But Molly was breathing so quietly that Judy realized she was talking to the air, making no more impression than her imaginary brush had made when she painted the wonderful picture of "The Young Prophet."



CHAPTER XVIII.

THE PRESCRIPTION.

Paris was as pleasant to return to as it had been to leave. The change and rest in the country had put new life in all of the marchioness's guests, and they were ready to go back to their duties with renewed interest and vigor.

They found on their arrival, however, interruptions to their work more potent than plain spring fever:—Professor Edwin Green and Kent Brown had reached Paris the day before, intending to surprise their friends, and had been themselves both surprised and disappointed to find the apartment in Rue Brea closed. Miss Josephine Williams had come to the fore with information and kindly offers of tea and brioche. Professor Green was thrown into the depths of despair when he learned that the absent ones were visiting the d'Ochtes in Normandy, and Kent could not conceal his misery when Jo let out that Pierce Kinsella was one of the party.

That young woman, with a feminine instinct that belied her masculine attire, understood the two men, and divining that they were both in love and jealous, one of Philippe and the other of Pierce, exercised the greatest tact and succeeded in sending them off to their hotel in a much better frame of mind. She did a great deal of quiet talking about how boyish Pierce Kinsella was, and what a pet to the whole community, being years younger than any of the girls. As for Philippe she touched lightly on his evident admiration for Elise O'Brien before her marriage and hinted that he seemed equally pleased with Frances Andrews now that Elise was off the carpet.

As the young men walked toward their student hotel on the Boulevarde Mont Parnesse, they agreed that Jo Bill was a pretty nice sort. They had been so impressed by the quality of her tea and brioche and her kindly tact in telling them exactly what they wanted to hear about their lady loves and their feared rivals, that they had forgotten to notice her trousers and her tousled red hair and spoke only of her honest mouth and good teeth, friendly eyes and shapely feet.

Professor Green had been threatened with a nervous breakdown and President Walker had at the eleventh hour been able to procure a substitute. The wise President understood very well that there was a cure to his nervous breakdown, but that it had to be taken on the other side of the Atlantic; so she was delighted to hasten his departure. Edwin had telegraphed Kent of his intended sailing, and that young man had joyously made preparations to join him in New York. He had the great pleasure of paying a visit of condolence to his Aunt Sarah Clay, who had at last lost her suit against the Oil Trust. He also had the pleasure of depositing in the safety vault a goodly number of bonds for his beloved mother, enough to insure a comfortable income to her and the certainty that her financial worries were over forever.

"This is what I call an anticlimax," said Edwin to Kent the next morning as they lounged on the Pont Carrousel. "We got ourselves ready for the excitement of surprising the ladies yesterday and nothing came off, and now this hanging around waiting has taken all the life out of me. Miss Williams insisted we could not miss them if we guarded the Pont Carrousel, and of course this would be the natural way for them to come from the Gare du Nord; but things don't seem to be happening in the natural way here, lately."

Kent looked narrowly at his friend. He did look tired and depressed, but the voyage had done him good. He was better than he had been at Wellington when Dr. McLean had given him a thorough going over and, after a consultation with his wise partner (Mrs. McLean), had prescribed an immediate sea trip as the only cure for his malady.

"Oh, buck up, old man, the worst is yet to come!" Kent gave him an affectionate push just as a taxicab came lumbering on the far end of the bridge and he saw a blue scarf floating in the breezes, a blue scarf that could belong to no one but his dear sister Molly. "What did I tell you? There they are now. Now get ready for the anticlimax that you so scorn. I bet it will out-climax the climax!"

Judy was the first to see the young men. "Stop, stop!" she called to the chauffeur.

"Extra charge if I stop, Mademoiselle," warned the man, slowing down his car.

"Oh, these Frenchies!" wailed the excited girl. "They part mother and son for three sous; and—and——" but she did not finish about whom else they would part.

Edwin and Kent crowded in on the front seat with the greedy chauffeur, and the happy crowd was quickly taken to the Rue Brea.

As Professor Green gazed over his shoulder into the sweet eyes of Molly Brown, he knew that the sea trip was just exactly what he needed to restore his failing health and that his old friend Dr. McLean was a wise physician.

Molly, on the back seat with her mother and Judy, felt very happy. Had she not cause to feel so? Was not her beloved brother on the seat in front of her after being parted from them for months and months? Was not her mother's face a picture of maternal joy to be once again near her boy? Did not her dear friend Julia Kean frankly show her delight at Kent's proximity? And last, and Molly tried to make herself think it the least reason, was not her friend Professor Green rattling along in the taxi with them with an expression in his kind eyes as they gazed into hers that made her drop her own, fearing that hers might have the same telltale look to him that his had to her?

Kent overpaid the chauffeur in spite of Judy's protestations and then Professor Green came back and gave him an extra pourboire.

"Let us squander our hard-earned wealth if we want to, Miss Judy," begged Kent. "When I saw that man's round, red face looming up in front of Molly and mother and you, it seemed to me that he looked like a veritable cupid; and I should like to give him a good big tip just for bringing us all together again."

"All right, but Fate ought to be tipped instead of that red-faced, avaricious old Frenchy," laughed Judy.

What a talk they did have when they got themselves settled comfortably in the studio, which the kindly Jo Williams and Polly Perkins had aired and freshened up for their arrival!

Kent had to tell all the Kentucky news first, as Mrs. Brown and Molly were eager to hear every detail concerning the loved ones at home. The report was a good one: John and Paul were doing well in their chosen professions; Sue was happy as a lark with her Cyrus, who was having the "muddy lane" macadamized; a recent letter from Ernest said that he would take his holiday in August, provided his mother and Molly would have returned to Kentucky by that time; Aunt Clay was in a pleasant, chastened mood, seeming rather reconciled to losing her suit; Aunt Mary, the dear old cook, was lonesome and forlorn with "Ole Miss and Molly Baby done gone so fer away. Looks lak I ain't got the heart to put a livin' thing inter a pie sence they done gone an' lef' me. I cyarn't eat fer a thinkin' what kind er messes they is puttin' in they own innerds; an I cyarn't sleep fer thinkin' of the deep waters a rollin' betwixt us." Mrs. Brown and Molly had to wipe their eyes at Kent's description of the dear old darkey.

"Speaking of innerds," laughed Kent, "where are we to have luncheon? This constant change of climate is giving me a powerful good appetite. My only regret in regard to our crossing was that we did not come on a German line. The French line is good enough except that they have only four meals a day, while I am told the German has six."

"Oh, you greedy!" said Molly, giving him a little extra hug for luck. "How would you like to have a spread in the studio? Judy and I will gladly show you what we can do. I'll go forage right now."

"The very thing!" exclaimed Judy. "You attend to the meat and dessert, and I'll hold up the salad end. Now, Mrs. Brown, you must rest and not do one thing but entertain the gentlemen, while Molly and I hustle around."

"I think the gentlemen had much better go with you and Molly and help forage. I will lie down and take a real rest while all of you are gone," said Mrs. Brown with a whimsical smile.

As they went out, Kent said to Judy: "What a brick Mumsy is, anyhow!" Edwin Green said nothing, but he thought: "Mrs. Brown's tact and kindness are never failing."

He was eager to see Molly alone, but when they were alone he found he had not the courage to say to her the words that were in his heart. They talked of Wellington and their mutual friends. He had news to tell of Richard Blount and Melissa Hathaway which gave Molly great delight.

"The mountain would not go to Mohammed, so Mohammed is going to the mountain. There is an excellent opening for Richard in a Kentucky mountain town, Pineville, as a railroad lawyer, and he has accepted. Melissa has been appointed supervisor of the schools for the district, and Miss Allfriend assures Melissa she can do more good to her beloved mountains in this way than by merely teaching, so she has accepted. Miss Allfriend is very happy at this outcome. She has seen her own youth go in the uphill work and is so glad to know that Melissa is to have a life of her own. Melissa and Richard are to be married in June."

"How splendid!" exclaimed Molly, clasping her hands and thinking what a silly girl she had been to fancy that Professor Green might care for the beautiful mountain girl otherwise than as a friend. "I know they will be very happy, and I believe Melissa will not let matrimony interfere with what she considers her life work."

"Dicky Blount declares he will never be jealous of such small things as mountains. That is rather complimentary to me, as he did me the honor to be jealous of me," laughed the professor.

"Why, how ridiculous!" and Molly plunged into the poultry shop, where the blazing fire accounted to her companion for her heightened color. The proprietor had an extra pullet on the spit roasting for a chance customer. He pronounced it "charmante et tendre," and the hungry crowd declared he was right.

The luncheon was perfect. Everyone was happy and so much talk was the order of the day that Jo Williams poked her head in to see what the row was about, and they made her stay to dessert; and then Polly Perkins came to see where Jo was, and they invited him to stay to coffee.

"You have had a very successful winter, have you not?" said Edwin Green to Mrs. Brown, while Molly and Judy cleared the table and Kent went over to Polly's studio to see the portrait of Mrs. Pace.

"Yes, indeed, most delightful. I have been much disappointed in not having Kent with us, and now that he has come, I must soon leave him here and go back to all the others. They need me, especially old Aunt Mary. I could never forgive myself if anything should happen to the old woman while I am away. She is getting very feeble. I fancy Kent will do well enough without me. He makes friends so easily and then dear Judy is to be here for another year at least."

As Judy leaned over her to arrange the bowl of flowers on the table, Mrs. Brown smiled on her as though she were already her daughter.



CHAPTER XIX.

FONTAINEBLEAU AND WHAT CAME OF IT.

Molly's promise to wait to see the Forest of Fontainebleau with him had kept up Edwin Green's spirits through the long winter, and now he eagerly planned the excursion to that historic spot. They were to take the early morning train; spend the forenoon seeing the palace; have lunch at a restaurant that Edwin remembered of old; then walk or ride through the Forest as the ladies should decide; and spend the night at Barbizon.

Everything was coming up to his dreams. Even the day was perfect. He was allowed to sit by Molly on the train and later on to be by her side while the guide showed them through the palace and over the beautiful grounds. Mrs. Brown and Judy and Kent were inseparable.

"The poor old boy has been sick and my opinion is he needs a little Molly-coddling; so let's give him all the chance in the world," whispered Kent to Judy; and Judy fell in with the suggestion and hooked her arm in Mrs. Brown's with a "Whither thou goest, I will go" look.

They had luncheon at a restaurant, The Sign of the Swan, kept by an old English couple, who made a specialty of roast beef and English mustard.

"None of the ready mixed French stuff that is so mild you can eat it by itself, but the good English brand that will really burn," said the buxom madame, as she smilingly served great slabs of rare beef with generous helpings of freshly mixed mustard.

"It burns all right, all right," exclaimed Kent between gulps of water. "It would be invaluable for outside application, but I advise all of you to go easy on how you place it in the interior. The English have stopped wearing visible armor but my opinion is they have swallowed it to protect their insides from the onslaught of their own mustard."

"I think it is delicious," said Molly.

"So do I," echoed Edwin. "I never tasted better."

Kent gave the professor a quizzical glance and then flicked his eyelid at Judy. The young man was very far gone, he thought, if he could swallow that mustard and make out he enjoyed it, since he, Kent, happened to know that Edwin Green abhorred all highly seasoned food. But forsooth, if Molly liked mustard he would like mustard, too.

Molly and Judy had expressed their desire to walk through the Forest to Barbizon but Mrs. Brown was to take the diligence, as it was rather too long a walk for her to attempt. Judy suddenly decided that she was tired and would ride with Mrs. Brown, and Kent declared that he needed assistance to carry the quantity of roast beef he had consumed at The Sign of the Swan, and was delighted to be spared the walk of several miles.

"I tell you, I almost sang my 'Swan Song' when I got that first mouthful of mustard, and it would have been to the tune of 'It's a hot time in the old town to-night.' If you and the professor are going to walk, Molly, you had better start now and not wait for the diligence to be off."

So Molly and Edwin did start on the walk that the young man had been looking forward to for so many months. The Forest of Fontainebleau is a wonderful spot and a fitting place for a young man to use as the setting for his day dreams. Here he was actually doing the thing he had been dreaming of, only it was more delightful than he had let himself think it could be. Molly was all loveliness and sweetness. He blessed the miles that made it necessary for Mrs. Brown to ride; he blessed the unusual fatigue that had overtaken Judy; and above all, he blessed the slabs of rare roast beef that had put Kent out of the running. So blind was he to everything but Molly, the color of her eyes and hair, the curve of her cheek and sweetness of her mouth, that he had not seen that Kent and Judy had deliberately given up the walk for his sake. Julia Kean did not know what "tired" meant, and as for Kent, he was a young man of unlimited capacity.

They soon left the broad avenue and struck into one of the by-paths going in the direction of Barbizon. Edwin had a map of the Forest on which every path was indicated, and with the help of the many finger-posts, they were able to locate themselves from time to time.

"Is it as beautiful as you thought it would be, Miss Molly?"

"Oh, more beautiful! I never have seen such trees. It is so wonderful, too, to think that there are no snakes. They say they have not seen a snake in these parts for over fifty years. When I am in the woods, I am always a little bit uneasy about snakes."

"Since there are no snakes, we might sit down on this moss-covered rock and rest."

There was more to Edwin's dream than simply walking through the woods with Molly; and he felt that no more suitable place could be found than this sylvan spot where she could be seated like a queen on a throne while he poured out assurances of his life-long allegiance, if she would but admit him as a subject.

"Oh, Miss Molly! Molly, my darling, I am dumb with love of you. I want to tell you how much I love you; how long I have loved you. Can you love me just a little?"

And Molly raised her frank blue eyes to his appealing brown ones and answered: "No, I can't love you just a little, but I have to love you a whole lot."

His day dream was indeed coming true: alone with Molly Brown in the great, deep, silent forest, his love spoken at last and Molly actually confessing that she cared for him. That eminent instructor of English at Wellington College found when the time came to express himself that all his knowledge of words was as naught, and the only English he had at his command was: "I love you, do you love me?" and "I have loved you since the day in your Freshman year when you got locked in the corridor. How long have you loved me, if you do really love me?"

They finally resumed their walk, but now they went hand in hand. How much there was to talk about, how many things to explain!

"And will you be willing to spend the summers in your orchard home with me? I have always called it 'Molly's Orchard Home' in my mind."

"I can think of no place in the world where I'd rather spend the summers. Would I not be near all of my people? I am so glad you asked my advice about the bungalow! Now the doors open the way I want them to; and the cellar has an outside entrance; and the guest chamber has those extra inches on it, besides the nice big closet; and the attic steps are big enough to get a trunk up. Did you really and truly think it was going to be my home when you were planning it?"

"I could only hope and hope and plan and dream. For almost six years I have known that it was you or nobody for me. Ever since you came to Wellington, a slip of a girl, it has been all I could do to keep from claiming you. You were too young. I knew it would not be fair to try to tie you to an old dry-as-dust like me until you had seen the world a little. But oh, how hard it has been not to speak out all that was in my heart! And when I thought I had lost you, first to Jimmy Lufton, then to your cousin, Philippe d'Ochte, life was very bitter, and I looked forward to years of misery and longing."

"'Way down in my heart of hearts," confessed Molly, "I knew that you cared, and the knowledge of it kept me from thinking seriously of any other man. It was awfully conceited of me to feel that way when you have never given me any real reason for it. At least, you had never written or spoken your love; but the language that is neither written nor spoken is understood by the heart, and my heart told me you loved me when my intelligence would have me understand that you did not."

"Bless your sweet heart for understanding me and speaking a good word for me! I wish my heart could have done as much for me. I could not see how you could care for me, and still I hoped and prayed. And now what is to prevent our being married right now and spending our honeymoon abroad?"

"Well, it seems to me that a young man who could possess his soul in patience for six years to find out his fate, might wait a while longer now that he knows his answer," teased Molly.

"But all my patience is gone, used up, worn out! I want you all the time to make up for this terrible nightmare of a winter that I have passed through. What is to prevent our getting married, if you really and truly care for me? Oh, Molly, be good to me! I could not stand it if the ocean separated us again!"

And Molly was good to this extent; she said: "Let's see what mother says about it."

When the pair of happy lovers reached Barbizon, they broke the news of their engagement to their friends, who had the tact to pretend to be astonished. Mrs. Brown was in a measure relieved that Molly returned the affections of the young professor. She liked him very much and fully approved of him as a son-in-law. She felt sure that he would take the best possible care of her darling daughter. There had been times when she had felt a little afraid that her advice to Edwin Green not to speak to Molly of his love until the girl had matured somewhat, was perhaps a mistake. But now, convinced that all was well, Mrs. Brown, as impulsive as ever, agreed that there was no reason to delay their marriage.

The next few days were filled with unmixed charm and delight. Barbizon was intensely interesting, having been the home of Jean Francois Millet. Here he lived, painted and died, the great peasant painter. The fields around the village were the scenes for the Gleaners, the Angelus, the Man with the Hoe.

The Forest, which touched the outskirts of the village, had furnished motifs for Diaz, Rousseau and Daubigny, and Judy was in a state of the greatest enthusiasm and excitement trying to spy out the exact spots where those masters of landscape had painted their pictures. Kent was delighted to follow in her footsteps and, as he expressed it, "sit at the feet of learning." He had seen but few good pictures, but he had an unerring taste in the matter of art and was able to understand Judy's ravings.

Molly and Edwin seemed to be floating above the earth. They touched ground occasionally to eat the very good food that the madame at Maison Chevillon served them or to pass the time of day with the other members of the party.

"Look at those two infatuated lovers, Mother," said Kent. "They look as though they had left this mundane sphere for good and all. I believe they talk in blank verse with occasional lapses into rhyme.

"'What kind er slippers do the angels wear? Chillun, chillun, chillun, won't yer foller me? Don' wear none fer they tred on air, Hally, Hally, Hally, Hallyloodja!'"

"Nonsense, Kent, don't tease them," implored Mrs. Brown.

But strange to say, Molly did not mind the teasing she was forced to take from her brother, although Judy called him "Mr. Brown" in the most formal manner whenever he yielded to the temptation to tease her beloved Molly.

"I don't mind your calling me 'Mr. Brown' now that none of my brothers are here to answer to your endearments," laughed Kent. "I rather like it, in fact. It adds a kind of dignity to me."

They could not play around the Forest of Fontainebleau forever, much as they would have liked to. They went back to Paris a very contented, happy party: Mrs. Brown happy that her judgment had been correct in regard to her daughter's affairs; Kent and Judy happy to be in each other's society and knowing they were to have much of their chosen work ahead of them; Kent feeling almost certain that when his work was accomplished the reward awaited him, that Judy cared for him and if he could make good, would marry him; Professor Green and Molly in a seventh heaven of bliss.

Cousin Sally was immediately taken into their confidence. The news of the engagement was broken to her by Molly herself.

"Oh, what a sly-boots you were!" exclaimed the marchioness. "Philippe was right about your knowing too much about how persons ought to love not to be in love yourself. Well, my dear, I know you will be happy, and as for that Green—I hardly know how to say how happy he should be. He is not one-half so good looking as my boy, but never mind, child, I know just how clever and good and intelligent he is. He is much more suitable for you. He has the imagination that Philippe lacks. Tut—tut, I know perfectly well where my dear son falls short. There is no poetry in his make up. His father and I have often wondered at it. He looks so poetical and is all prose."

The marchioness took arrangements for the wedding into her own hands. Getting married in Paris if you happen to be foreigners, is no easy matter. There is enough red tape connected with it to reach all the way across the Atlantic; but Sally Bolling d'Ochte was quite equal to cope with it. It took several weeks and much signing and countersigning. Birth certificates had to be obtained from Kentucky as well as baptismal certificates for Molly. The law did not seem to be so strict concerning the man.

"It does not seem fair," declared Kent. "These Frenchies will let a man get married without any proof of his being born; but a woman, forsooth, must first prove she is born and that she has been christened before she is allowed to enter into the holy state of matrimony."

All the papers were finally obtained, however, and Molly and her professor were married very quietly at the Protestant Episcopal Church, with no one present but the near friends and relatives. It all went as merry as a marriage bell should, but does not always go. No one wept but Polly Perkins; but Jo declared he always was a "slobber baby."

Molly naturally was married in blue, her own blue. The dressmaker almost cried when she was told that it was a wedding dress she was making, because it was not to be of white.

"Ah, the blonde bride is so wonderful and so rare! I could create for Mademoiselle a dress that would be the talk of Paris. With that hair and such fairness of complexion—well, never mind, I will still make her as beautiful as the dawn." And so she did.

After the ceremony, a wedding breakfast followed at the home of the good Cousin Sally, who felt like weeping but refrained for fear of casting a cloud on Molly's day; but it was noticed that she was especially attentive and kind to poor emotional Polly, showing that she appreciated his feelings and longed to show hers.

Molly and Edwin went on their wedding trip to—But is it kind to follow them? Let them have their solitude a deux. They are well able to take care of each other without our assistance.

They joined Mrs. Brown in a month and went back to Kentucky with her, leaving Judy and Kent to continue their art studies in Paris.

Judy was terribly afraid that she would have to go back under Mrs. Pace's wing when the Browns left her, but the all-capable Marchioness d'Ochte got her a room at the American Girls' Club where she could be as free as she wished with the appearance of being well chaperoned. As for Kent he struck up quite a friendship with Pierce Kinsella, whom he had once so feared as a rival, and the two young men decided to share a studio, lessening the expense for both and heightening their pleasure.



CHAPTER XX.

MORE LETTERS.

From Mrs. Edwin Green to Miss Nance Oldham.

My dearest Nance:

Oh, Nance, I'm so happy! I wonder if any two people were ever so happy as Edwin and I. Am I not glib with my "Edwin"? I found it rather hard at first to keep from calling him Professor Green, but it seemed to mean so much to him that I have at last broken myself of the habit.

I longed for you on the day of the wedding. It did not seem right for me to take such a step without my darling Nance to help me. I was married in a traveling suit. I really believe I could not have been married in a white dress and veil unless you had been there to put on my veil.

We are having a wonderful trip, and (please don't laugh at me), but do you know it is a real privilege to travel with a man like Edwin? He knows so many things without being the least bit teachy. Mother says you are never conscious of the pedagogue in Edwin. That is really so, which I think is remarkable, considering the many persons he has to teach.

First we went to Scotland. Nothing in France thrilled me as did the lakes of Scotland. How thankful I am that, as a child, I did not have access to very many books, only the classics, and I had to read the Waverley Novels or nothing. Scotland meant a great deal more to me because of my having read Scott. Edwin says he finds about one out of ten of the young persons of the day know their Dickens and their Scott.

Edinburgh is so interesting that already Edwin and I are planning to revisit it in his next Sabbatical year. That is a long way off but we are so happy those seven years will pass quickly, I know. I almost fell over the ramparts of Edinburgh Castle trying to see the exact spot where Robert Louis Stevenson's hero, St. Ives, went down on the rope to the rocks below. As I craned my neck, Edwin whispered hoarsely in my ear: "Past yin o'cloak, and a dark, haary moarnin."

Edwin says I take fiction much more seriously than I do history. He does, too, unless the history happens to be Mary Queen of Scots or something that by rights should have been fiction. Greyfriars Bobby, for instance, is a true tale but affects us both as though it were fiction. We gave a whole afternoon to that dear little doggy, following in his footsteps as nearly as we could through the streets of Edinburgh, and out into the country by the road he took to the farm, and then back to Greyfriars Churchyard where the old shepherd, his master, was buried.

Of course we did the Burns country thoroughly. Edwin seemed as at home there as I am in the beech woods at Chatsworth. Burns has never been one of my poets, but he is now. I have adopted him for life since I realize what he means to Edwin.

We are in London now and could spend a year here and not see all we want to see. We play a splendid game which maybe you will think is silly, but you don't know how much fun it is. We pretend for a whole day to be some characters in fiction, Dickens, Thackeray, Barrie, anyone we happen to think of, and then we do the things those persons might have done. For instance, when we were slumming, I was the Marchioness and Edwin was Dick Swiveller. That was perhaps the best day of all. When we went down to the Thames embankment, Edwin suddenly turned into Rogue Riderhood and I was Lizzie Hexam.

Edwin did not think much of me as Becky Sharp when we went to the Opera nor did I think his Rawdon Crawley very convincing. His Peter Pan was splendid the afternoon we spent in Kensington Gardens, and he thought my Wendy was so perfect he tried to make me give him a "thimble" right there before all the nurse maids.

We are going home in a few days now. We are to meet Mother at Liverpool and sail from there. I do wish Mother could have done the things we have done. She would have enjoyed it so much. She laughed until she cried when I proposed her going with us. She said she loved Edwin too much and felt that he loved her too much to put his affection to such a test.

One of the very best things about being Mrs. Edwin Green is that Mother so highly approves of Edwin.

In a few weeks now we will be settled in our little Orchard Home. I hate to leave London but I long for the little home. I am a born homemaker and I am eager to get to housekeeping in the bungalow.

Edwin expects to be very busy working on a text-book on American Literature that he feels there is a need of. He does not have to go back to Wellington until January and that will give us time for lots of things in Kentucky.

When we get to Wellington, you are the first person we want to have visit us, and I want to engage you right now.

What you tell me of Andy McLean's success at Harvard does not astonish me. I was sure he would do well. I shall not be astonished either when you tell me some other news about Andy. Come on now, Nance, and 'fess up.

Good-bye.—Edwin sends his kindest regards to you and says he, too, is counting on that visit from you in January.

Yours always,

MOLLY.

* * * * *

Mrs. Sarah Carmichael Clay to Mrs. Mildred Carmichael Brown.

Dear Milly:

For a woman who is noted through the whole County as being the least practical person in the world, the most gullible and credulous, you certainly seem to come out at the big end of the horn.

You have managed to marry off your daughters very young, though in my opinion they are none of them beauties. Your sons seem to be able to support themselves. You have contrived to sell your birthright to an oil trust and to lift the mortgage on Chatsworth. Your servants stay with you until they die on your hands; and your friends vie with each other in rendering service to you.

I can't understand it. You must be deeper than shows on the surface. Anyhow, I take off my hat to you as being much more of a personage than I ever gave you credit for.

I am going to give Molly, for a wedding present, the portrait of our grandmother by Jouett. It is a valuable painting, so I am told, but I have had it in the attic for years as I could not bear the sight of it. You will remember it was the image of that impertinent Sally Bolling, who seemed to have the faculty of making me appear ridiculous. I never could abide her and hardly wanted to have her picture in my drawing room. I always lost sight of the fact that it was really our grandmother. I am afraid Molly is going to look like it, too.

It is high time you were coming home. Now that you have managed to marry Molly off, I should think you would have some feeling for me. My health is very poor, and certainly your duty is to look after me some and not give all of your time to your children. What with the lawsuit that I have been forced into and the constant changing of house-servants, I am in a very nervous condition.

Affectionately your sister,

SARAH CARMICHAEL CLAY.

* * * * *

From Professor Edwin Green to Dr. McLean at Wellington.

My dear Doctor:

I have come to the conclusion that you can take a place by the side of Dr. Weir Mitchell as one of the greatest nerve specialists of this age or any age. I am taking your prescription in large doses: deep full breaths of happiness and great brimming bowls of it. I am feeling fine and my wife says I am getting fat.

We have had a splendid trip. I have been over the same ground before, but it all seems new and wonderful to me. My wife's knowledge of your beloved Scotland put me to shame. She declares she got it all from Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson and never studied a history of the country in her life.

My wife joins me in love to you and Mrs. McLean. She says that one of her chief pleasures is looking forward to having Mrs. McLean for a neighbor the rest of her life.

We will be back in Wellington after Christmas. We are now going to my wife's native state, Kentucky, where I expect to finish the text-book on American Literature that I have been pretending to work on for some time. My wife's presence will serve as inspiration to me and I hope to get ahead with it now.

Very sincerely,

EDWIN GREEN.

P. S.—My wife, using a wife's prerogative, has read this over my shoulder and declares that I may be a teacher of English, but as a writer of it I am a failure. She says she can count about a dozen "wives" in this little letter, which is very bad writing. But can you blame me? E. G.

* * * * *

From Caroline Jackson to Mrs. Brown.

Dear Miss Milly:

I takes my pen in hand tow enform you that most of us is enjawen pore health and hopes it finds you the same. This letter is writ for Aunt Mary Morton although the paper and awnvelop is mine, the same what Miss Molly sent me for Christmus come two yers next time. Aunt Mary wisht me tow say that she is rejicing that her Molly Baby done catch sech a fine man as her teacher pears tow be and she is praying that she will be spared tow greet them both on this side of the ribber.

We have done cleaned up Chatswuth tel you kin see yore face in mos any place you is enclined tow look. Lewis has white washed evything tel it minds me of icecreamcandyandpopcorn. Lewis has also done put in and tended the garden same as ifn you wus here. The bungleboo in the awchard is all finished and vines and flowrs growin on it same as ef it done been there fer yers.

Aunt Mary's grand darter Kizzie lows she is goin tow cook fer Miss Molly. All I kin say is Gawd hep litle Miss Molly, cause that there Kizzie is sho slow tow move and proudified (this las from me and not Aunt Mary).

Miss Sarah Clay is done had twelve cooks sence Christmus and I cyarnt count as high as the house girls run up tow. Miss Sarah is lookin right peaked and not near so buxo as formally. All of us ladies and gentlemen of African scent is rejicing that you will soon go down into the deep waters and return again once more to Kaintucky. No more at present. Plese excuse blots and a bad pen. Lewis wushes me tow add that he done furnished the stamp fer this here pistle.

Aunt Mary lows she aint long fer this here world but I knows she is still got the strenth tow make other colord folks work.

With umblest respecks,

CAROLINE JACKSON.

* * * * *

From Miss Julia Kean to Mrs. Edwin Green.

Molly Darling:

All day I sing: "What's this dark world to me? Molly's not here." When the wedding breakfast was over and you and your Edwin were really gone, we all of us collapsed like busted balloons. Polly Perkins was cheerful beside the rest of us. He says he always cries at weddings. I believe he is thinking of Josephine Williams and weeps because he knows she never will marry him. I don't blame Jo, but I do feel sorry for Polly.

Your Mother and I are plunged into getting the Bents' studio in order for them. We are determined that they shall find it as shining as they left it. What a place it has been for us and how we have enjoyed it!

The d'Ochtes will soon go back to Normandy. They have asked Kent and me to visit them during the summer. Won't that be grand?

I have seen Frances Andrews several times. I never did see any one improve as she has. I think it is your influence but I know you will say it is the angle at which I am looking at her. I believe Philippe d'Ochte is really becoming very much interested in her. I wonder what Cousin Sally will think. I fancy she will think poor Frances a far cry from her choice for her son, namely: our own Molly. I still think it is a pity we can't keep La Roche Craie in the family, but I see no way to do it.

Pierce Kinsella is painting like mad on a portrait of your mother. He says he has been crazy to paint her from the moment he laid eyes on her on the steamer. She says she rather likes posing because it means she can sit still and think. We have been in such a whirl that it might be some comfort to sit still, but I fancy I'd get enough of it in a half hour sitting.

Pierce demands only one thing of Mrs. Brown and that is that she thinks about you. He declares her expression is different.

Speaking of parents, my own are leaving Turkey to-day. Why I should keep it to the end of my letter, I don't know. I am wild with delight. It seems years since I saw them and I can hardly wait. I wish they could have got here for the wedding. Bobby always whoops things up so.

Give my best love to that most fortunate man alive; and tell him that matrimony does not mean eternal monopilization. Write to me soon at the American Girls' Club. They say it is fine and homelike there, but it will surely be some comedown after Rue Brea.

Your ever devoted,

JUDY.

* * * * *

Jimmy Lufton to Molly.

Press Club, New York.

My dear Mrs. Green:

Ah me! I have swallowed the bitter pill and now I am gasping for breath. I mean I have actually called you Mrs. Green. I did not know I was man enough to do it. One never can tell what he can do until put to the test. Anyhow, I want to congratulate both you and the Professor with all my heart. If I have to call you Mrs. Anything I believe I'd rather it would be Mrs. Green. Did you ever hear this saying?

"Change the name and not the letter, Change for worse and not for better. Change the name and colour, too, Change for good and never rue."

I am sure you will "never rue" and will be as happy as you deserve, which is saying a great deal. With kindest regards to your husband (I feel myself to be a giant among men now, actually to have spoken of the Prof. as your husband!) and hoping I shall be allowed the pleasure of seeing you when you pass through New York on the way to your home in Kentucky,

I am very sincerely your friend,

JIMMY LUFTON.

* * * * *

From Miss Josephine Williams to Mrs. Edwin Green.

Rue Brea, Paris.

My dear Molly Brown Green:

The Bents are good friends of mine, but I must say I'll be sorry to see them back in their studio, for it will mean the departure of your wonderful mother. I truly think she has done real social settlement work in this quarter of Paris. Her influence is felt wherever she goes. For instance, I cite myself as an example. I wear trousers still, but only when I am actually at work, and I find skirts not so bad after all. As for Polly Perkins, he has actually acquired backbone enough to propose to me. I am sure your mother was at the bottom of it.

The winter bids fair to be a hard one for American artists in Paris, so I have decided that it would be wise to economize in rent. Therefore, I have consented to share a studio with Polly. Your mother is at the bottom of this move, too. Of course we have got to live, and two can live together more cheaply than they can separately. Economy of rent and fuel and light is to be considered, to say nothing of the fact that it is an impossibility to make one cup of tea or coffee. I always have a lot left in the pot and Polly might just as well have it as not. All these reasons to explain why I have said "Yes"!

Mrs. Pace bought her own portrait and has been the means of another order for poor Polly. She has also arranged to have him give some talks at her pension on the new movement in Art. Polly is quite spunked up and has actually had his hair cut.

The portrait of Mrs. Pace is on the whole rather interesting. I have to confess that the Cubist way of looking at her was the only way to do her justice. I think Polly was rather remarkable to see the possibilities in her.

We miss you more than I can tell you. Rue Brea seemed very lonesome at first and it took us several days to get back in our ruts.

I see a lot of your splendid young brother. I think he has been a good influence for Polly, too. He seemed to take Polly seriously and that always does a fellow good.

Pierce Kinsella is doing a wonderful portrait of your mother. It will be a sure Salon success and I bet anything will get a Mention. It has some of the qualities of Whistler's Mother. I think Pierce is one of the coming giants.

As you know by experience how difficult it is for foreigners to be married in Paris, I need not tell you of the trouble we are having to get all of my certificates from California. Polly and I can't begin our economies for several weeks yet. I should not be astonished if by that time my hair will be long enough to tuck up. Another one of your mother's touches—I'm letting it grow. Regards to the man, most blessed on earth.

Your friend,

JO BILL.



CHAPTER XXI.

MOLLY BROWN'S ORCHARD HOME.

"Ter think er my Molly Baby back here in Kaintucky, a wedded wife with a live husband er her own! Who'd a thought it? It seems jes' a spell sence she were so teency she had to clim' on a soap box to reach up ter de dough tray ter pinch off a lil piece er yeas' dough ter make her play rolls wif, so she an' that there Kent could have a party in de ole apple tree they called ther carstle. An' now de carstle done blowed down an' in a twinklin' of de eye, most fo' dis ole nigger could tun 'round, here is a sho nuf house whar de carstle stood an' my lil baby chile is mistress here wif a dough tray an' bis'it board er her own, an' now," and here Aunt Mary paused to give one of her inimitable chuckles, "she don' have ter stretch up none ter reach de table but has to ben' over right smart in de tother d'rection."

"Don't you think our bungalow is lovely?" asked Molly, who looked very pretty in her cap and apron as she bent over her own biscuit board cutting out tiny biscuit, the kind that Edwin liked best, ready to bake for breakfast.

"Yes, chile, it is a fittin' home for the likes of you; but fer the land's sake, don' call it no sich a name as that there! It makes me think er hants. It soun's too like bugger-boo ter me. Jes' call it house or home, but not dat scarey name what you and yo' teacher roll out so keerless like."

"All right, Aunt Mary, if you don't like bungalow, 'my teacher' and I will stop calling it that."

Molly popped the biscuit into the oven, put the sliced bacon on the griddle, tested her coffee to see if it had percolated sufficiently, got the butter and cream out of the refrigerator, cracked ice to put in the cantaloupe, and made a pitcher of ice water before it was time to turn the bacon.

"Sakes alive, chile, how you kin tun aroun'! That there Ca'line would a bin a hour doin' what you done 'complished in a few minutes."

Just then Professor Green came into the kitchen, hunting Molly, whom he could not let out of his sight for very long.

"Well, Aunt Mary, I am so glad to see you," and he shook hands with the old woman. "My wife tells me that you are to spend the day with us, also that your granddaughter, Kizzie, is coming to cook for us. Just look at my wife, Aunt Mary, isn't she the most beautiful wife in all the world?"

He proceeded to embrace Molly, dish towel, coffee pot and all. Molly put the coffee pot down by the ice water, dropped the dish towel into the wood box and allowed herself to be kissed, laughing gayly at the old darkey's expression of amusement.

"Oh, yes, wife, wife, wife! That's all one er these here green husbands kin say. But I see right here ef I is comp'ny done come to spen' de day, I'd bes' put on a ap'on and git ter wuck. De bac'n is ready ter burn up and I 'low that there pan er baby bis'it is done to a turn. De coffee pot done het up de ice water and de ice water done took the 'roma from de coffee. Here I was a passin' compliments on Miss Molly 'bout her swif'ness, and she actin' jes lak Ca'line! De kitchen ain't no place fer spoons, 'less they is i'on spoons to stir up de batter wif. Go 'long an' sit down in yo' cheers. I'll bring in the victuals."

Aunt Mary was very strict with the other servants and would have reprimanded any of them severely for venturing a remark "while de white folks was eatin'," but she followed Molly and Edwin to the screened porch where the table was laid, and while they ate the very good breakfast which, thanks to her, had not burned up, the old woman entertained them with her keen observations.

"I knowed you'd be pleased wif de Jonases gourd I done planted hin' de kitchen on that arbor what Mr. Kent called by some outlandish name lak perg'low. I say I planted de gourd, which ain't ter say the wholesome truf. Yer see, gourds mus' be planted by a foolish 'ooman or a lazy, no-'count man ef you want 'em to grow fas'. I sho did want that there vine to kiver de arbor befo' you and yo' teacher got here, so I got Ca'line, who is 'thout doubt the foolishest virgin I ever seed, to plant on one side and that low down, lazy Buck Jasper to tend to tother, and you kin see fer yo'self they's meetin' overhead."

"The vine has certainly grown very rapidly," laughed the professor. "I have never heard before what were the requisites for a flourishing gourd."

"Well, I ain't a-sayin' that part of its comin' on so well ain't due to the haid work that old Mary Morton put on it. I bossed them free niggers till they done disremembered they was 'mancipated."

"What would you say, Aunt Mary, if Kent should bring a wife back to Chatsworth?" asked Molly.

"Well, if it is that there Judy gal, I'd say, 'Glory be!' She's sho jes' lak our own folks, if she do say her ma and pa ain't never owned they own home, but always been renters. That don' sound zactly lak quality, but since the war, that ain't sich a sho sign as it uster be. You see plenty er po' white trash now a-ownin' fine homes and de quality rentin' nothin' mo' than cabins."

"Well, Judy is the gal I mean, Aunt Mary, and I fancy they will come to live with Mother at Chatsworth."

"Don' it beat all how Miss Milly's daughters is marryin' out and her sons a-marryin' in? I done heard Miss Milly say hunderds er times that she'd 'low her daughters to marry in but her sons must marry out, as daughters-in-law is heaps mo' ticklish to git 'long wif than sons-in-law. Here her three daughters is a marryin' an' going to all kin's er outlan'ish places leavin' they ma an' they home; an' now the boys is thinkin' bout takin' unto theyselves wives, an' one an' all say they can't sleep nowheres but at Chatsworth, an' they mus' bring they wives back home to keep comp'ny wif yo' ma! Mr. Paul's cou'tin' 'round, but he manages to git stuck on too many gals at oncet and makes it hard to settle hisself. I done noticed, howsomever, 'bout that kinder whimsified lover, when he do settle down, he makes the bes' husband er all. Men folks is gotter have they fling, and they bes' have it 'fo' matrimony than durin' it.

"Dr. John was right hard hit wif that Miss Hunt what was a-visiting yo' Aunt Clay 'til he seed her wif her hair all stringy an' out er curl that time you all went on the night picnic and the creek riz so and mos' drownded the passel of you. He ain't never paid no 'tention to her since; but they do tell me that pretty, rosy-cheeked young lady he drove out here las' week from Lou'ville is liable to be Mrs. Dr. John. What's mo,' Ca'line tells me she is a trained nurse. She certainly do look lak a lady and I tuck notice she eat lak a lady, ef she does hire herself out in service. Pears lak to me that the mo' things the niggers thinks theyselves too good to do, the mo' things the white folks decide they ain't too good ter do fer theyselves."

"Why, Aunt Mary, of course Miss Graves is a lady. She belongs to one of the very best families and is very well educated and certainly charming and sweet. John will be lucky, indeed, if he can persuade her to have him."

"Well, honey chile, ef you say so, 'tis so. 'Cose in days gone by a nuss was a nuss, cep' some was good and some was bad, but now it seems some is ladies an' some ain't."

"Here comes Mother," exclaimed Edwin, springing from his seat to go meet his mother-in-law, who was opening the neat little green gate that connected the Chatsworth gardens with the old orchard where he had built his nest.

"What lazy children, just having breakfast! I feel as though I had eaten mine ages ago, and yours looks so good, I believe I'll have some more,—just a cup of coffee and a biscuit. Aunt Mary, you have made a better cook of your Molly Baby than you have of Caroline. I never have such biscuit as these except when you come to spend the day."

Aunt Mary had become so feeble that she was not able to do steady work. She lived in a comfortable cabin at the foot of the hill, making frequent excursions to the "great house" to see that "the niggers was 'memberin' they places and that that there Ca'line wan't sleepin' out er season."

"Well, Miss Milly, it's jes' this way: some folks is good slow cooks an' some is good quick cooks. Now Ca'line shines when slow patience is the needcessity. She is great on a biled dinner, where the 'gredients have to jes' simper along. You have her make a Brunswick stew an' you'll think she is the bes' cook in the county. Her yeas' bread is good 'cause that takes time and Ca'line is twins to whatsoever takes time; but ef you have a steak to brile or quick bis'it to cook, you jes sen' fer this ole woman, an' ef she can't crawl up the hill she kin ketch holt er President's tail an' he kin pull her up."

Aunt Mary then busied herself clearing off the table, as her way of spending the day was to help her hostess in many ways.

What a peaceful picture the orchard home presents on this late summer morning! The little brown bungalow looks as though it had always been there. The trees are laden with apples. The fall cheeses are beginning to ripen, and the wine saps are so heavy that Edwin has proudly propped up the bending boughs. The quickly growing vines have done their best for the newly-wedded pair, and the slower ivy has begun to send out shoots that need daily training with matting tacks until they accustom themselves to sticking to the stone foundations. Molly's porch boxes are filled with nasturtiums and petunias, and on each side of the steps are beds of scarlet sage.

Her sister Sue drove over to the orchard as soon as the news came of Molly's approaching wedding, and superintended the planting of many flowers to beautify the little home; and even stern old Aunt Clay unbent to the extent of lending her gardener to do the work. She had also donated a clump of Adam's and Eve's needles and threads that proved very decorative, but quite as unapproachable as Aunt Clay herself.

"It is a splendid apple year," remarked Mrs. Brown, her eyes wandering over the bountifully laden trees. "Do you know, Edwin, I believe you will realize enough off your wine saps and pippins to pay for all your furniture!"

"It is all paid for, thank goodness!" laughed the young man. "But the apple money is to be put in the bank in Molly's account."

"You remember when I went to college, Mother, you said I must win the three golden apples. Don't you think apple money in the bank is a golden apple?"

"Yes, my child, perhaps it is; but happiness is a bigger and more golden apple than money in the bank, and I believe you have gained happiness."

"Indeed I have," said Molly blushing. "And now I am going to make a pie for my own husband; out of my own apples; off my own tree; in my own kitchen; with my own hands; and before I go, I am going to hug the old man who bought the orchard so I could go on with my college education."

This time Edwin did not "bow his head and wait 'til the storm passed over him" as he had, according to Molly, in years gone by; but he drew her down on the arm of his chair, and the making of the famous pie had to be postponed.

The pie was finally made, though, and an extra one to send over to Mother. Aunt Mary declared it was the "bestest I ever set gum in. I uster have a sweet tooth, but now I ain't got nothin' but a sweet gum; but my Molly Baby kin make sich good crus' th' ain't no need to chaw none."

The old woman had been rather scornful of the method of making pastry that Molly had learned from the domestic science teacher at Wellington, but when the pie turned out such a success she was converted.

"Yo' teacher is sho' done drawd a prize cook. The two things what men folks think the mos' of is the gal's outsides an' they own insides. The gal's outsides is goin' to change an' fade; but ef she's got sense 'nuf ter keep on a caterin' ter his insides, the man ain't a gwine ter notice the change. Ain't that the truf?" she asked Edwin as he came into the kitchen hunting his Molly.

"You know best, Aunt Mary. Certainly this pie would hide a multitude of wrinkles and even gray hair. But now, Aunt Mary, can't you persuade my wife to leave the kitchen long enough to come take a little walk with me?"

"Go long with him, chile. I reckon I can keep the bungleboo from flyin' off while you an' yo' teacher takes a little ex'cise."

So Molly took off her cap and apron and, donning a shade hat, stepped joyfully out in the sunshine with her husband. They followed the little brook at the foot of the orchard, and climbing the fence, found themselves once more in the beechwoods. Both of them remembered the walk they had taken there together more than two years before, and with one accord they directed their footsteps to the great tree, the father of the forest, where they had sat on that memorable walk.

"'Of all the beautiful pictures That hang on Memory's wall, Is one of a dim, old forest That seemeth the best of all.'

"Do you remember, Dearest, how you quoted that poem to me when we walked here before?" asked Edwin, drawing Molly to him.

"Yes, I remember quite well," said Molly. "I also remember what you said, but I am afraid it will make you conceited if I tell you. It is a long time to remember something that is not poetry."

"Please tell me. If I ever said anything that was worth remembering that long, you should encourage me by telling it to me."

"You said: 'A beautiful picture comes to my inward eye, and that is an old Molly with white hair sitting where you are now, still in the romantic era, still in the beechwoods; and God willing, I'll be beside you.' I have thought of those words very often, and when I wasn't certain that you really cared for me, I would say to myself that you must have cared then." And Molly blushed.

"Cared for you! I can't see how I ever kept from telling you that day. It is best as it is. You were too young, but sometimes even now when I know you are mine, I tremble to think that I might have lost you by waiting."

"There was never any real danger of that. If you had not cared, I was determined to be an old maid." And Molly gave a sigh of happiness as she nestled close to her "teacher."

The quiet and peace of the "Orchard Home" seemed too perfect to be disturbed even by the uneasy mutterings of distant war clouds. But as time passed and the chill forebodings and grim shadows of war reached the most secluded and sacred spots in the world, so they came, too, as we shall see, into the home and into the life of "Molly Brown of Kentucky."

THE END



* * * * *



Other books by A.L. Burt Company

A. L. BURT COMPANY, Publishers, 114-120 EAST 23rd STREET NEW YORK



SAVE THE WRAPPER!

If you have enjoyed reading about the adventures of the new friends you have made in this book and would like to read more clean, wholesome stories of their entertaining experiences, turn to the book jacket—on the inside of it, a comprehensive list of Burt's fine series of carefully selected books for young people has been placed for your convenience.



THE Ann Sterling Series

By HARRIET PYNE GROVE

Stories of Ranch and College Life

For Girls 12 to 16 Years

ANN STERLING

The strange gift of Old Never-Run, an Indian whom she has befriended, brings exciting events into Ann's life.

THE COURAGE OF ANN

Ann makes many new, worthwhile friends during her first year at Forest Hill College.

ANN AND THE JOLLY SIX

At the close of their Freshman year Ann and the Jolly Six enjoy a house party at the Sterling's mountain ranch.

ANN CROSSES A SECRET TRAIL

The Sterling family, with a group of friends, spend a thrilling vacation under the southern Pines of Florida.

ANN'S SEARCH REWARDED

In solving the disappearance of her father, Ann finds exciting adventures, Indians and bandits in the West.

ANN'S AMBITIONS

The end of her Senior year at Forest Hill brings a whirl of new events into the career of "Ann of the Singing Fingers."

ANN'S STERLING HEART

Ann returns home, after completing a busy year of musical study abroad.



Books for Girls

By GRACE MAY NORTH

Author of THE VIRGINIA DAVIS SERIES

MEG OF MYSTERY MOUNTAIN

This story tells of the summer vacation some young people spent in the mountains and how they cleared up the mystery of the lost cabin at Crazy Creek Mine.

RILLA OF THE LIGHTHOUSE

"Rilla" had lived all her life with only her grandfather and "Uncle Barney" as companions, but finally, at High Cliff Seminary, her great test came and the lovable girl from Windy Island Lighthouse met it brilliantly.

NAN OF THE GYPSIES

In this tale of a wandering gypsy band, Nan, who has spent her childhood with the gypsies, is adopted by a woman of wealth, and by her love and loyalty to her, she proves her fine character and true worth.

SISTERS

The personal characteristics and incidents in the lives of two girls—one thoughtless and proud, the other devoted and self-sacrificing—are vividly described in this story, told as it is with sympathy and understanding for both.



The Camp Fire Girls Series

By HILDEGARD G. FREY

A Series of Outdoor Stories for Girls 12 to 16 Years.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS IN THE MAINE WOODS; or, The Winnebagos go Camping.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT SCHOOL; or, The Wohelo Weavers.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT ONOWAY HOUSE; or, The Magic Garden.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS GO MOTORING; or, Along the Road That Leads the Way.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS' LARKS AND PRANKS; or, The House of the Open Door.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON ELLEN'S ISLE; or, The Trail of the Seven Cedars.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS ON THE OPEN ROAD; or, Glorify Work.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS DO THEIR BIT; or, Over the Top with the Winnebagos.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS SOLVE A MYSTERY; or, The Christmas Adventure at Carver House.

THE CAMP FIRE GIRLS AT CAMP KEEWAYDIN; or, Down Paddles.



The Girl Scouts Series

BY EDITH LAVELL

A new copyright series of Girl Scouts stories by an author of wide experience in Scouts' craft, as Director of Girl Scouts of Philadelphia.

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT MISS ALLENS SCHOOL

THE GIRL SCOUTS AT CAMP

THE GIRL SCOUTS' GOOD TURN

THE GIRL SCOUTS' CANOE TRIP

THE GIRL SCOUTS' RIVALS

THE GIRL SCOUTS ON THE RANCH

THE GIRL SCOUTS' VACATION ADVENTURES

THE GIRL SCOUTS' MOTOR TRIP

THE GIRL SCOUTS' CAPTAIN

THE GIRL SCOUTS' DIRECTOR



The Greycliff Girls Series

By HARRIET PYNE GROVE

Stories of Adventure, Fun, Study and Personalities of girls attending Greycliff School.

For Girls 10 to 15 Years

CATHALINA AT GREYCLIFF

THE GIRLS OF GREYCLIFF

GREYCLIFF WINGS

GREYCLIFF GIRLS IN CAMP

GREYCLIFF HEROINES

GREYCLIFF GIRLS IN GEORGIA

GREYCLIFF GIRLS' RANCHING

GREYCLIFF GIRLS' GREAT ADVENTURE



Marjorie Dean High School Series

BY PAULINE LESTER

Author of the Famous Marjorie Dean College Series

These are clean, wholesome stories that will be of great interest to all girls of high school age.

MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL FRESHMAN

MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SOPHOMORE

MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR

MARJORIE DEAN, HIGH SCHOOL SENIOR



THE MERRY LYNN SERIES

By HARRIET PYNE GROVE

The charm of school and camp life, outdoor sports and European travel is found in these winning tales of Merilyn and her friends at boarding school and college. These realistic stories of the everyday life, the fun, frolic and special adventures of the Beechwood girls will be enjoyed by all girls of high school age.

MERILYN ENTERS BEECHWOLD

MERILYN AT CAMP MEENAHGA

MERILYN TESTS LOYALTY

MERILYN'S NEW ADVENTURE

MERILYN FORRESTER, CO-ED.

THE "MERRY LYNN" MINE



The Virginia Davis Series

By GRACE MAY NORTH

Clean, Wholesome Stories of Ranch Life.

For Girls 12 to 16 Years.

VIRGINIA OF V. M. RANCH

VIRGINIA AT VINE HAVEN

VIRGINIA'S ADVENTURE CLUB

VIRGINIA'S RANCH NEIGHBORS

VIRGINIA'S ROMANCE



Princess Polly Series

By AMY BROOKS

Author of "Dorothy Dainty" series, Etc.

Stories of Sweet-Tempered, Sunny, Lovable Little "Princess Polly."

For girls 12 to 16 years.

PRINCESS POLLY

PRINCESS POLLY'S PLAYMATES

PRINCESS POLLY AT SCHOOL

PRINCESS POLLY BY THE SEA

PRINCESS POLLY'S GAY WINTER

PRINCESS POLLY AT PLAY

PRINCESS POLLY AT CLIFFMORE

THE END