As time went on the lofty ideals with which the girls had started gradually diminished in fervor. At first they had planned to make the ice-cream and cake, but later they accepted with a gratitude that was almost pathetic Mrs. Hamilton's offer to take upon her own shoulders the duty of providing both of these necessities.

In spite of all this assistance, however, the week before the performance passed in a mad whirl of rehearsals and preparation of costumes, topped off on the very day before by the making of candy and the doing of innumerable last things. Even at nine o'clock on Tuesday evening Ruth and Arthur were still at work packing into paper boxes the crisp wafers which Ruth had engaged Mrs. Perrier to make for her.

"Fifteen, seventeen, nineteen," murmured Ruth. "Oh, dear, I'm so tired and sleepy I don't know whether there are twenty-five or twenty-four in two dozen."

"Go to bed then," laughed Arthur, "and I'll finish. There are not many more, anyway, and you've got the hustle of your life before you to-morrow."

Ruth pulled herself out of her chair slowly but with evident willingness. "Some folks don't give boys credit for being half so nice as they are, but I do," she announced with a smile of sleepy gratitude as she started out of the room.

Wednesday morning the Town Hall was the scene of such excited animation that it was difficult to tell whether anything was being accomplished or not. The Cooking Club girls and the Candle Club boys together with a dozen picked helpers had assembled to decorate the hall, and for the moment there seemed an endless confusion of boys, step-ladders, hammers and cheese-cloth.

"For goodness' sake, Phil," begged Dorothy, leaving a group of girls and running over to where Phil and Arthur were talking together, "won't you and Arthur take the management of this decoration? You've done it before and you know how it ought to look."

"All right, your Majesty," responded Phil. "Come on, Art; let's agree on a general scheme, and then you can boss this side of the room and I'll take the other."

"Ruth! Ruth! you're wanted," called a half-dozen voices at once, and Ruth stopped her work to find John, Mr. Hamilton's man, waiting at the door with a good-sized box.

"It's just come by express, Miss Ruth," said John, "and 'twas labeled Town Hall, so Mrs. Hamilton thought you'd better open it here."

"Help me open it, some one, please," begged Ruth, and as the top boards were quickly ripped off, she took out first a letter from New York in Uncle Jerry's writing.

"Dear Ruth" (it began):

"I have just stumbled on a little shop devoted to souvenirs of Switzerland. The proprietor has a bad attack of homesickness, and can't stand New York any longer, so he is selling out at a sacrifice. It occurred to me that I might kill two birds, etc., by contributing to the good cause at Glenloch and helping this poor fellow at the same time. I thought you might make a little something by selling them for any price you can get.

"I shall probably get there almost as soon as the box, so won't stop to write more.

"Yours with love, Uncle Jerry."

Ruth had an interested audience as she unrolled some of the packages and peeped into others to see what they contained, and could he have heard the enthusiastic comments Uncle Jerry would have felt still more sure of his place in the hearts of his Glenloch friends.

"It's wasting time to look at them now," said Ruth with a sigh. "We must arrange a table and put them on it this afternoon."

"What a pity that we couldn't have some one in Swiss costume to sell them," suggested Charlotte, who had paused in her work to take one look.

Ruth took in a quick breath as the idea struck her. "Do you suppose Mrs. Perrier,—or Marie," she thought aloud. "Why, Marie might even feel well enough to come herself if we sent for her and sent her home. Couldn't some one, couldn't you, Arthur, ride over and ask her?"

"Why, yes," agreed Arthur, hurrying after John to tell him to bring Peter Pan to the hall. He came back again in a minute to find Ruth and say coaxingly:

"Say, Ruth, John's got the carriage outside here, and why can't you just slip out and drive over with me? It'll do you good to get away from this noise and confusion for a while."

"Oh, I can't, possibly. It would be mean when the others are working so hard."

"You'll be back before they know you're gone," pleaded Arthur. "It'll do you so much good that you'll be able to work a great deal faster," added the wily youth.

"Go away, and don't tempt me," laughed Ruth. She started to leave him, but turned back to say earnestly: "Let's make Charlotte go with you. She's got a splitting headache, and she won't be fit for anything to-night if she doesn't rest for a while."

Arthur felt that he hadn't got quite all he was asking for, but he fell in with Ruth's idea cheerfully, and their united arguments persuaded Charlotte to go for the restful drive through the wooded roads.

They were back almost before Ruth could realize that they had started, and announced with an air of triumph that Marie would be delighted to come, and that Mrs. Perrier had a costume which could easily be made to do.

"And I begged her to bring her lace pillow," said Charlotte. "I thought that would add a touch to the whole occasion."

Ruth gave her a rapturous hug. "It will," she said joyfully. "And isn't it all going to be the finest thing you ever saw?"

The hall hummed like a beehive as the work went on, and little by little things took shape and began to promise a harmonious whole. It really seemed as though some good fairy were watching over affairs, for the carpenters finished their work and went at an early hour, the chairs and tables arrived in good season, and the big picture-frame which had been put together for the girls proved to be all that could be desired.

To be sure there were disagreements, and even accidents, for Bert and a step-ladder had a difference of opinion and collapsed together, and Betty dropped a pail of paste on Jack, who had politely stopped to admire the artistic work she and Frank were doing on the palmist's tent. As he was looking up and had just opened his mouth to say something complimentary the result was disastrous, and the poor fellow stood there blinded and gasping until Dorothy carne to the rescue with a wet towel.

At one o'clock the workers departed for lunch, a few of the boys and girls promising to come back in the early afternoon to finish the little that was left.

"I haven't the slightest idea whether it is going to look pretty or not," said Ruth wearily as they left the hall.

"Just wait until it's lighted," consoled Betty. "Then you'll see."

When the earliest of the audience arrived that evening the old hall, dressed in her best, was waiting to receive them. The cool green and white of the draperies softened the plainness of the walls, and a huge, round ball made of red and yellow roses and glittering with diamond dust swung from the centre chandelier and glowed in its light. Smaller balls hung from the side-brackets, each enclosing an electric bulb which shone with soft radiance through the vivid red and pale yellow of the roses.

In the comer nearest the door was a booth draped in pink and blue, and here two pretty girls in white were ready to sell the various delicacies made by the members of the Cooking Club. The girls had worked hard, and Ruth's maple fudge, Dorothy's creamed walnuts and dates, Katharine's salted nuts, and Alice's peanut brittle made such a tempting array that none could see without wanting to buy. Betty's contribution was a dozen glasses of delicious-looking orange marmalade, and behind them were piled boxes of Mrs. Perrier's crisp Swiss wafers.

As a joke Charlotte had brought in quite unexpectedly at the last moment a huge pan of baked apples, and she insisted on having them on the table in spite of the fact that the pan in its nest of pink crepe paper took up a large amount of space.

"The rest of you are represented by your masterpieces," she said, rolling out the long words with great relish. "So why shouldn't I put mine there? I'm sure I shall never achieve anything more perfect than those baked apples, and they're much more digestible than all that sweet stuff."

As usual Charlotte's argument was unanswerable, and the apples remained on the table, forming a sturdy and wholesome contrast to their more dainty companions.

At the front of the hall and quite near the stage sat Marie dressed in the pretty Bernese costume with its velvet bodice, and silver pins and chains. Before her was a table covered with Swiss carved work, bears, paper-knives, picture-frames, watch-stands and dainty edelweiss pins. Her eyes were sparkling and a faint color stole into her cheeks as she chatted in her soft voice with those who came to look at her wares.

In spite of the attractiveness of good things to eat and pretty things to see, the most popular place in the hall was the gaily decorated tent where Miss Burton in gypsy costume read palms. From the time the hall was opened there was a waiting group outside the tent where Dorothy took the money, and cut each five minutes off on the dot so that she might get in as many as possible. So many applicants were there that, when at half-past seven Ruth's Uncle Jerry arrived with the Hamiltons and a party of their Boston friends, there seemed to be no immediate chance that he would be able to penetrate the mysteries of the future with the aid of Miss Burton.

"Dear me, Miss Dorothy," he said beseechingly, "can't you make a special appointment for me? I'm afraid my life-line isn't strong enough to bear me up under such a disappointment."

"I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Harper," answered Dorothy firmly. "There are enough waiting now to keep the palmist busy until the entertainment begins, and after that you must take your chance with the others."

In the depths of her heart Dorothy was glad to turn away Uncle Jerry. He was altogether too much in a hurry, she thought with a little frown. She didn't want any one to like Miss Burton too much.

Uncle Jerry wandered off disconsolately, but solaced himself by buying candy and Swiss carvings until his hands were so full that he couldn't manage his parcels. Then, in a fit of desperation, he returned them all to the young ladies from whom he had bought them, begging them to sell them over again for the good of the cause.

At five minutes before eight there was a burst of applause as Phil appeared on the stage and requested the audience to be seated at the small tables, as the entertainment was about to begin.

When the confusion had subsided into silence, some one at the piano began to play softly, and the curtain parted to show in the frame a beautiful Spanish girl with fan and mantilla. Following her in quick succession came a fair-haired English girl, a smiling maiden from Japan with arched eyebrows and bright-colored parasol, and a rosy Dutch girl in cap and kerchief. Then a Turk sitting cross-legged upon his cushion smoked his long pipe and beamed affably on the audience, an Esquimaux gentleman came from his igloo in the north to pose for a moment, and a boyish Uncle Sam and John Bull shook hands fraternally.

Each picture was shown twice, but it was ail too short for the enthusiastic audience, which applauded so vociferously that Frank was obliged to step before the curtain and announce that owing to lack of time no encores could be given.

Then followed representations of celebrated paintings; the Girl with the Muff, a pathetic Nydia, and the charming little Dutch girl holding a cat. Molly Eastman posed for that with Bagheera, Betty's largest cat, clutched tightly in her arms. When Bagheera heard the applause he struggled wildly to escape, nearly knocking Molly over as he leaped from her arms just as the curtain covered the frame. Molly looked ready to cry because her picture could not be shown a second time, then snatching up her beloved Teddy bear, which went everywhere she did, she stood, triumphant, waiting for the curtain to be drawn. It was too good to be lost, and the boys pulled the curtain twice, much to Molly's joy and the delight of the audience.

This was the end of the first part of the program, and there was a buzz of conversation which softened into silence as the school orchestra filed on the stage. It was warmly greeted, for this was its first public appearance, and the proud parents of the performers were anxious to hear the results of their practice together. Like wise boys they didn't try to do anything great, but delighted the hearts of their hearers with a simple arrangement of some of the old patriotic songs that every one loves. They ended with the Star Spangled Banner and played it with so much spirit that the entire audience rose to do honor to the grand old song.

With the second drawing of the curtain, ten dainty Japanese ladies fluttered upon the stage with mincing steps, waving gay fans and bowing low as they drew up in line before the audience. So much did the flowing garments, the fan-bedecked hair and the slanting eyebrows change the girls that even some of the mothers failed at first to recognize their own daughters.

"I see Charlotte, and that one on the end is Ruth," announced the irrepressible Molly Eastman loudly, and then buried her head on her father's shoulder when every one turned to look at her.

The fan drill was beautiful to see, for the intricate marching, the delicate swaying of the figures, was done with a precision which gave no chance for criticism. The performers came out to bow their thanks for the hearty applause, and, when the audience refused to be satisfied, fluttered out again with fans held coquettishly before their faces. Then each girl extracted from her flowing sleeve a paper bird, and holding it as high as she could reach began to fan it into motion. It was a pretty sight; the gaily-colored birds flying in all directions, and the graceful girls, quick of eye and action, doing their utmost to keep them from falling. There were one or two narrow escapes, but not one really reached the floor, and at a signal they were caught upon the outstretched fans and the little ladies had fled.

"If that looks easy to you just try it," said Mrs. Hamilton during the pause in the program. "I made an attempt at it the other day when Ruth was practicing at home, and I found it the hardest thing I've undertaken for some time. It's wonderful training for the eye and muscles."

As she finished speaking, slow, dreamy music began on the piano and the curtains were pulled apart, disclosing a pedestal on which stood Dorothy in a flowing Greek robe and with her golden hair dressed in classic fashion. At first she was like a beautiful statue, then, as the music proceeded, she went through a series of poses, each one so vivid and graceful that when she became a statue once more and the curtain hid her from sight the hall rang with applause.

The program was already so long that Dorothy refused to repeat her number, and when the curtain was drawn again four fine lads stepped out to swing Indian clubs. The boys did it well and the fathers and mothers glowed with pride over the straight young figures and the easy grace which made the clubs seem like mere toys.

The last number was announced as a march by the Glenloch Academy children, and the boy who made the announcement couldn't keep from laughing as he hurriedly got out of sight.

"Rather unusual, isn't it, for boys and girls of that age to allow themselves to be called 'children'?" asked Mr. Hamilton, but even as he spoke his question was answered, for as the piano began a simple melody in rushed twelve children, blowing horns, jumping ropes, and pinching and pulling each other in very real fashion. There was a roar of laughter from the audience, for the boys were all figures of fun in their checked aprons and tassel caps. Tall Phil was a sight never to be forgotten as he smiled amiably on the world at large, but Joe had the best of it, for he was so plump and rosy that he looked fairly like the child he was trying to represent. The girls wore skirts which stuck out stiffly all around, and had their hair braided in pigtails and tied with ribbons to match their sashes. Betty looked the very picture of innocent, chubby childhood, and couldn't forbear making eyes at her adoring father, who sat near the stage, and seemed to find it difficult to look at any one but his engaging little daughter.

The piano struck up a stirring march, and the merry children dropped their toys and formed in line with Jack and Ruth as leaders. The performers did their best to make it as childlike as possible, and it was an amusing procession that the two captains led through intricate ways. It had an ending alike unexpected by performers and audience, for as they were going through one of the last figures, Joe slipped, made a heroic effort to recover his balance, and then sat flat on the floor facing the audience. He had such a funny, surprised look on his face that every one in the hall roared with laughter, much to his discomfiture. Then an idea seized him, and scrambling to his feet he put both fists in his eyes and bellowed like a naughty child. The others kept on marching, but he stood there inconsolable, until Betty, always quick to think, gave him a little shake in passing and held out to him a bright red apple she'd been nibbling. An ecstatic smile spread over his face, he grabbed the apple, took a big bite, and fell into line just as they all marched off the stage. So cleverly was it done that the audience decided that the fall had been intentional, and the whole thing a part of the performance, and gave Master Joe an extra salvo of applause when the children returned to make their bows.

As the curtains fell together for the last time, twenty-five girls dressed in white and carrying trays came into the hall. They wore coquettish little aprons, and large ribbon bows in a variety of color, and suggested butterflies as they flitted among the tables. One by one the performers, most of them still in costume, slipped out from behind the scenes.

"Is your lemonade good, Uncle Jerry, and are you having a nice time?" asked the Japanese maiden leaning confidingly on Mr. Harper's shoulder.

"Yes, to both the questions, 'Yuki-San,'" replied her uncle affectionately. "But, Ruth," he was speaking now in a low tone, "I shan't be really happy until I have my palm read; and perhaps not then," he finished inaudibly.

Ruth glanced quickly toward the palmist's tent. "Miss Burton said she should keep busy while the refreshments were served so as to make as much money as possible. I'll see if she can take you now."

Uncle Jerry watched until he saw Ruth beckon to him. Then he made his way quickly to the tent, and started in just as Dorothy resumed her position outside as guardian.

"Only five minutes, Mr. Harper," said Dorothy decidedly.

"Give me ten, Miss Dorothy," pleaded Uncle Jerry, "and I'll give you four times the price of admission. It's for the good of the cause, you know."

"For the good of the cause, then," she answered grudgingly. "Ten minutes and not an atom more."

"You're a terror, Dolly," laughed Ruth, slipping into the chair beside her. "How can you be so severe with my beloved Uncle Jerry?"

Dorothy's answer was slow in coming, and Ruth went on happily without waiting. "Don't you think we've made a big success? Everything's sold except two or three boxes of candy and a loaf or two of cake. And Marie's perfectly radiant because several people have given her orders for lace and embroidery."

Dorothy was holding her watch in her hand and almost counting each second as it ticked away. "Eight and a half," she murmured. "Why, yes, I do think it's a success, and won't it be fun when we can take the money over to Mrs. Perrier's and surprise Marie? Time's up, Mr. Harper," she added with cruel promptness, and Uncle Jerry, fearing the invasion of other applicants, didn't dare to disobey.

Dorothy looked at him critically as he emerged from the tent. There was no mistaking the triumphant light in his eye, and she saw that she must resign herself to defeat.

"Did she give you a good fortune, Uncle Jerry?" inquired Ruth.

"Splendid. The best in the world," he answered with such happiness in his voice that Dorothy felt her resentment fading away. "Now, Miss Japan, let's go and buy everything there is left," he added.

Dorothy watched them as they strolled away, and saw Uncle Jerry draw Ruth into a quiet comer, where he told her something that made her clasp her hands and look at him with beaming eyes.

"They haven't the least idea I've guessed," said Dolly to herself with a sad little shake of the head, "but I'll show them that a girl can keep a secret even when she hasn't been asked to."



CHAPTER XVIII

THOSE RIDICULOUS BOYS

"It's terribly romantic," said Ruth with a satisfied sigh. "She didn't know he cared anything about her, and he thought she couldn't care for him because she went away from Chicago without letting him know or leaving him her address."

"And they're really engaged?" asked Betty for the third time. "I can't believe it."

It was a warm afternoon in May, and all the girls were out in Mrs. Hamilton's garden drying their hair after a shampoo. To the surprise of every one the spring had made good its early promises, and buds and blossoms had hurried forth with quivering eagerness. The soft breeze which rustled the leaves and played caressingly with the floating locks was as mild as in summer, and the girls felt that pleasant languor which comes with the first warm days.

"Yes, really engaged. Uncle Jerry wanted to settle it when he first found her here in Glenloch, but she made him wait until he came the second time," answered Ruth shaking her hair to the breeze which curled it into tendrils. "I've been simply bursting to tell you ever since the entertainment, but I had to wait until Miss Burton said I might."

"I think it's funny you didn't guess. I felt it in my bones from the first minute I saw him," said Dorothy. "And I was perfectly sure of it when I saw him tell you, Ruth."

"Why, Dolly, you're a witch! And you never said a word to any one?" asked Ruth incredulously.

"No. I didn't think Miss Burton would want me to. And I'm so jealous of you that I can't see straight, because, of course, she'll have to like you best," finished Dorothy with a mournful sigh.

"She'll think you're a trump when I tell her that you truly guessed and never said a word," comforted Ruth. "The only other thing I can do is to offer you a share in Uncle Jerry."

"You'll have to divide him in small pieces if you're going to share him," said Charlotte. "Did you ever see anything like the way the boys took to him?"

"Between the two clubs he had small chance to be alone with Miss Burton that week he was here," laughed Betty.

"He was a dear to take us all to Boston and give us such a dandy time," murmured Charlotte.

"What a week we had," said Alice, pulling her black locks apart to get out the snarls. "Can't you just see Marie's face when we gave her that two hundred dollars?"

"She's so happy now," added Ruth, "and she's getting better every day. Arthur and I rode by there yesterday, and she was out helping her aunt make a garden."

"Isn't your hair most dry, girls?" asked Dorothy, with a sudden change of subject. "Let's hurry and put it up any old way, and then have some tennis."

There was a simultaneous groan from Katharine and Charlotte.

"I didn't expect anything of you two lazy things," said Dorothy coolly. "I'm glad you don't want to, for that leaves just the four of us without any fuss about deciding."

"I'd like to play," said Ruth, tugging at her refractory curls, "only you'll have to wait till I do my hair properly, and take this mess of towels into the house."

"Oh, Ruth, if I didn't like you so much I should say you were pernickety," cried Dorothy impatiently.

"I suppose I am fussy," confessed Ruth. "But mother was always very particular about having me keep my own things in order, and especially about leaving other people's belongings the way I found them, and I can't get over the habit."

"For goodness' sake, you sound as if you thought it was a crime," said Charlotte. "I only wish I had a few such bad habits as that."

"I'm a shining example for you, Charlotte," laughed Betty, "for I cleared up my top bureau drawer to-day."

"You're a shining example for me in more ways than one, Betsy," answered Charlotte with such unexpected earnestness that rosy Betty grew rosier than ever.

For a few minutes the girls worked busily, and the hair, black, brown, shining gold and burnished copper, was soon adorning the heads of its owners in the accustomed way. Ruth and Betty took in the towels and brought out racquets and balls. Charlotte and Katharine languidly changed their seats to where they could watch the court, and the other four began a vigorous game.

It was a long and hotly contested deuce set, and ended in favor of Dorothy and Alice just as Katie appeared with tray and glasses.

"Ellen thought you'd like some lemonade, Miss Ruth. I'll bring it out directly."

Ellen's lemonade was a work of art; full of tantalizing and unexpected flavors of orange, mint and clove. The girls, who knew it of old, groaned with pleasure at sight of the frosty-looking pitcher with sprigs of mint at the top.

"This is richness," sighed Dorothy, as she settled herself on the big rug and took one of the fresh chocolate-frosted cakes that Katie had brought out.

"Ellen's the best old dear," said Ruth. "I never even have to ask for things."

"There's a letter on the tray," said Betty suddenly. "No, not a letter, because there's no stamp on it, but it's for you, Ruth."

Ruth picked it up and opened it. Then she laughed and held it out to the girls, reading aloud as she did so.

The Candle Club Presents its compliments to The Cooking Club And requests the pleasure of its company Saturday, May eighteenth, At half-after six

The Club Room

"My, but they're formal," said Dorothy. "Will you look at the elegance of 'half-after six'?"

"Jack did the invitations with his new typewriter, I suppose," said Betty. "I wonder how many sheets of paper he spoiled."

"Of course we'll all go," said Charlotte, lazily pulling herself up from her seat on the ground. "It's perfectly lovely sitting here and drinking this delicious lemonade, and I hate to mention it, but I've got to get home, girls. Betty, you ought to walk 'round my way to-night; I went with you last night."

"Wait till I get the last drop out of my glass," gurgled Betty, pulling away at her straw with great diligence.

"We're all going," added Dorothy. "It's almost six anyway."

Ruth went with them to the front of the house and then back to the tennis ground to pick up racquets and balls. It was so cool and still and beautiful in the garden that she sat down on the rug again with her hands clasped around her knees. The old apple-tree covered with pink and white blossoms rustled softly overhead, a fat robin cocked his eye at her as he listened for worms, and from the other side of the garden came the faint, melodious tinkle of the little fountain.

Something flipped into the grass beside her and the robin flew away.

"It's just a penny," called a gay voice, "the one they're always offering for your thoughts, you know."

Ruth looked up as Arthur dropped down on the rug beside her. "They're worth so much more that I couldn't let you have them for a penny," she said with a laugh.

"Make it a spring bargain sale and give 'em to me at a great reduction," he suggested.

"They were perfectly good thoughts," answered Ruth. "I was just wondering how I happened to drop down in such a lovely place, and why every one is so nice to me, and thinking how I shall miss you all when father sends for me."

"Don't begin to think about that," protested Arthur quickly. "You know you came for a year, a whole year."

"I know," laughed Ruth. "I don't believe you were a bit pleased when you heard that I was coming for a whole year. I really think you've got used to me very nicely."

"It's astonishing how soon we get used to things that we know we must put up with," said Arthur with a sigh of resignation. "Oh, by the way, there's something I forgot to tell you," he added.

"What is it?" cried Ruth eagerly.

"You won't tell the other girls, will you?"

"Why no, if you really don't want me to."

Arthur looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't for a while, anyway," he said at last.

"I won't tell until you say I may," said Ruth with great decision.

"Well, then,—I was sent out here to ask you to come in to dinner," chuckled the graceless youth, picking himself up from the ground, and making off with surprising agility.

"Oh, you villain," groaned Ruth, throwing a tennis ball at him with such unexpectedly good aim that it hit him squarely in the back.

"Good shot! How did it happen? Oh, but you did bite nicely that time," and Arthur laughed again at her pretended rage.

"If you ever want to be forgiven, come back here and help me take in the racquets and balls," called Ruth, starting toward the house.

"Sure, I will," responded Arthur amiably. "Give me all the racquets and you can take the balls. I know," he continued a moment later, "why every one is so nice to you."

"Is this another sell?" demanded Ruth.

"No, this is truth. You'll find the answer in Mary's Little Lamb if you change the words a little. You look up the last verse and see if I'm not right."

Ruth looked thoughtfully at him as they entered the house, and then sternly repressing the pleased smile that flitted over her face said with assumed indifference:

"I hope that's a compliment, but how can you expect me to remember the rhymes of my childhood?"

The days went by so fast that Ruth could hardly keep the run of the calendar. They were full days, with hard work at school, delightful rides on Peter Pan with Arthur or his father to accompany her, and pleasant afternoons with the girls at one house or another. Then there were important letters from her father and Uncle Jerry which necessitated lengthy replies, and frequent conferences with Miss Burton and Mrs. Hamilton.

On the night of the Candle Club party the girls met first at Dorothy's house, and went out into the stable together. A large room on the second floor had been given up to the boys who had furnished and decorated it to suit their taste and their opportunities. An old piano, begged for by Frank when the Marshalls were buying a new one, stood under one of the electric lights and looked well-used. That it had outlived its most tuneful days was not to be denied, but Arthur could still coax college songs out of it, and for miscellaneous strumming and tunes with one finger it was invaluable. It was also a convenient place on which to leave sweaters, hats and books, and altogether the boys considered it one of the most valuable of their possessions.

The furniture of the club room could hardly be called ornamental, but it was certainly comfortable. A couple of steamer chairs, a roomy couch covered with bright cushions, and an ancient bookcase offered an impartial welcome to the lazy and the studious, and bore mute witness to the fact that many happy hours had been passed there. The boys had made the room gay with banners, and trophies of past victories, and red curtains and a few rugs added to the general cheerfulness.

Mr. and Mrs. Marshall went out to the stable with the girls, and as they went up the narrow stairs there was a shout of laughter from the club room, laughter so mirth-compelling that the girls giggled involuntarily. At Mr. Marshall's peremptory knock there was a sudden stillness; then the door opened a crack and in a choked voice Arthur said, "Just hold the line a second, please, and we'll let you in."

Almost as he spoke there was a low, "all right now," from Joe, and Arthur threw the door wide open. For an instant the guests coming from the dark stairway into the brightly lighted room could hardly see; then as they took in the general appearance of their hosts the room rang with laughter.

The boys were all dressed in shirt-waists and skirts, with neat white collars and little bows of various kinds. The skirts came to the tops of their boots, and as they had donned the heaviest, biggest boots they could find, the result was amusing. They all wore frivolous little aprons, and on their heads jaunty white caps perched on hair which made the girls go off into fresh fits of merriment. It was the most wonderful hair-dressing the girls had ever seen; heavy braids, thick curls, even pompadours—and all made out of yarn.

"What happened that made you keep us waiting?" asked Ruth as she wiped real tears from her eyes.

"Betty fell over his skirt and had to fix it on again," said Phil with a twinkle, realizing that the girls hadn't yet taken in the full meaning of the performance.

Then it was the boys' turn to laugh, for, looking at Joe's red wig, the girls knew at once what Phil meant, and each hurried to pick out the imitation of herself.

"Do you mean to tell me I look like that?" asked Dorothy, pointing a scornful finger at Jack, who was deeply engaged in tightening a large, black bow which dangled at the end of his long, yellow braid.

"Why, Dolly, I flattered myself I was the handsomest one of the bunch, and now you speak harshly to me," protested Jack in a tone of great grief.

"So far as beauty goes there isn't much choice between you," said Charlotte meditatively. Her eye was taking in Phil's tall, slender figure, upon which the skirt hung in limp folds. His brown braids were twined about his head in a coronet, a style with which Charlotte's mirror was familiar.

"Oh, those ridiculous boys! Do see my bunch of curls," shrieked Ruth, getting around where she could better see the back of Arthur's head.

"Whatever made you think to do it, you silly things?" asked Betty, eyeing with disfavor the magenta-colored hair which graced the head of her double.

"Why, we are going to cook a supper for you to-night, and we thought we couldn't follow better models as to dress than the celebrated Cooking Club," answered Phil making a low bow with his hand on his heart.

"Do get to work, then," said Dolly with great disdain. "Let's see if you can imitate our cooking as remarkably as you have our looks."

A long table stood in the middle of the room, covered with a white cloth, and on it reposed several chafing-dishes, a pile of plates, forks, spoons and knives, and a quantity of paper napkins. Olives, crisp little pickles and plates of crackers were the only visible evidences of food, and to the hungry girls the prospect was not encouraging.

"If you will kindly be seated, young ladies," said Frank, whose woolly black locks made his imposing manner ridiculous, "we will now show you how much we know."

"How little, you mean," added his sister in an audible whisper.

"I'm not going to have Dolly near me while I cook," said Frank decidedly. "You go and watch Arthur, Dolly; that's a good girl."

"Don't watch me," groaned Arthur. "Charlotte and Ruth have got their eyes glued on everything I'm doing already. Watch Phil, Dorothy. He's much nicer than I am."

Mr. and Mrs. Marshall slipped quietly away about this time, and then, with their guests showing an irritating and undue interest in all that they did, the boys began the preparation of the supper. As the work progressed, wigs were pushed out of place and finally discarded; hooks and eyes, too fragile for such muscular young ladies, loosed their hold, and skirts were trampled under foot and cast aside. At last it was only six boys in girlish-looking waists who were working with pretended confidence but real anxiety under the eyes of their unsparing critics.

It leaked out afterward that the boys had been practicing for several weeks on the special dishes they made, and it was a great relief to the girls to find this out. On this evening, however, the lordly creatures asserted that cooking was an art that reached perfection only when man undertook it, and that a man knew by instinct quantities, seasoning and time of preparation.

The girls, though not half believing, watched with a surprise not unmixed with awe while Phil cooked a lobster a la Newburg, seasoned to perfection, Arthur prepared delicious creamed potatoes, and Frank did up cold lamb in hot currant jelly in the most approved style. There were potato chips and buttered brown bread to eat with the lobster, and warm rolls to go with the second course. Everything was so good that the girls could only wonder and eat.

"Could I have a glass of water, please?" begged Ruth just before the feast began.

"Sure. Oh, wait a minute and I'll get you something better than water," said Joe, plunging down the stairs and into the house, to return in a moment laden with bottles of ginger-ale.

"Now watch him open them, Ruth," said Charlotte with pretended admiration. "See how skilfully he does it. No girl could ever attain to anything like that. After all boys are superior beings and—"

"Wow," gasped Joe, as a fountain of ginger-ale rose from the bottle and struck him squarely in the face.

"Here, take that bottle out of the way. It's going all over my creamed potatoes," shouted Arthur.

Blinded and dripping, Joe made a frantic effort to head the bottle another way, and in the attempt turned a liberal portion over Bert, who was standing near.

"I was just about to say," continued Charlotte calmly, "that boys always do everything in such a complete way."

"Well they know when not to talk," growled Joe, mopping himself with a napkin, and frowning darkly at the offending young lady.

It was a supper of gayety, and good things to eat. The boys were so proud of their cooking that they disliked to let the conversation wander from that particular subject, and brought it back by some skilful remark whenever they thought the interest of the girls was flagging. Each club toasted the other, and Jack toasted the ladies, ending with the sentence, which became a byword in Glenloch, "Girls are all right if you only know how to manage 'em."

"What a lot of dishes," said Betty with a sigh as they rose from the table.

"We will now show you how the powerful masculine mind handles the problem of dishes," proclaimed Phil.

"Do those dishes worry us? Not at all," added Bert as the boys lifted the table bodily and put it in a comer of the room.

"Now you see 'em," said Joe, helping to unfold two screens borrowed for the occasion, "and now you don't."

"Yes, but they're there all the same," argued Dorothy unconvinced.

"Mrs. Flinn will change all that, little sister," answered her brother condescendingly. "We have bribed her to spend to-morrow morning cleaning the club room, and she thinks we are 'blissed young gintlemen.'"

"Get over on the piano stool, Art, and give us that new music you were playing last night," begged Joe.

"No, don't play new things," implored Dorothy. "Play some college songs."

And so Arthur played and they all sang; some on the pitch and some off, but all happy, and each one deeply satisfied with his own share of the performance. At last, swinging around on the piano stool, Arthur looked at Ruth and said mysteriously, "You may as well tell them your news now, Ruth."

Every one turned to look at Ruth with such sudden interest that the color flashed into her face.

"It isn't enough to make you all look so curious," she laughed. "It's only that I can't have many more parties with you, because my father has sent for me, and I am to sail on the 'Utopia' a month from to-day."

There was a moment of mournful and incredulous silence; then Dorothy said indignantly, "I call that a mean shame; you were promised to us for a year, and that would make it next October."

"I know. But you see father will be ready for me sooner than he thought, and much as I should love to spend the summer here, I do want to be with him."

"Strange," murmured Joe.

"And—and there's more news," continued Ruth. "Uncle Jerry and Miss Burton are going to be married a week before I sail, and go over with me for a wedding trip,"

"Tell us all about it," pleaded Betty, throwing herself on the floor at Ruth's feet.

"I have; just about. You see Miss Burton's father and mother are dead, and she hasn't any near relations except a sister who lives way out in Seattle. So Mrs. Hamilton has invited her to be married at her house, and it's going to be a very private wedding."

Distinct disappointment was visible in the girlish faces as Ruth finished.

"But." she continued hurriedly, "there is to be a reception after the ceremony, and all of us girls are to be invited to help receive and the boys to usher."

"How perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Betty.

"I don't think so," mourned Dolly. "What shall we do with Ruth and Miss Burton both gone?"

"Tell them the rest, Ruth," urged Arthur.

"The rest? Oh, yes. After the reception Uncle Jerry and his wife—doesn't that sound grand?—are going off somewhere for a week, and Mrs. Hamilton is going to take me to New York to meet them."

"And Mr. Hamilton and Mr. A. Hamilton are going, too," added Arthur with great satisfaction.

It was Ruth's turn to look surprised. "Why how perfectly grand! You never said a word."

"Father just suggested it to-night and I thought I'd surprise you. He's planning to have four days there before you sail."

"Fine old plans," said Betty soberly. "It's all very nice for Ruth, but I feel as if all the dolls I ever had were stuffed with sawdust."

"So do I," added Dorothy, with a little catch in her voice. Charlotte said nothing, but to the surprise of every one she put her arm around Ruth in a way that was more eloquent than words.

The Candle Club party threatened to end in melancholy fashion, but the irrepressible Joe came to the rescue as usual. "Ruth can't leave the country," he announced decidedly. "She has too much live stock to look after. To my knowledge she owns half a horse, and the whole of a very enterprising kitten."

Every one laughed, for all knew that Fuzzy's latest escapade had been the theft of a string of sausages which he had proudly brought home untouched to show to his mistress.

"It's just as well for me to go before my live stock gets me into trouble," laughed Ruth. "As for my half of Peter Pan, I shall will that to Arthur to keep until—"

"Until you come back, of course," interrupted Arthur. "Your father may have you for a while, and then you must come back to Glenloch, and this time for a whole year."

"Hear, hear," came in eager chorus from the others, and the party broke up happily after all.



CHAPTER XIX

"HOME, SWEET HOME"

As the "Utopia" made her slow way out into the harbor Ruth's eyes clung lovingly to the three people who were waving farewell to her from the end of the pier. For some time she could see them distinctly, could tell which was Aunt Mary and which Arthur. Then the figures on the pier began to melt into each other, the waving handkerchiefs became mere white specks in the distance, and Ruth looked up to find Uncle Jerry watching her with quizzical gaze.

"I don't see why that band wants to play 'Home, Sweet Home,'" she said impatiently as she turned away from the side. "I don't think it's nice to work on people's feelings that way."

Uncle Jerry laughed. "You're not the first one who's thought that," he said consolingly. "Your aunt and a steamer chair are waiting for you on the other side, so come along and look at your letters and parcels."

"My aunt," repeated Ruth. "How ridiculous it seems to think of that little young thing being my aunt."

"Not any more absurd, I'm sure, than that a little young thing like me should be your uncle. I'm only five feet eleven, and a hundred and eighty pounds in weight."

Ruth laughed merrily, as Uncle Jerry meant she should, and just then they came to their chairs, and to the pretty new aunt smiling a welcome.

"You were so absorbed that we left you for a moment while we secured our chairs." she said as Ruth dropped down beside her. "I'm glad you've come, for I'm so anxious to know what's in these mysterious packages."

"I brought them up from your stateroom in my bag," added Uncle Jerry. "I thought you could entertain your youthful uncle and aunt by taking out one at a time. Sort of a grab-bag arrangement, you know."

Ruth drew out one of the packages and looked at it curiously. "That's Katharine's writing," she said, as she studied the address. Inside was a round flat pincushion made of blue velvet and embroidered with a spray of apple-blossoms. Around its edge was a fancy arrangement of pins of all colors, and fastened at the back hung a sort of needle-book with leaves of coarse net in which were run invisible hairpins. On a sheet of paper was written in Alice's small, neat hand:

Pins for your collar and pins for your hair, Pins for your belt, and some to spare For any old thing you may want to do. And not only pins, but our love so true We send in this little package to you. Katharine—Alice.

"Isn't that dear of them?" cried Ruth. "I suppose they made it, and I shall hang it up in my room just as soon as I get a room."

Number two proved to be a letter from Charlotte, and as Ruth opened it a dainty handkerchief trimmed with narrow lace insertion and bordered with pink wash ribbon dropped into her lap.

"DEAR OLD RUTH" (the letter ran):

"Don't fall overboard when I tell you I trimmed this handkerchief myself, and more than that, don't look at the stitches. I thought I couldn't show my devotion to you more than by poking a needle in and out.

"Glenloch won't seem the same without you, and I can't bear to think you've really gone. Do write to me often and tell me all the interesting things you see and do.

"I can hear weeping and wailing out in the yard, and I know the twins are into some mischief, so I must stop.

"Love to Uncle and Aunt Jerry from "Yours disconsolately, "CHARLOTTE."

"I should say that was devotion," said Ruth much touched. "Charlotte hates sewing, and that handkerchief must have been awfully fussy to do. But isn't that a nice name she's given you, Aunt Jerry? I like that and think I shall use it."

The next package was a small book from Marie, filled with little water-color sketches of Glenloch. Ruth and Mrs. Jerry took such a long time over it that Uncle Jerry got quite impatient, and threatened to draw the next one himself if Ruth didn't hurry.

This time she brought out a rolled sheet of paper, and opening it found a snapshot of Betty's merry face stuck in the centre, and all around her a circle of kitten pictures. At the bottom she had written:

"DEAR RUTH:

"Once a lady told me that nothing tasted so good to her on shipboard as some home-made cookies some one had given her, so I thought I'd try it for you. I packed them in a new tin pail with a tight cover, and I hope they'll keep crisp until you can eat them.

"Arthur promised to leave them in your stateroom, so if you don't find them you'll know it's his fault.

"I shall go in often and pet Fuzzy so that he won't miss you too much.

"Yours with love and kisses,

"BETTY."

"Isn't that Betty all over?" said Mrs. Jerry with a laugh. "So practical and helpful and anxious to comfort some one, if it's only a kitten."

"That accounts for the package down below that I didn't bring up," said Uncle Jerry. "I didn't realize it belonged to Ruth."

"Those cookies will taste good," laughed Ruth. "She couldn't have sent anything more—more Bettyesque."

The next thing was carefully packed and required much unwrapping, but as the last paper was taken off Ruth squealed with delight over a little traveling clock in a brown leather case. Enclosed with it were five cards each bearing a message. The first one that she read said in a small, even hand:

"This clock is to tick away the hours until you come back to us. Please hurry so that it won't get too tired.—PHIL."

Then a boyish-looking writing announced, "'Time and tide wait for no man,' but Glenloch and the Candle Club will wait for the nicest girl that ever came out of the West.—JACK."

"Dear me! Am I blushing, Aunt Jerry?" asked Ruth quite overpowered by this last tribute. "This next is Frank's; I know his funny, scrawly writing."

"'Backward, turn backward, oh, Time in thy flight.' Give us our Ruth again just for to-night."

"Isn't that neat and sentimental? Now I shall go in and play and sing 'My Bonnie lies over the Ocean.' Aren't you glad you're out of ear-shot?—Frank."

Card number four was enlivened by a funny drawing of a boy with his fists in his eyes standing in a pool of tears, and under it the inscription: "Bert; his feelings to a T."

The last card said in writing so small that Ruth could hardly read it:

"Dear Ruth:

"Hope you'll like the clock. We know you are fond of a good time(-keeper). I am growing thin because I miss you so. Not a morsel of food has passed my lips to-day; it has all gone in. My kindest regards to Emperor William.

"Love to Uncle Jerry and Mrs. Jerry.

"Yours,"

"Joe."

Ruth sat back in her chair quite overwhelmed by her latest gift. "Isn't that a dear clock, and aren't they perfectly dandy boys?" she asked as she fished around in the bag which was growing empty.

"Here's something from Dolly," she added as she drew out a tiny package with a note attached.

"DEAR RUTH" (the note said):

"I've decided not to be jealous any more, and just to prove it I'm sending you my heart.

"Do write soon to

"Yours lovingly, DOROTHY."

Ruth hastened to open the package and found in a little box a tiny, gold heart. "How lovely! Dolly heard me say I wanted one of these little hearts," she said in a satisfied tone. "And isn't it sweet of her to forgive me for letting Uncle Jerry marry you?" she added with a laugh.

"Now there are just two more packages; a small and a large. Which shall I take?"

"Take the large one; you've just opened a small one," advised Uncle Jerry.

Ruth pulled out a large, square package, and opened it to find a handsome album filled with snapshots of Glenloch scenes and Glenloch friends.

"That's from Arthur, I know, though it doesn't say so, and that's what he's been so busy and secret over all these last weeks."

Ruth turned the leaves knowing that here, at least, she should find an unfailing source of pleasure. There were single pictures and groups of all the girls and boys she knew best, some of them so funny she could hardly see for laughing. There was Joe as the nice old lady; all the Candle Club boys in the costumes they wore at the last party; Ruth herself starting off on Peter Pan for a ride with Uncle Henry; Fuzzy in his most bewitching attitudes; and others so suggestive of the good times that had been that Ruth finally closed the book with almost a sigh.

"Well, now for the last package," she said diving into the bag. "Oh, here's a note from Arthur that I didn't find before." She tucked the envelope down in her lap, and opened first the little box to which was attached a note from Mrs. Hamilton. In the box was a brooch, a holly wreath in delicate greenish gold with tiny rubies for berries. The note said:

"DEAREST OF BORROWED DAUGHTERS:

"This is from Uncle Henry and me to remind you of the Christmas when you did so much for us. I am beginning to miss you even as I write this, and I don't like to think of our home without you. Come to us again soon. With much love,

"AUNT MARY."

Ruth's eyes were suspiciously misty as she held the note and the little box out to Mrs. Jerry. "You'll have to read that for yourself," she said with a choke in her voice.

Then she opened Arthur's note, which began:

"DEAR RUTH:

"This is not a sell, but a real secret. Father has just told me that if everything goes well we three will take a trip abroad next year and meet you and your father. We want you to travel with us if we do. Isn't that great? You can tell your people, but we don't want it told in Glenloch just yet. I'm going to work like everything this fall so that when the time comes there won't be anything on my part to keep us from going.

"Keep jolly, and remember that you're a Glenloch girl and must come back to us before long.

Yours, ARTHUR."

"Here's a grand surprise, and you two can be in the secret," she said as she handed the note to Uncle Jerry. "Isn't it fine to think that the Glenloch good times haven't come to an end?" she continued. "Do you remember the story of the 'Princess and the Goblins,' and how the little Princess always felt safe so long as she held one end of her fairy grandmother's thread? Well, I feel as if I am taking with me the ends of any number of threads; one from each of the girls, and a very important one from Aunt Mary, and a great many others, too. I'm going to keep tight hold of them all, and some day they will pull me back to Glenloch, I'm sure."

Ruth sat silent for some time looking out with eyes that hardly saw the heavenly blue of the sky, or the sparkle of the waves as they rose and fell in the sunshine. Then, as though her spirit had already traversed the unending stretch of ocean, she said with a throb of exultation in her voice:

"Now, six days of this, and then Germany and—my father."

Other Stories in this Series are GLENLOCH GIRLS ABROAD GLENLOCH GIRLS' CLUB GLENLOCH GIRLS AT CAMP WEST

THE END