint him. All I need is five dollars, and I thought sure I should have it because some one owes me just that much. But I got a letter to-day saying she couldn't pay it until after the first of January, so there 'tis."

"If father was only home he could fix it ail right, but I'm afraid mother hasn't five dollars she could spare just now," said Charlotte doubtfully.

"If she had I wouldn't take it," answered Melina, whose business principles were founded on a rock. "Your father paid me up to yesterday, and it ain't time for me to have any more."

"Oh, Melina, wait!" cried Charlotte, and she flashed out of the room and up the stairs, leaving Melina to wonder what had come over the girl. She was back in a moment, hiding both hands behind her as she came into the kitchen. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, and she was so different from the ordinarily languid Charlotte that Melina looked at her in astonishment.

"Melina," she said earnestly, "do you remember when I was a little girl and I used to beg you over and over again to say which hand you'd take? Now, please, please choose now."

Melina hesitated, but Charlotte's manner was so persuasive that she couldn't resist, and murmuring, "left hand nearest the heart," touched that one.

Charlotte pushed something crisp and crackling into her hand. "It's mine to do just what I please with," she cried exultantly, "and I never wanted to do anything more than I want to do this."

Melina stared at the five dollar bill in her hand. Then she held it out to Charlotte again. "I can't take your money," she said. "I ain't saying that I wouldn't like to have it, but I can't take it."

Charlotte looked at her pleadingly. Then she remembered how Ruth had won her over. "But, Melina, it's a favor to me. You've always been doing me favors, I know, but you might do just this one more."

Melina shook her head. "It's no use," she began, and then stopped aghast, for Charlotte, the self-controlled, the hater of tears, startled Melina and fell forever in her own estimation by bursting into sobs. "For the land's sake, child, don't do that," ejaculated Melina, almost whirling herself off her feet in her frantic efforts to decide whether to throw water on her or burn feathers under her nose.

Those who rarely cry are likely to do so with great violence when they once give themselves up to it, and Charlotte's rending sobs drove poor Melina to the verge of distraction. At last she gathered the girl's slender figure into her arms and sat down in the big rocker.

"There, there, lamb," she said, "put your head on Melina's shoulder and cry all you want to," and she held her tenderly until the gasping sobs grew less frequent.

"Oh, Melina, if you could only make up your mind to take that money," said Charlotte at last, getting up and trying hard to keep back the persistent tears. "I do want that poor boy to have his bed right away. I think I could stop crying if you only would."

Melina's thin lips tightened.

"Well," she said at last, grudgingly, "I'll take it and call it a loan. I must say, though, that I think you took an unfair advantage of me. I ain't seen you cry since you was little more than a baby."

"I didn't do it to get my own way. I've been holding on to myself all day, and that was just the last straw that made me let go. Don't call it a loan, for I never want to see it again. Keep it till you find some one who needs it as much as you do just now, and then pass it along. Wouldn't it be interesting to see how far five dollars could travel if it was passed from one to another that way?"

"Talk about goodness," muttered Melina as Charlotte disappeared, "that child's a wonder,—sometimes."



CHAPTER IX

OUT OF THE SNOW

Charlotte woke the next morning feeling vaguely uncomfortable and wondering what was the reason for it. Suddenly it occurred to her that to-day she must see Ruth and must give a reason for not going to Boston with her. To explain what she had done with the money was out of the question, for Charlotte would have been more unwilling to tell of the performance of a good deed than to confess that she had done something wrong. If she gave no reason and simply said she couldn't go Ruth might think she was going to use the money for herself, and that would be unbearable. But, of course, it would be enough to say that it was Melina's only chance to go in town, and she couldn't disappoint her. The fact that her mother was still sick in bed would be sufficient reason why Charlotte couldn't leave on the same day.

Melina, herself, was cross, and worked as though she had a personal grudge against every dish and piece of furniture she touched. The twins and Molly were actually scared into silence, and forbore to make their usual demands on her time and patience. Charlotte, who understood, kept them and herself as much out of the way as possible, and helped all she could so that Melina might take an early train.

As soon as breakfast was over, Charlotte went to Mrs. Hamilton's and found Ruth just getting ready for her trip to Boston.

"Why, Charlotte, you're surely not ready so early as this," she said in surprise as her friend walked into her room.

"Why, no; the fact is I can't go to-day. Melina wants to go, and mother is still too sick to be left alone with the children. I came over early because I thought you might want to ask some one else."

"Oh, dear! Can't Melina wait till to-morrow? I'm dreadfully disappointed." Ruth looked so reproachful that Charlotte found it harder than she had anticipated.

"You see," she explained, "Melina wants to send something off to her nephew in Maine, and if she doesn't start it to-day it won't get there for Christmas."

"Bother Melina's nephew! I'd set my heart on having you with me to-day, and you know why."

Charlotte did know why, and much to her own sorrow. "I'm sorry it's happened so," she began, but Ruth interrupted her.

"It isn't really necessary for me to go to-day. Why can't we both go to-morrow? We don't mind if the stores are crowded."

Poor Charlotte looked positively unhappy. In all the labyrinth of thought through which she had wandered this exceedingly simple solution of the matter hadn't occurred to her.

"Why, I might," she stammered feeling her way. "No, I can't," she went on decidedly. "The truth is, Ruth, I'm not going to buy any Christmas presents this year, after all."

"Oh," said Ruth coldly. "Then, of course, you won't want to go in town."

"No, I think I'd better not. I'm sorry,—I can't explain."

"You don't need to explain. You have a perfect right to do as you please, of course." Ruth's tone was so freezingly polite that Charlotte almost shivered.

"I must run back home," she said at last with an attempt at cheerfulness. "Would you like to have me ask Betty or Dolly to go with you?"

"No, thank you," and Ruth busied herself in the tying of a bow with such complete absorption that Charlotte felt that the best and only thing she could do was to go. She was so absorbed in her own disagreeable thoughts that she plodded along through the snow with her head down, and almost ran over Joe, who was patiently standing in the middle of the walk hoping for just that result.

"Why don't you warn a fellow when you are coming down upon him like a ship under full sail, Charlotte?" he asked with pretended indignation.

"Get right out of my way, little boy," answered Charlotte, with assumed scorn. "I suppose now that vacation has begun you children will be under my feet all the time."

Joe chuckled softly. He would have been disappointed if Charlotte had answered in any other way.

"What's the matter with you, Charlotte?" he asked as she passed him and he fell into line behind her. "You look as though you had lost your last friend."

"I feel so," remarked Charlotte briefly, and in a flash was sorry she had said it.

"I didn't think Ruth was that kind," Joe said after a pause.

"What kind? She isn't. There isn't anything the matter, and it's all my fault. Ruth's all right, and I don't blame her a bit."

Joe grinned appreciatively behind her back over this mixed statement of affairs. Then he said, "Good for you, Charlotte. You're all right, too. What are you going to do this morning?"

"Shovel snow. It's the only kind of work that I really enjoy."

"Let me help. I like to shovel snow when it isn't in my own yard."

"Run off and play with the other boys," answered Charlotte ungratefully. "I have the twins and Molly on my hands, and that will be enough for one day."

"Don't be foolish and refuse a good thing when it's offered you," said Joe good-naturedly. "I'll help you amuse them."

"Well, come along in then, and read while I get the children ready. Oh, they're out now," she added, as they turned the comer and saw the twins, looking like industrious brownies, rolling a huge snowball across the yard, while Molly was expending her artistic talent on the building of a snow-man.

The clean snow-drifts, glittering in the sunshine, fired Charlotte with the desire to play as she used to play when a child. "Get the shovels, Joe," she commanded, "and after we've cleared the piazza, let's build a snow-house and freeze it."

"And my man can be the man that owns it, out for a walk in his garden," chimed in Molly, who had been too much absorbed in her work to speak before.

"Nice weather for gardening," said Joe with a wink, as he started after the shovels.

Work is a cure for many sorrows, and Charlotte felt her heart grow lighter as she helped Joe cut great blocks of snow and pile them symmetrically. Betty, who had wandered over to see Charlotte, proved a most efficient helper, and Frank and Bert, driving by almost hidden under the branches of a stately Christmas tree, shouted their greetings and came back later to join in the work.

Both boys and girls worked hard, and the result was a snow hut large enough to shelter a good-sized family of Esquimaux. An arched doorway gave entrance to the interior, which was divided into two rooms. It had taken a large amount of snow to build it, and really much skill, for the day was growing warmer and it was almost impossible to make the structure firm enough to stand.

"There," said Charlotte, as she stuck a tiny American flag just over the entrance, "I consider that the finishing touch. Now if you boys will come over this afternoon and freeze it it will probably last for some time."

"What a short morning!" exclaimed Betty as the church clock struck twelve. "I'm as warm as toast and as hungry as a bear."

"Come in and help me get out the lunch Melina left for us," begged Charlotte, "and then we can rest till the boys come over this afternoon."

The boys left in a cloud of snowballs, but Joe found a chance to say softly to Charlotte as he passed her, "Feeling better, Charlotte? You look it."

"Run along and don't be foolish," answered Charlotte disdainfully.

"Goodness! Melina must have thought she was going to feed an army," laughed Betty, as Charlotte brought out sandwiches, cookies, brown bread and a plate heaped with the cunning apple turnovers for which Melina was famous. "Doesn't everything look good?"

"Don't you want to make us some cocoa, Bettina? Yours is so good."

Betty laughed. "Of course, you sly old thing. You know I love to show off on cooking, don't you?"

"Good reason why; because you're so clever about it. I wish I weren't such a stupid about doing all the things a girl is expected to do, and I truly wish I didn't hate it all so."

"You can do other things," answered Betty loyally; "things I'd be only too glad to do if I could. You ought to have heard all the nice things Ruth said about you the other day."

Charlotte's heart sank. The joy of working in the keen, clear air had almost made her forget the unpleasantness of the morning. Now it ail came back to her with a rush. Ruth would never again say nice things about her, and there would be an end, of course, to ail the delightful intimacy which had seemed to promise so much pleasure for the winter.

"Charlotte, Charlotte, Irving is climbing on the table to get a turnover," announced Molly in a tone of dignified disapproval, and Charlotte came to the rescue just in time to defeat the plans of the small pirate, whose schemes for getting what he wanted were without end.

It was a jolly lunch, for they were all too hungry to notice Charlotte's sudden depression, and the twins kept Betty in a perpetual state of amusement. To Charlotte, however, the tempting food might as well have been something far less appetizing, for the keen discomfort she was feeling took away all sense of pleasure.

"I don't believe I want to work any more on the snow-house," she said soberly, as she and Betty finished putting away the dishes. "You and the boys can finish up if you like, but I'm almost too tired to move."

"Well, I don't care," answered Betty good-naturedly. "I ought to be working on my Christmas presents anyway, and I've had a pretty good airing this morning. Can't you bring some sewing over to my house?"

"Sewing! You know I hate it. I hate Christmas presents, too, and I shall be glad when Christmas is over."

Betty gazed at her in such consternation that Charlotte couldn't help laughing. "Don't mind me, Bettikins," she said penitently; "I'm a cross, disagreeable thing, and I ought to know better, Only, if you love me, don't say Christmas anywhere in my neighborhood, or I shall certainly explode into some badness."

Betty looked puzzled, but wisely refrained from asking any questions. "Don't make yourself out too much of a villain," she said with a comforting pat, "for I shan't believe it, and I shall keep on liking you just the same."

With a look at the twins and Molly, who were safely at work in the snow, Charlotte went up-stairs to her mother, wishing in her heart that she could take her troubles to her as other girls did to their mothers, but knowing from long experience that nothing of the kind was possible. Mrs. Eastman had been so long an invalid that Charlotte could hardly remember the time when it had not been the first object of her father, and later of herself, to spare her mother every care and excitement. To-day was one of Mrs. Eastman's better days, and Charlotte found her dressed and sitting by the window when she went in with the tray.

"Why, mother, how good it seems to see you sitting up," she said happily; "are you really feeling better?"

"Yes, really better; so much so that I thought I would give my good little daughter a pleasant surprise when she came up to see me."

Charlotte looked at her mother with delight. It was many weeks since she had heard that cheerful tone, had seen the blue eyes so clear, and the sweet face so untroubled.

"Oh, Mumsey, you are so pretty when you don't have that horrid pain," she said, setting the tray on the table and kneeling down to rest her head on her mother's knee.

Mrs. Eastman laughed softly, and patted the tired head with a tender hand. "I'm glad I look pretty to you," she said. "But where are Molly and the twins?"

"Out in the yard digging in the snow. The boys and Betty were here this morning, and we made a grand snow-house, but no one has come back to finish up." Charlotte looked out as she spoke and opened the window a crack to remind Irving that he couldn't prance around on top of the snow-house, because it wasn't strong enough yet for such treatment.

"Don't you believe you'll be able to come down-stairs pretty soon? Perhaps you can be with us on Christmas Day; oh, Mumsey," and Charlotte glowed with delighted anticipation. "It won't make so very much difference, after all," she added soberly, "for Christmas won't be much different from any other day."

"Yes, it will; it shall, darling," said Mrs. Eastman. "I know we can't spend much money for presents, but we'll trim the house, and we'll have popcorn and apples and—"

Just what her mother intended to add Charlotte never knew, for a wild shriek from the yard made her rush to the window in terror. At first she could not tell what had happened. Then she realized that Molly was dancing wildly around wringing her hands, that Irving's startled face and sturdy shoulders were emerging from the ruins of the snow-house, and that no one else was in sight.

"Stanley, where is Stanley?" she called, opening the window wide.

"Under the snow," shrieked Molly. "He can't get out, he can't get out."

Charlotte said afterward that she never felt sure whether she went out of the window or over the stairs. She realized only that some one came swiftly behind her and she screamed, "Go back, go back; I'll get him out."

But the figure kept silently on, and, before Charlotte could prevent, her mother was pulling Irving with all her strength.

"Help me lift him," she cried piteously; "my other baby is under all this snow."

No one knew better than Charlotte the weight of snow which had fallen on poor Stanley, and she felt sick with terror as they at last set Irving on his feet.

"Run for Dr. Holland, Molly, and tell the neighbors to come here," she said in a voice sharp with fear. Then she seized a shovel which lay near and began to lift off the snow with a care and slowness which made her mother frantic,

"Give me the shovel, Charlotte; my baby will smother while you work so slowly."

"Stop, mother," answered Charlotte. "We may hurt him if we use the shovel any more. Now I must use my hands."

It seemed hours before Charlotte, plunging in the snow and throwing it aside with her arms and her whole body, felt the touch of her brother's coat. And then still hours before she could draw out the limp, little body.

"Give him to me," cried Mrs. Eastman snatching him to her breast, and running toward the house. "Get hot water, Charlotte, and blankets." Charlotte tried to run, but couldn't. She was vaguely conscious that a sleigh had stopped outside the gate, that figures were hurrying toward the house, that Joe, looking exceedingly red and anxious but withal rather indistinct, had almost reached her, and then she forgot everything.

When she opened her eyes she was on the library sofa, and Mrs. Hamilton and Betty were smiling reassuringly at her. She looked at them a moment without speaking, and then all that had happened came sharply back to her.

"Where is Stanley?" she cried, starting up in alarm.

"Stanley is all right, dear," answered Mrs. Hamilton, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Dr. Holland says that by to-morrow he won't know that anything has happened to him."

"And mother? She was out there in the cold and snow."

"She says it hasn't hurt her a bit and she will insist on staying up to take care of Stanley. Truly they are all right, Charlotte, and you mustn't worry." Betty's tone was so motherly and insistent that Charlotte couldn't help smiling. She closed her eyes sleepily and didn't even trouble to open them when she felt herself lifted from the sofa and carried up-stairs.

When she awoke it was quite dark in the room except for the light from the open fire. She could hear in the sitting-room a subdued murmur of voices, and now and then Irving's giggle, promptly suppressed by the stern Molly. As she lay there in drowsy comfort Melina stole into the room and coming softly to the bed peered sharply at her.

"Hullo," said Charlotte with a suddeness that made Melina jump. "What time is it, and how is every one?"

"Goodness, I thought you was asleep. They're all right. I've just made your ma go to bed, though she declares she never felt better in her life. Stanley's sitting up on the sofa with the pillows ail around him, feeling like a little king, and Molly's proud as Punch to be nurse. Now what would you like for your supper?"

"My! Is it supper-time? Oh, bring me anything good. You know what I like."

"There's a girl in the kitchen—the one that's staying with Mrs. Hamilton. She wanted I should come up to see how you are, and she says she'll come to see you just as soon as you want her."

"Oh, ask her to come now, Melina, please. I feel quite well enough to see her."

Melina began to protest, but Charlotte's eagerness conquered, and she went grumbling down-stairs to call Ruth.

"Oh, Charlotte, you're a dear to let me come and tell you how mean I feel. I don't believe I should have slept to-night if I couldn't 'fess up' to somebody."

Charlotte looked at her in astonishment and Ruth went on, "You see I know all about what you did with the money, for Melina sat with me coming out on the train."

"Melina told you!" said Charlotte, hardly able to believe her own ears.

"Yes, I remembered her face and said something to her. She was so full of joy over having sent the bed off to her nephew that before she knew it she had told me all about him, and about the five dollars, too."

"She probably won't tell anything again in a hundred years," murmured Charlotte, looking so embarrassed and uncomfortable that Ruth couldn't help seeing it.

"You're a funny girl to be so ashamed of your good deeds. But, honestly, Charlotte, I'll never tell if you don't want me to. I'm simply bowed down with shame myself to think I was so mean and hateful this morning."

"Oh, that's ail right, Ruth," said Charlotte warmly, "and I'm not going to be horrid about Christmas any more. I think this will be the happiest one I've ever had."



CHAPTER X

CHRISTMAS PRESENTS

The day before Christmas Ruth awoke with an ache in her heart, and an inexpressible longing for mother and father. It was even worse, she thought, than the Christmas before when grief for her mother was so keenly new. Then, she and her father had been so occupied making the hard day easier for each other that it had passed almost pleasantly. But now, with her best chum so far away, the longing for her mother increased tenfold, and Ruth found herself wishing that she could go to sleep again, and not wake until the holidays were over.

It was hard to look cheerful at the breakfast-table, and every one missed the gay laugh and chatter which usually made the meal so pleasant.

"You're not ill, child, are you?" asked Mr. Hamilton as he rose from the table.

"Oh, no," answered Ruth quickly, feeling that it would be rank ingratitude to look melancholy after ail their kindness to her.

"That's right," he said with a farewell pat. "We can't have you looking sober. You know I depend on you to give me a merry Christmas."

"I'll try," answered Ruth dutifully, but she felt that it would be an impossibility for her to add to any one's happiness.

"Perhaps you will help me a little, Ruth," said Mrs. Hamilton as they finished breakfast. "I'm going to pack and deliver some Christmas baskets this morning, and I really need some assistance in order to get through with it."

"I'd love to. Mother and I always did that, and I used to think it almost the nicest part of Christmas. Mayn't I buy something to put in the baskets, or have you all that you can use?"

"It would be very nice if you would, for I've just heard of a family this morning where the children haven't the necessary winter clothing. There are four children, the oldest about seven and the youngest a baby, and I'm sure you will find a great many things they need at the little store near the post-office. If you feel like taking that off my mind I shall be truly grateful."

"Indeed I do," and Ruth, looking more cheerful already, ran off to put on her coat and gay little hat. It is undeniable that doing for others is the best cure for an ache in one's own heart, and Ruth felt almost happy for the next half hour as she bought little suits of underwear, warm petticoats and stockings, and red mittens enough for the entire family. She felt quite like Santa Claus as she walked down the street, for she had made a last purchase of toys and candy, and enticing-looking bundles stuck out in all directions. Those who passed couldn't help smiling at the pretty girl who, for the time, at least, was the embodiment of Christmas cheer.

"There, that was fun," she said with a sigh of satisfaction as she deposited her bundles on the table. "Now, let me help you pack."

For the remainder of the morning there was no time to be unhappy, for by the time the baskets were packed the sleigh was at the door. Mrs. Hamilton's errands took them to the outskirts of the town, where great fields of snow spread their dazzling whiteness, and the cool, crisp air blew the cobwebs from one's brain. Ruth learned a helpful lesson in the art of giving, for Mrs. Hamilton was as beautifully simple and friendly with the poor women she visited as with her wealthier friends, and it was a pleasure to see the good comradeship with which she entered into their joys and sorrows.

"This is my last visit for the morning," said Mrs. Hamilton, as the sleigh drew up before a neat little house. "I have just a little Christmas remembrance to leave here, and I think you may find this the most attractive place of all."

Ruth followed Mrs. Hamilton into the house with real curiosity, only to be met by a cheerful, rosy-cheeked woman who looked clean and wholesome, though not especially interesting. She was putting an extra polish on her little parlor, which already looked spotless, and singing softly as she did so. As the song stopped Ruth realized that the words were French and she began to feel curious immediately.

"Ah, Mrs. Hamilton, it ees a great pleasure to see you," the woman said as Mrs. Hamilton shook hands with her. "Marie will be so happy. She has so wearied for you."

Mrs. Hamilton and Ruth followed the good woman into the little room, which was dining-room and sitting-room combined, and where on a couch lay a girl a year or two older than Ruth. The great dark eyes, looking out of the palest face Ruth had ever seen, lighted up with joy, and a flashing smile disclosed faultless teeth as the girl said with an accent even more marked than Mrs. Perrier's, "It ees my angel of mercy come again. I am so glad, so glad."

"I thought you might get tired of such an old angel, Marie," laughed Mrs. Hamilton, "so I've brought a younger one along with me. Come here, Ruth, and let me make you acquainted with my friend, Marie Borel, who has left her Swiss mountains, and has come to America to do great things."

"Such great things I have done!" said Marie, reproachfully. "The first thing ees to get seeck so that my good aunt should have to take care of me. I do not like to make so much trouble."

"It is nothing," said her aunt affectionately as she patted the thin hand. "The uncle and I, we care only for your pain and trouble. It ees a pleasure to have you with us."

Marie looked at her with such loving gratitude in her soft eyes that her aunt retreated to the kitchen where Mrs. Hamilton followed her on the pretext of obtaining a promised recipe.

Left to themselves the girls chatted in friendliest fashion, and Ruth soon learned at least the outlines of Marie's story. Her father had been pastor in a quaint little town of French Switzerland, and there Marie had been born and had lived until death had taken both father and mother within a year. Then, heart-broken over her loss, she had accepted with gratitude an invitation from her aunt, who had gone to America with her husband when Marie was a little girl.

It was a trial of Ruth's self-control when Marie told so simply and pathetically of the death of her mother and father, for her own loss seemed so terribly near. "I've lost my mother, too, Marie," she said softly, "and my father has gone so far away that sometimes I feel quite alone."

"Ah, then you can understand how hard it is to be brave when one has so great a sorrow."

"Indeed I can. And I'm not always brave. But tell me what happened to you after you got here."

"Something, my grief, perhaps, or the voyage, made me so seeck. But it ees much better already, for now I can read a little and can also sew." As she spoke Marie took from a little bag lying by her side a piece of embroidery which to Ruth's eyes seemed a marvel of neatness and beauty.

"Oh, how lovely!" she said admiringly. "How can you do such fine even work?"

"We are taught to make such fine stitches when we are very little girls," answered Marie much gratified at the praise. "And I also make the pillow lace. Have you ever seen that made?"

Ruth looked with greatest interest at the plump cushion with its rows of pins, and watched intently while the thin hands deftly tossed the bobbins around in most mysterious fashion.

"Oh, you do that so fast and so carelessly," she said at last, "and yet that beautiful pattern comes so perfectly." "Isn't it wonderful, Ruth?" asked Mrs. Hamilton, coming into the room. "I hoped Marie would show you her lace pillow and her embroidery."

"It's perfectly fascinating," declared Ruth, "and I'd like to learn, but I know I should tie all those threads in a tight knot right away."

"Come over and I will teach you a simple pattern that in my country quite little children learn to make," urged Marie, who longed for another visit from her new friend.

"I'll come again gladly, but I'm not sure that I shall ever have courage to attempt anything so wonderful," laughed Ruth as she rose to go.

"I'm so glad you took me there, Aunt Mary," she said as they got into the sleigh. "You seem to know just what to do for people when they are miserable."

"I knew that what you wanted most I couldn't give you, dear, so I tried the next best thing."

"Marie was so cheerful and patient that it made me ashamed to be anything else when I'm so well and have father. Only it seems as though I never wanted my mother more than I do to-day." Ruth's voice trembled and the tears filled her eyes.

"Dear, we think you are brave, and we have appreciated your struggles more than you suspect," said Mrs. Hamilton tenderly. "We are so grateful for what you have done for Arthur, and the whole house seems more cheerful when our borrowed daughter is in it."

Ruth's face brightened, and her hand sought Mrs. Hamilton's under the robe and squeezed it hard. She was silent for a moment and then she cried gayly, "From now on I 'solomon promidge,' as some one used to say, to be good and cheerful for the rest of the day."

"That's right, darling; and now let's see if any Christmas greetings have arrived while we've been away," said Mrs. Hamilton as they entered the house.

"I should say they had," said Arthur, who had just come down to lunch, and was scrutinizing the addresses on several interesting looking packages. "Here's a heavy box for Ruth, and several small packages for you, mother."

"Oh, would you open it now, or would you wait until to-morrow?" cried Ruth, as she weighed the package in her hands and studied the outside. "It's too fascinating, and I really can't wait," she decided, and cutting the string with the knife Arthur held out to her, she soon disclosed a box of unmistakable intent.

"Tyler's!" she said rapturously, "and five pounds of it, I'm sure. That's Uncle Jerry's writing on the envelope. 'For the Social Six, whose acquaintance I hope to make in the near future.' How dear of him! And that means that he's coming to Boston some time this winter! Oh, I shall be so happy if he does."

"He's a wise young man to pave the way beforehand so sweetly," said Mrs. Hamilton with a laugh. "Ail the girls will think him quite perfect."

"He's the nicest uncle that ever lived, and we do have such good times together. He's only twelve years older than I am, you know, and he seems more like a brother than an uncle." As Ruth spoke the front door opened suddenly and Mr. Hamilton entered.

"Am I just in time for lunch?" he asked gaily. "I thought I'd come out early to-day and play with Ruth. Besides, I have a package here which she might like to investigate."

He gave Ruth a bundle which was almost covered with seals, stamps and addresses, and a letter which bore a foreign postmark.

"From father," exclaimed Ruth. "Excuse me if I open it now. Do listen to this," she said as her eyes traveled quickly over the familiar handwriting. "'The package which I am sending in Mr. Hamilton's care contains some little gifts for the girls and boys about whom you have written to me. They have all been so kind to you that I am glad to express my gratitude to them even in so slight a manner. I shall leave you to bestow them as you think fit, and only hope that they will enjoy them as much as I have enjoyed choosing them.'

"Isn't that the loveliest thing you ever heard of?" said Ruth, turning to Mrs. Hamilton. "Won't we have fun deciding about them?"

"Let's have an impromptu party, to-night, if we can get the girls and boys together," said Mrs. Hamilton, who was as much a girl as Ruth about some things.

"Splendid!" said Ruth, and then added in comical dismay, "I don't see how you expect me to eat any lunch with such exciting times in prospect."

"We'll eat and plan at the same moment," consoled Mrs. Hamilton, "and then you won't feel that you're losing precious time."

It was decided that they should invite only the Social Six girls, and the boys of the Candle Club, and to Ruth was left the pleasant task of telephoning where she could, and sending John with notes to the others. Every one in the house was busy, for each wanted to have a hand in making Ruth's first party in her new home a happy one. Delicious odors began to come from the kitchen, where Ellen was flying around with a red and beaming face, and even Arthur was shut up in his room carrying out mysterious directions his mother had given him.

"I've been racking my brains to think up some quite novel way to give these presents," said Ruth as she and Mrs. Hamilton finished making their selections.

"Just leave it to me. I have a plan for that, and all you need to do is to make them into nice little packages. You can use these small cards for marking them."

Ruth sat in her room making her parcels gay with gold cord and sprigs of holly until she heard Mrs. Hamilton calling her. Then she went down-stairs to find the family assembled in the dining-room for a light and early supper. Until they had met at the table it had not occurred to Ruth to wonder how Arthur would take this sudden festivity.

So it was with real purpose but with an apparently careless manner that she stopped him on his way to the stairs to say, "Do be down before any one comes, for I want you to help me out. I feel really embarrassed over my first party."

"I'm not coming down," he answered abruptly.

"Not coming down? Oh, Arthur, that's too bad of you. Does your mother know?"

"No, not yet. I told her I'd try, and I have, but I can't manage it." Arthur's face and manner were so forlorn that it took all Ruth's courage to continue. She glanced around but there was no one within hearing, and at last she said, "Why won't you come down? Is it because you can't bear to have the boys and girls see you on crutches?"

Arthur nodded uncomfortably. He hated to talk of this to any one, and he hadn't expected any determined interference in his plans.

"Don't you suppose they ail know about it? And if they do will just seeing you make any difference?" continued Ruth, quite surprised at her own eloquence, and still persistently barring the way to the stairs. "I know that they are all longing to have you with them again, and that none of the good times seem the same without you. I heard Frank and Joe say the other day that if you kept up this sort of thing much longer they were going to make a raid on your room and have it out with you."

"I wish they would," answered Arthur gloomily. "Perhaps they might knock some sense into me."

"Well, if you want to know what I think," Ruth went on, feeling that her courage was fast departing, and on that very account growing more and more severe, "I think it's cowardly to shut yourself away from your friends and spoil everything like this. I dare say you are one of the very boys who think that ail girls are cry-babies, but I can't see why it isn't playing baby to do as you are doing."



CHAPTER XI

ARTHUR COMES BACK

As soon as Arthur was out of sight Ruth flew up the stairs and into her room.

"Oh, dear! Now I have done it!" she thought, throwing herself on the couch and clasping her hands behind her head. "Just as we were beginning to be good friends, too. Why didn't I keep still and let his mother manage it?"

Ruth's cheeks were very red and her hands hot and unsteady as she put on her dainty silk gown. She had expected to enjoy the evening so much, and now, for the moment, at least, she would be thankful if there were to be no party. She tormented herself by thinking that perhaps if she had not interfered things might have gone better. What boy could ever forgive being called a coward and a baby? Would she, herself, have been braver or more cheerful if she had suddenly been condemned to crutches and so inactive a life?

Fortunately for her the sound of the door-bell made her run hastily down-stairs to receive her guests. It was a relief to find Mrs. Hamilton in the big music-room, for though she was accustomed to meeting the three boys who had arrived first, they seemed strangely formal and unfamiliar in the dignity of their party clothes. They were doing their best to be cheerful and entertaining, for all felt oppressed by the fact that there was to be a party in the Hamilton house without Arthur as host.

Joe, who with Frank and Arthur had formed a trio noted for its loyalty and good fellowship, looked as solemn as a boy who resembled a good-natured cherub could, and shook hands with Mrs. Hamilton and Ruth with a fervor that made them wince. Arthur had been his hero and chum ever since they were small boys in knickerbockers. They had gone to school together, and had been preparing for the same college when the accident happened which had so changed Arthur. It had been the first real sorrow of Joe's life to be shut away from Arthur, and he felt that he should never be reconciled to it.

Philip and John Canfield were brothers who had come lately to Glenloch, and were much liked by the boys and girls. Phil, the elder, was a quiet, studious boy, much interested in mechanics and electricity, and preparing for a course in one of the well-known scientific schools. He was devoted to his younger brother, who was a brilliant, artistic lad, but not very strong. The family had come to Glenloch on account of the fine air, and the out-of-door life.

Glenloch young people were never late in arriving at a party, and almost before Ruth realized it ail her guests had come.

"What shall we do first?" she whispered to Charlotte, who was looking really pretty in her red dress, though a little pale still from her recent fright.

"Let's play Twenty Questions. That breaks the ice beautifully, for we always get so excited over it."

Dorothy and Bert Ellsworth were selected as leaders and began at once to choose their supporters. They had not progressed far, however, when an exclamation from Joe, who was standing in the background, made them all turn to look at him. He was staring past Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton out into the hall, his eyes very big and round, and a broad smile on his face. Before he could speak a voice from the hall, a voice that tried very hard to be steady, said:

"Can you find a place for me on one of the sides?"

Then, and only then, Joe came to life. Leaping toward the door he seized the owner of the voice by the shoulders with a force that threatened to overbalance him.

"It's Art!" he almost shrieked, "by glory, it's Arthur. Of course you can have a place. You can be on both sides. You can own the whole party if you want to."

"Hold on, old man," said Arthur with a laugh as he started slowly into the room with Joe's arm around his shoulders. "Don't rush me too hard, for I'm not so steady on my pins as I used to be."

Almost before the words were ont of his mouth there was a general rush of boys in his direction.

"Take care of the sticks, Joe," ordered Frank; "now, Phil, gently there," and before Arthur could protest he was lifted skilfully in the arms of his chums, borne in triumphal procession across the long room, and deposited in the biggest armchair.

"What's the matter with Arthur?" piped Jack, as the boys settled themselves on the floor around the big chair, and in response a ringing chorus of boys and girls lustily asserted, "He's all right!"

Arthur held his head high and smiled bravely, but his paleness told what a struggle for self-control he was making. Quite unconsciously he looked appealingly at his mother, but saw only her back as she went quickly from the room.

Betty, who had a positive genius for sensing situations and smoothing over hard places, saw the look and came to the rescue at once. "Get up, children," she commanded with mock severity; "this is a party, and we don't sit on the floor at parties. Besides, we're going to play a game."

"Oh, we'd rather talk to Arthur," answered Bert bluntly. "You girls can play games in the library if you want to."

There was a chorus of protest from the girls, in the midst of which Frank and Joe set Bert forcibly on his feet, while Phil said paternally, "Son, son, is that the way you talk to your sister? You're going to have plenty of chance to talk to Arthur from now on, so come along and play like a good little boy."

It was Dorothy's turn to choose, and she took what her brother called a mean advantage by immediately choosing Arthur and establishing her camp around the big chair. Bert's side went reluctantly into the library, and the game began by sending Philip and Katharine into the hall to choose what the others should guess.

In spite of the fact that what she most wanted had come to pass Ruth still felt uncomfortable, indeed almost unhappy. To be sure Arthur had come down, but would he ever forgive what she had said to him? She had been quick to see that at first he had resented her advent into the family, and it was with a secret pride that she had lately realized that they were getting to be good friends. "Now I have spoiled all that," she thought mournfully. "He may be glad I made him come down, but I know he'll never forget the horrid things I said."

Katharine and Philip fondly hoped that they had chosen something which would puzzle their friends for some time. It was not long, however, before Charlotte, whose skilful questioning was the admiration of her own side and the despair of the other, had gradually drawn from Philip the fact that the object thought of was the right eye of the first fish Frank had caught the last time he went fishing. As Philip reluctantly assented there was a shout of joy from Bert's side, and an answering chorus of groans from the music-room. Then Charlotte and Jack went out and tried their best to think of something almost unguessable, and at last Ruth was sent out to wait for some one from the other side who seemed to be slow in coming.

She sat down in one of the hall chairs, but started up again and would have liked to run away when she heard the familiar tap of the crutches on the polished floor. It was silly to feel so embarrassed, she thought; she had meant well, at least, in what she had done, and if she had gone too far she was sorry but it couldn't be helped now. She tried to think only of the game they were playing and said brightly to Arthur as he approached:

"I hope you've thought of something hard, for I'm so stupid I can't think of a thing."

"Oh, hang the game," he answered impatiently. "See here, Ruth, it's not very easy for me to say things, but I've just been waiting for the chance to tell you that you've done something for me to-night that I shall never forget."

"Oh, but I want you to forget all those horrid things I said, and I take them all back this very minute. I think it's very fine and brave of you to come down and act just the same as ever."

Arthur looked as if the little speech pleased him, though, being a boy, of course he couldn't say so.

"It's taken three of you to reform me," he said with a little laugh. "Mother has tried her hand at it, and good old Ellen, and now you have put on the finishing touch. At least, I hope it's the finishing touch," he added soberly.

"Of course it is. You can never feel like shutting yourself up again when you see how they all want you, and how happy you make your mother and father."

"I shall be an ungrateful beast if I don't please my mother and father. You must give me a push if you see me going backward, Ruth. What's the use of a borrowed sister if she can't help a fellow along?"

"I will, and you must help me, for boys always have very strict ideas as to how their sisters should behave," said Ruth with a mischievous twinkle. "My, but I feel better," she added with a sigh. "You've been such an awful load on my conscience, Arthur Hamilton, that I haven't enjoyed one minute of my party. Now I'm going to have a good time."

She started toward the door of the library just as Joe's voice called from the music-room, "What under the sun are you two people taking so long about?"

Ruth flew back to Arthur in dismay. "Oh, in another second I should have walked straight back to my own side without choosing a thing," she gasped. "Do think of something quick."

Arthur shouted with laughter. "I'd have given anything if you had," he choked. "I should have liked to see your face when you came to."

"Mean boy!" she said sternly. "You can only pay up for that by thinking of something immediately, before I count five. One, two, three, four—-"

"The tip of Fuzzy's tail," answered Arthur, making a useless grab for the object in question as its small proprietor disappeared up the stairs.

"All right. But they'll guess it in a minute," declared Ruth as they took their separate ways. Contrary to her expectations it proved a hard one, and they were all in gales of merriment before Betty, whose thoughts turned easily to cats, started the questioning in the right direction. Charades came next, then a game proposed by Philip, and after that supper was announced.

Ruth, who had not been let into the secret of the final arrangements, felt a thrill of delight when she saw the pretty table. A tiny Christmas tree hung with glittering ornaments, and dotted with twinkling candies was the centerpiece, while a border of delicate green vine brightened with sprigs of holly ran all around the table. At the foot of the little tree were heaped mysterious parcels wrapped in white tissue-paper and tied with gold cord. Now Ruth knew what Arthur had been so busy over all the afternoon, for the place cards were small and very funny snapshots of the guests themselves, neatly mounted, and with the date in gold lettering.

"The mental effort of playing guessing games gives me almost an appetite," said Joe pensively, as he watched with hungry eyes a platter of chicken coming his way. There was a general shout at this, for Joe was always eating, and never hesitated to proclaim that he considered the serving of the refreshments the nicest part of a party.

"You have a fairly good appetite for a boy," remarked Ruth, "or for a white-haired lady either," she added demurely.

Every one laughed and Joe groaned. He had tried to keep it a dead secret that his grandmother had been highly indignant because he had borrowed her best gown without leave, and had cut off his allowance for several weeks, but it had leaked out, and the girls didn't mean he should hear the last of it.

"Never mind, old boy," said Arthur. "There's more food in sight and still more in the kitchen, so pitch in."

It was a delicious supper of chicken and creamed potatoes, crisp rolls and foamy chocolate, and Ellen's unrivaled ice-cream and cake to top off with. As they were finishing the ice-cream, Katie appeared with a tray on which reposed six pound boxes and an equal number of half pound boxes. All eyes were upon her as she gave a large box to each girl and a small box to each boy.

"Wow!" said the irrepressible Joe, lifting his box and letting it fly into the air, so great was his astonishment at finding it empty.

"Oh, here's richness!" cried Dorothy, taking off the cover of hers to disclose row upon row of tempting chocolates.

The boys with one accord uncovered their boxes, only to find them empty, and a low groan went around the table.

"I say, Betty, I always did like you," said Frank, gazing covetously at the sweets so near at hand.

"Tell them about it, Ruth," laughed Mrs. Hamilton.

Ruth tried to look very solemn as she gazed around the table. "This, boys," she said impressively, "is intended for an object-lesson, to show you how nice and kind and generous, and—and everything else that's good, girls can be when they have the slightest chance. My Uncle Jerry, who hopes soon to know you all, has sent this candy to the girls, and now it's their turn to do the next thing."

"Give me your box then, and let me fill it at once before I am tempted to keep it ail myself," groaned Charlotte, reaching for Joe's box. "And 'think shame to yourself' for your greediness in the past."

Meanwhile Mrs. Hamilton was busy with the packages placed around the little Christmas tree. From somewhere in the midst of the greenery she extracted a bunch of red and white ribbons and, holding them so that it was impossible to see to which packages they were attached, she offered them to each in turn saying, "Girls white, and boys red, please.

"Now pull and see what you'll get," she said as the last ribbon left her hand. "These are gifts which have come across the ocean to you from Ruth's father."

The ribbons were purposely so tangled that at first it was like pulling in an unwilling fish. There was much friendly squabbling, and then a chorus of ohs and ahs as the gifts were finally opened.

"Just what I wanted," contentedly sighed Dorothy as she clasped a turquoise-studded bracelet on her round arm. "What a perfectly elegant father you must have, Ruth!"

"I should say so," came in a duet from Betty and Katharine who were respectively gloating over a string of pearl beads and a pretty hatpin. Alice had found a silver belt-buckle in her parcel, and Charlotte was gazing at a coral necklace with great satisfaction.

"What vain creatures girls are," said Frank maliciously as he gazed at the absorbed young ladies. "Now we men, ahem, are presented with practical gifts." As he spoke he held up a fine knife with views of Nuremberg on the handle.

"You spoke too soon, Frank," said Phil, showing a pair of cuff links, while Joe made every one laugh by assuming dandified airs as he stuck in his tie a pretty scarf-pin. Arthur peacefully attached a silver pencil to his watch-chain, Bert transferred his small change to a pigskin purse, and Jack slashed imaginary villains with a knife similar to Frank's.

"But where's your present, Ruth?" asked Betty. "You ought to have the nicest of all." Ruth, who had been absorbed in watching the others, came to herself with a start. "Why—why, I actually forgot to choose something for myself. I meant to, though," she added honestly.

"How will this do?" asked Mrs. Hamilton, producing a package that no one had seen before.

"Why, did father send another package?" said Ruth, looking so surprised that every one shouted with laughter. The girls eagerly crowded around her as she cut the cord and disclosed an attractive-looking box. Opening this she discovered a dainty velvet case in which reposed the prettiest watch she had ever seen. It was hung on a slender chain, and Ruth put it around her neck at once and tucked the little watch under her belt.

"Isn't it a darling?" she said happily. "Father always gives me what I most want."

"Let's see the wheels go round," suggested Phil, and Ruth opened the case to find a little picture of her father, taken since he went away, and looking so very like him that for a moment she could hardly speak.

"That's my father," she said when she could find her voice. Both girls and boys crowded around to look at the kind, handsome face gazing at them from out the little watch, and Ruth's heart swelled with pride and affection as she listened to their admiring remarks.

"Let's show them the game we tried the other night," said Dorothy to her brother as they all returned to the music-room.

"Oh, that's too hard for them," answered Frank with affected superiority. "They couldn't guess anything so difficult as that."

"Try it and see," clamored two or three voices.

So Frank with one finger drew a large circle in the air, and with elaborate gestures made two points for the eyes and a line each for nose and mouth. As he did so he recited solemnly:



"The moon is large and full and round; Two eyes, a nose and mouth."

"Now see if you can do it just as I did," he said to Jack, who sat next him.

Jack tried, imitating as nearly as he could remember all of Frank's peculiar movements of hand and arm, but as he finished Dorothy and Frank shouted, "No; not right."

"Do it again, Frank," begged Charlotte, watching him sharply.

Frank did it again, and this time with even more elaboration of gesture. The eyes were poked in with great firmness, the nose in its airy curves looked like no possible human feature, and the mouth was so decidedly turned up at the comers that one might have fancied it was laughing at them.

Charlotte thought she knew; she had noticed a peculiar curve in Frank's little finger, and the sudden way in which he had dropped his hand both times. So she tried her fate with great courage, only to fail as Jack had done.

"You do it, Dorothy," said Betty.

Dorothy did it, but her method was so different from Frank's that she gave them no discoverable clue. The features she made were all small and precise, and she put in a few meaningless flourishes which puzzled them more than ever.

Then Arthur, who had been watching quietly, said the little speech and made the drawing in a way quite different from either Frank or Dorothy, and to the surprise of all the two wise ones admitted him at once into their fellowship.

"All right, old fellow," laughed Frank. "Now there are three of us who know."

At last Betty, with a gurgle of triumph, did it in the required way. Then Phil saw the point, and Alice discovered it almost at the same time. Finally there was a circle of waving arms, and a chorus of voices announcing that:

"The moon is large and full and round; Two eyes, a nose and mouth."

Only Ruth failed to guess the secret, and, though she waved with the others and tried her best to imitate all the various methods at once, she still failed every time.

"Your arm's in my way, Ruth," said Joe, who happened to be sitting on her right.

"I'll do it with the other, then," responded Ruth good-naturedly. To her surprise this attempt was greeted with a shout of, "That's right," and then every one laughed at her dazed expression.

"Why, I've done it that way dozens of times," she protested.

"No, you haven't," came in a laughing chorus. "Look at us once more."

Ruth looked and for the first time realized that each one was using the left hand to make the picture. "What a stupid I am," she said ruefully. "To think I let all you Glenloch girls and boys get ahead of Chicago."

"You're a Glenloch girl yourself, now," put in Katharine.

"So I am, and I know a trick game, too. If Betty will come out in the hall with me I'll have my revenge on you."

She started toward the door as she spoke, but a loud peal of the door-bell sent her flying back into the room again.

Mr. Hamilton opened the door and took in a yellow envelope which he handed to Ruth.

She tore it open eagerly and her face flushed with pleasure as she read the message. "It's from father," she cried, looking at the expectant faces around her. "He must have guessed that we might be having a party, for he says, 'Merry Christmas to all.' I just wish he could know you all, for I'm sure he'd like you."

As she stood there smiling happily, Frank had a sudden inspiration. Seizing the hands of Charlotte and Alice, who were nearest him, he began to dance around Ruth, singing at the top of his voice:

"For she's a jolly good fellow, For she's a jolly good fellow, For she's a jolly good fellow, And we're very glad she came."

All joined in as Mrs. Hamilton caught it on the piano, and Ruth stood surrounded by a circle of beaming faces, and feeling that the world was a very good sort of place after all.

As the laughing crowd broke ranks, Ruth was mysteriously drawn aside by Charlotte, Betty and Dorothy.

"Allow us to crown you," said Charlotte, placing an available holly wreath on Ruth's head, "as the only successful member of the 'S. F. T. R. O. A. H. T. T. W.' The object of this society having been fulfilled, the society will now be officially dissolved."

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Ruth much mystified.

"Don't you remember the society we planned the first day we met in your room?" demanded Dorothy. "Well, look there, and there, and see if you haven't accomplished its object."

Ruth looked and found it truly a pleasant sight. Arthur, the central figure of a group of boys, looked happier than she had ever seen him, and was evidently making plans for future good times, while his father and mother beamed contentedly on him from a little distance.



CHAPTER XII

LOST AND FOUND

Ten days after Christmas the ice was declared quite perfect, and the Social Six were to have their first skating-party of the season on Holden's Pond. It was planned to invite the usual boys, to begin skating at about half-past six, and to go to Katharine French's house at half-past eight for supper and games. Betty's married brother and his wife, who were great favorites with the girls and boys, were to chaperone the party.

Ruth was greatly excited over the prospect, for she had hardly done more than learn to stand up on her Christmas skates, and she longed to be able to glide off as gracefully as Dorothy did. She looked very gay in her red suit, with a jaunty tam-o'-shanter set rakishly on the brown curls, and even Arthur smiled involuntarily at the pretty picture as she came into the library to say good-bye.

"I wish you were going, Arthur," she said. "But, at least, you'll escape one trial; you won't have to hold me up."

"I believe I could stand even that," answered Arthur wistfully. And then because he had set himself to the task of keeping cheerful, he added, "Just wait until next winter; I'll get up a special skating-party for you, and whiz you over the ice at a great rate."

"I hope by that time I'll be able to whiz a little by myself. Just now I can only wabble and squeal. Oh, I must hurry, for there's the whistle," and with a gay good-bye Ruth flew out of the house.

Arthur went slowly over to the window to watch the jolly crowd out of sight. Then he went back to his book and began reading with an unconscious sigh which made his mother and father look at each other with troubled eyes.

As they neared the pond with its twinkling bonfires, it seemed to Ruth there would be small chance for an inexperienced skater in the midst of the many dark figures which were gliding in every direction. She felt better about it, however, when she found Philip taking possession of her to put on her skates, and then starting off at a slow, steady glide which at once gave her confidence. She had almost begun to feel that she could really skate, when Frank came up and took her for a mad dash around the pond at a pace that fairly made her tremble. She was glad to get back once more to the little inlet which the club had chosen for its meeting-place, and where on the bank they had built their bonfire. Joe and Charlotte skated along at about the same moment, and Ruth was secretly glad to have Joe claim her as his next partner.

"You're doing wonders, my dear," said pretty Mrs. Ellsworth, as Ruth came back to the meeting-place after her comfortable spin with Joe. "Here's Jack waiting to take you out as soon as you are rested, and I'll get Joe to help me find my husband."

Jack was a fine skater, and Ruth felt so encouraged by her last attempt that she really enjoyed her skate with him and began to long to do something by herself. As they came back after circling the pond, she said earnestly, "Now you go and have a skate with some one who knows how. I want to rest a minute, and try all by myself in this inlet, where I shall be out of the way."

Jack refused at first to leave her alone, but she insisted, and as Betty went by at that moment he was off in pursuit before he fairly realized what he was doing. He quieted his own conscience and Betty's protests by promising to find Bert and send him back to Ruth immediately.

Left to herself, Ruth started out, very timidly at first and very unevenly. Finding herself still on her feet she gained confidence and struck out more boldly. The inlet seemed altogether too small, and she skated out a little way, still keeping near the shore and well out of the track of the skaters.

She was so busy watching her own feet that she didn't notice Betty and Jack as they flashed by until they shouted their congratulations on her success. Then Bert and Dorothy came along and stopped to tell her that they would all meet at the bonfire in fifteen minutes, and go from there to Katharine's house. They tried to persuade her to skate around the pond with them, but she was so in love with her own efforts that she said no and sent them off in a hurry. Then she tried again with new courage, and struck out with such energy that before she knew it she had left the edge of the pond, and was skating with quick and fairly steady strokes in the direction, opposite to that in which Bert and Dorothy had gone. It startled her when she realized that she had left the meeting-place far behind, and she knew she ought to turn about and try to get back there. But she was so fascinated by her own success that she hated to turn for fear the spell would be broken.

Suddenly she caught the toe of her skate in a crack, made a frantic effort to keep herself from falling, and then went with a crash flat on her face on the ice. It seemed an age to her before she could move; then she tried to get up, and some one, rather unskilfully, helped her to her feet. As she stood there half dazed and shaking, she put her hand to her face and brought it away all wet.

"Oh, dear, my nose is bleeding," she said aloud, and then became conscious that she had an audience of two small boys, who were grinning at her unsympathetically.