"Oh, that vicious Alene, she can't take a joke!" she cried, rubbing her arm, but Hermione to whom she complained gave her little sympathy.

"Serves you right," was all she replied.

Laura, looking up from a book in which she had been absorbed, received an expressive glance from Ivy which told her as plainly as words that something unusual had taken place. She learned what it was when they found themselves apart.

"Poor Alene could hardly keep the tears back and when Vera came with that sweet, unconscious air, and reached for a second pinch, Alene put out her hand to ward her off—at the same time mine flew up some way, I don't know how, it seemed to go of its own accord and Vera didn't know what had happened! Neither did Alene! I thought I'd die laughing when she turned round to me and asked, 'What's the matter with Vera?'. 'Looks as if she had a pain,' said I—"

"She thinks it was Alene, so she won't bother her again. I've heard the girls at school talking of the Ramsey grip! She only uses it when she's vexed with a girl. I don't see what Alene did to her!"

"She doesn't want her to be so friendly with us," explained the observant Ivy.

Laura laughed.

"She doesn't know that Alene is a true Happy-Go-Lucky," she said with proud confidence.

"No, they stick together like—like postage stamps!"

"Girls," cried Alene, "I'm taking Hermie and Vera up to see the tower room. Do you care to come along?"

"Not I, thank you, I'll wait for some brighter day," returned Ivy.

"The distinguished author of the Sunset Book does not wish to look from the tower window upon anything less than a sunset!" explained Laura. "So I'll stay and try to console her in the absence of one."

Ivy curled herself among the cushions of the friendly little sofa in the cosy corner and fell to dreaming, while Laura sat at the piano and played several pieces, some of which, though very difficult, she rendered by ear with expression and fidelity. Laura's talent was fully known to Ivy, who on this occasion found the sweet sounds chiming in with her own idle fancies.

How long she lay snuggled there, half hid by the crimson curtains, while the rain made its unwearied assault upon the window panes and the wind soughed mournfully among the trees, she did not know. When she awoke, Laura was playing the two step, to the wonder and admiration of the Ramsey girls who were practising the dance together. Ivy did not see Alene anywhere and for a moment she had a strange, half-waking dream, that she was upstairs all alone in the tower room, weeping because Vera had beat and pinched her.

"Why didn't I go up with them? I thought only of myself, as usual," Ivy muttered. She was on the point of rising to go in search of Alene when a noise was heard and there in the doorway stood a queer little figure enveloped from head to foot in a blue gingham apron. That she was no stranger was evidenced by Prince leaping joyfully beside her.

"I've come to invite you-alls to a taffy pulling in the kitchen," she said, with a drawl and an odd little courtesy that made everybody laugh, "No one admitted except en costume," pointing to her apron, "so each of you must find one hidden somewhere in the hall or dining-room!"

"Hurrah!"

"Good fun!"

"Come along!"

A rush was made and the search began.

Ivy was the first to find an apron in the folds of an umbrella on the hall rack, the very place where, strange to say, Laura had searched unsuccessfully a moment before. With the help of the latter she was soon draped in its red and white bars and joined Alene in watching the others.

Hermione's search at the back of a door was rewarded by the discovery of a costume hanging on the knob; Vera found another folded under a cushion in the dining-room and Laura, by lifting the lid of a covered-dish on the sideboard, disclosed the last.

"We look like a crowd of orphans out for a walk," said Ivy, as holding on to each other's apron strings, they filed into the kitchen.

"I'm the mammy and you-alls are tied to my apron string! Behave yourselves, chillun!" cried Alene, glancing back warningly along the line.

The kitchen was a square room with tiled-linoleum floor covering. A highly-polished, range whose copper boiler glowed like a mirror occupied one side along with a spotless sink; besides a mammoth cupboard, there was an old-fashioned corner cupboard with glass upper doors; two well-scoured tables stood at convenient points, the one near the window having a rug beside it and a hospitable rocking chair, which, with a few other chairs, a small time-piece and a calendar, completed the furnishings. The wide door opened upon a commodious porch with two steps leading to the garden.

It was a very jewel of a kitchen, this in which good Mrs. Major reigned queen. Mr. Dawson declared that he always regarded his boots doubtfully ere venturing in upon the floor and that he was afraid to touch the immaculate objects it contained.

"Do you really cook potatoes and make vulgar mush in those pots on that range? Do you actually use these tables?" he would ask, and one day, running his hand across a shelf, he pretended to find a speck of dust which he carried away in triumph to preserve.

"You girls think I'm only fooling," he said to Kizzie and Alene one day; "but I assure you if I were to make a grease-spot on that table I'd run away with visions of Mrs. Major, butcher knife in hand, at my heels, and I'd never dare to enter the house again!"

His niece did not share in his scruples as she and her guests entered upon the spot dedicated to quiet and order, and soon, like spirits of disorder, upset its calm. Half a dozen cooking utensils were brought forth, drawers opened, cupboards and pantry rifled.

"One would think we each had forty mouths to eat with, judging by all the material set out," said Laura, who, following where the others led in their mad assault upon the provisions, tried to keep a semblance of order, by returning things to their places.

Amid all the havoc Vera was the only one who preserved her calm. Seated in the rocking chair, she swung lazily back and forth, pausing occasionally to reach for a cube of sugar or to taste the various condiments on the table. She was enjoying herself thoroughly in spite of the consciousness that it was all on a par with tissue-paper hats and other affairs peculiar to the Happy-Go-Luckys, that queer club of which she had heard.

"They get a lot of fun out of it. I don't see why the girls in our set couldn't start one!"

While she pictured herself presiding over the new club, which no one outside the favored few would be allowed to enter, the other girls, after careful measuring, had placed on the range a pot half filled with the materials necessary for the taffy of which Alene wished to make enough not for themselves only, but to share liberally with all the Lee and Bonner children.

"Sweets to make it sweet, and sours to make it sour, fire to heat, water to dissolve, and butter to make it run down our throats!" intoned Ivy like a witch making an incantation over her brew, while Alene, taking a large spoon, kept stirring the mixture until, exhausted, she was relieved by Hermione.

"Our motto is 'Keep Stirring,'" said Hermione; "but this takes so long a time to thicken, my arm's about broke."

"I never made sugar taffy, but molasses doesn't take any time hardly!" returned Laura.

After a consultation the mixture was emptied into a square, buttered pan and carried to the porch to cool.

When Laura went out presently to test it, she uttered a cry of dismay.

"It's gone back to sugar, girls!" she announced when the others came hastily to investigate.

Sure enough, instead of taffy ready for pulling, they found a sheet of sugar that could be broken into pieces.

"Put the pan back on the stove with some water, and let it melt, so we can try again," someone suggested.

They made surmises as to where the fault lay.

"Surely not in the stirring," cried Hermione, rubbing her elbow.

With renewed vigor they attacked the melted sugar—they stirred and stirred. Even Vera lent a hand, and the stuff boiled and boiled but thickened very slowly and when set out to cool hardened as before.

"Keep stirring! Indeed, I think if we stirred it from now until doomsday it would stay just sugar," declared Laura.

"I'm sure I remember the recipe just as Kizzie told it," said the disappointed Alene who, as head cook, felt responsible for the disaster. "I'll run up to the sewing-room and ask Mrs. Major what she thinks is wrong."

"Oh, girls, guess where the trouble was! In the stirring, after all," she said, returning a few minutes later, breathless from her hurried trip.

"No!"

"It can't be!"

"We didn't stop a minute!"

"But we shouldn't have commenced! All we have to do is to let it alone until it thickens!"

"My poor broken arm feels worse than ever," grumbled Hermione.

"'Love's labors lost,'" said Ivy, and Vera declared that she had suspected they were overdoing it!

"The third time's the charm," cried Laura, breaking hopefully into the chorus of lamentations, "Let's get to work!"

When the mixture was returned to the fire she took Alene by the shoulder and placed her on a chair with her back to the stove, "for fear her reproachful glances set the pan a-tremble and that obstinate sugar be glad of the chance to escape taffying!"

Whereupon Ivy, with a parting grimace toward the range, gravely moved her chair around and the others followed her example, until all had turned their backs upon the offending pan.

After a while Ivy craned her neck stealthily. She saw the mixture bubbling. She gave a scream.

"It's stirring of its own accord! Girls, girls, stop it, stop it!"'

"I'm not surprised," Hermione remarked. "The poor thing no doubt feels very much 'stirred up.'"

"Yes, it's fairly boiling over with rage," said Alene. Then, forgetful of the prophesied consequences, she flew to test it.

They crowded around her as she poured a spoonful of the sweet into a glass of water, Then followed a hilarious cheer—

"Joy, joy, our task is done! The sugar's thickened! Taffy's won!"



CHAPTER XII

A STRING OF FISH

"Let me alone and I'll die myself," cried Alene who, after a vigorous rocking in the big swing, was coming to a leisurely stop which Kizzie's appearance threatened. The latter, seeing that her good intentions were not necessary, stood inactive until the swinging died away.

"Kizzie's mad and I am glad," sang Alene, noticing a cloud on the girl's usually good-natured countenance. "What's the matter?"

"Oh, the fish wagon didn't come and Mrs. Major says Mr. Fred can't do without his fish. I have to go round to the big gate to watch for one of the boys to come along from the river, and I had just finished my work in a hurry, so's to have an hour at the sewing machine, to finish my waist."

"If that's all, I can watch for the boys and buy the fish, so just give me the basket, Kizzie darlin'!"

The girl's face brightened.

"If you would—if you're sure you ain't puttin' yourself out!"

"Why, it will be fun for me! So run in to the machine and make it run."

Alene took the basket on her arm and went singing along the walk toward the big gate, while Kizzie smilingly re-entered the house calling a thousand thanks upon the head of the obliging little maid.

Tired of racing with the shadows cast by the swing on the sunny spots amid the trees, Prince lay sunning himself on the front door steps. He now came forward with a merry barking and joined his young mistress. He rubbed his nose against the basket and looked up inquiringly into her face.

"You want to carry the basket, old fellow? Well, here it is!"

Prince wagged his tail and took the basket, and then they had a merry race along the wide pathway to where the double iron gate between thick vine-covered posts opened upon a short flight of stone steps leading to Forest Street, the finest residence avenue of the town.

Alene ensconced herself upon the shaded upper step with Prince keeping guard over the basket at her side, and fell into a pleasant reverie.

Presently she heard boyish tones; and the group of lads for whom she was waiting came in sight. Bare-legged, with trousers turned up at the knees, coatless, wearing a variety of hats, some having brims minus crowns and others crowns only, they came along carrying fishing-rods and tin cans for holding bait.

Several had strings of beauties yet moist from the river, whose scaly sides glittered in the morning sunshine.

Alene rose hurriedly at the first sign of their coming, intending to parley with the first comer, but her courage oozed away when a nearer view of him disclosed the boy who had rushed to strike her at the picnic.

Perhaps the others were his partners in the raid of that memorable day. This thought kept her standing mute and inactive while the boys filed past her up the street.

"What will Kizzie think of me? Mrs. Major will scold her, and I promised!" Alene gazed forlornly up the street as the lads got farther and farther away, bearing the precious freight which she had made no effort to buy. They were all gone but one, a tall boy who was almost at her side when she glanced around.

Noticing only that he had a magnificent string of fish, she held her basket toward him in desperation, feeling that she must redeem her word to Kizzie, and save her from the housekeeper's wrath, and Uncle Fred from a meal minus the fish, for which he had a special liking.

Her eyes were fixed upon the fish which she felt were the only ones she could get now. If she let them go, her opportunity would be lost and her good offices in Kizzie's behalf fruitless, so she gasped hurriedly, "Say!"

The boy had noticed the little girl standing like a statue gazing up the street. He had given her a glance as he approached but her eyes were intent upon the fish; he was going on his way, half glad to escape notice when he heard her feeble call.

He came to a standstill.

"Did you speak to me?"

His voice sounded strangely familiar to Alene. Hastily looking from the fish to their owner, she encountered a pair of frank, gray eyes, whose rather deep setting and coal black brows gave the whole face an odd, but singularly attractive expression.

She recognized him at once.

"Why, is it you?" she exclaimed, in a startled voice.

The boy flushed.

"Don't be scared—I won't rob you," he said, with a note of vexation that recalled Alene to herself.

"I must have appeared ridiculous standing here looking half scared to death," she thought.

"I never dreamed of such a thing! I guess I did look funny but it was because of those other boys," she replied with an expressive nod up the street.

"The rascals! I came near giving them up that day! I hope it didn't spoil your fun! How the rest did guy that fellow who tried to strike you! I bet he'll never try to strike a girl again!"

His tone giving assurance that he had effectually disposed of the delinquent caused his hearer a thrill of satisfaction.

"But I'm jolly glad you weren't afraid of me!" he concluded with an air of relief.

Then the humor of the situation seemed to strike Alene.

"The idea! No, I wasn't a bit afraid. I knew you didn't mean to rob me but I intended to rob you!" she said in a mischievous tone.

He gave a ringing laugh and looked very much relieved.

"Well, say, I would never have suspected it! What did you want, the fishin' rod or bait?"

"No, not those ugly, squirming things. I've seen Hugh digging for them!" she drew back from the can with a look of disgust.

"Well, I've nothin' else worth takin' 'cept the fish!"

"That's it. Mrs. Major wants them."

"Mrs. Major wants my fish? Why, I never heard tell of the lady!"

"Yes, it's for Uncle Fred's supper! She's the housekeeper, you know, and the fish-cart didn't come round to-day! So I told Kizzie I'd come out and get some from the boys, you know!"

"Oh, I see! Well, it won't do to disappoint Uncle Fred, the housekeeper and Kizzie and you—especially you!" So saying, he tendered her the big string of fish.

As Alene reached for it, one of the fishes gave a sudden jump. She recoiled.

"Oh! Do put them in the basket, won't you? Their tails wriggle up so!"

He laughed, and while he busied himself to obey her, Alene opened her little silver purse. When the boy glanced up from his task she offered him a silver dollar.

"They're not for sale, thank you!" he said, turning away.

"Oh, then I can't take them!"

"Turn about's fair play!" he cried, quickening his steps; a beam of mischief shone in his eyes, lighting up his face.

"What do you mean? Come back and get your fish," cried Alene, swinging the basket as far as she could reach. She rushed up the street a short distance but, seeing the hopelessness of overtaking him, came to a halt while the dog stood barking beside her.

"Here, Prince, take the basket and follow him," cried Alene excitedly, but Prince failed to understand why he should rob his master of the supper they had procured for him. He took the basket in his mouth and waited for Alene to lead the way.

"Oh, Prince, you—you idiot! Boy, boy, say!" she screamed with such a sharp, insistent treble that it reached the lad's ears. He turned around and waved his hat.

"Highway robbery!" he cried, making a trumpet of both hands, and then with a parting wave he passed from view, leaving the exasperated and almost tearful Alene to return to the house, with the disobedient Prince at her side proudly carrying the spoils.



CHAPTER XIII

A GIRLISH TIFF

GRAND PANORAMA!

MOVING PICTURES! THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS!

AT JARRETT'S HALL,

FRIDAY EVENING, JULY THE 16TH

Admission .................. 25 cts.

Reserved Seats ............. 50 cts.

Thus read the attractive handbills scattered throughout the town by half a dozen small boys, while a man went from street to street posting gorgeous pictures of the different scenes, until the whole population, especially the younger portion of it, was aroused into the desire or intention of attending the show.

The boys who by a happy chance were on hand when the advance agent stepped from the train, and had secured the privilege of distributing the bills with the accompanying reward of free admission to the hall, were the envied of their less favored friends.

Loud was the lamentation of Lafe Bonner, Ivy's eleven-year-old brother, whose only consolation was the memory of a happier time in the early spring when the circus had come to town with its elephants and caged animals, its clown in cap and bells, to say nothing of its fine ladies in red and green velvet habits all gold bespangled, riding so gracefully the high-stepping horses to the music of the band, perched high on a scarlet-and-gold mirrored chariot—not to forget the calliope bringing up the rear. Then, with glowing countenance and swift-beating heart, Lafe and his companions had followed the parade to "the bottoms," a level space sacred to the circus and baseball, where men were busy erecting tents for the afternoon's show.

One lusty fellow whose bronze cheeks were tanned by the wind and sun of many climes immediately engaged the three boys to carry water to the animals, in exchange for passes to the evening performance, the memory of which would never, never fade from Lafe's mind, were he to live as long as Methuselah himself. Every detail, the sawdust-covered racetrack around the ring, the acrobats swinging and diving so far, far up in the air that one held his breath till they made a safe descent; the jokes of the clown never too old to evoke laughter, the noises of wild animals which might break through their barred cages and cause a panic among the people, a possibility that lent spice to the whole; the peanuts and lemonade,—weak in lemon but strong in sugar, and of a lovely shade of pink,—genuine circus lemonade, on which they had spent their last pennies, with all this comparatively fresh in his memory no wonder that Lafe gazed longingly on the posters, and read with avidity every item concerning the attraction, which, if not the circus, was related to it in a sort of third or fourth cousin degree.

Lafe could not gain entrance by the drawing-of-water method, nor yet, alas, by scattering bills; and he knew it was useless to apply at home. Did not the pinching of shoes worn the first time the Sunday previous remind him of his mother's latest ill-spared expenditure? All he could do, therefore, was to grumble at his luck in having missed the agent. This he did so persistently and in tones so loud that everybody either commiserated or scolded him, with the exception of Ivy, who only laughed and dubbed him Master Glumface. To her, who measured every woe with her own, his disappointment seemed a pitifully small thing to bewail.

"Now, I'm sure I'd love to see the Pilgrim's Progress—that picture where Christian is crossing through the Dark Valley just gives me thrills—and yet I don't go round like a big baby complaining. And I didn't even see the circus when it was here, only the side show!" she said.

Lafe gave her a withering glance. He felt inclined to catch hold of that provoking curl that bobbed so impertinently in his direction as she tossed her head, and give it a good hard pull.

But Laura, who had just come in, soothed his ire by saying in a sympathetic voice:

"Lafe seems so much taken with the circus and things I shouldn't wonder if he turns out to be an actor! Don't you remember how well he did at our exhibition?" Ivy nodded. "So of course, he feels it worse than we do. But I'd love to go too and take Nettie. She's wild about that picture where the angels are flying. She thinks they have real angels at the show. Mat has a quarter saved up toward a bicycle and—"

"He'd better get an automobile while he's about it," interrupted Lafe.

"He wants me to take it and go; as if I would do such a thing! You know, Ivy, he made me take that dime he had saved up when the circus came, and go to the side show with you; and we had a lot of fun shaking hands with the giant and the fat lady and seeing the animals; but this is different, and his mind is quite set on the bicycle."

Which remark reminded Ivy that her admission to the side show—the bright silver dime—was given her by Lafe, and that before he had any hope of himself seeing the circus. So she began to feel sorry for her flippant attitude and said in a more kindly tone:

"Well, this is only Friday noon and the performance doesn't come off till to-night. Who knows what may turn up before then?"

This might have had the intended effect were it not for that curl which in some way affected Lafe's nerves. It now gave a careless bob that exasperated him.

"'Something may turn up;'" he muttered, "an earthquake or Mat's motor-car, perhaps!"

He went away in disgust and Ivy turned to Laura with a sigh:

"Now, what did I say to make him flare up that way?"

"He thought you didn't care—"

"Well, I don't—I don't! Laura, if I were to go sympathizing with six brothers—and boys are always clamoring for attention—I'd end in a mad house!"

Laura could hardly repress a smile at the thought of Ivy's six sturdy brothers depending on her in their troubles, knowing as she did that stone bruises, torn garments and other calamities incident to boyhood were always carried to their mother, while, as Laura often said, Hugh made himself a regular oak-tree for Ivy to twine around.

No further remarks were made on the subject, however, and the two girls started side by side on their way to a shady spot near home, to spend a few hours of the hot afternoon.

The wind caught them rather sharply at a street corner and Ivy's endeavors to balance her crutches while holding her hat in place renewed her irritation.

"If some people had troubles like this, they would have room to preach," she cried.

"I'm sure I never thought of preaching," returned Laura stiffly. "But there's no use always harping on one's own trials and thinking nobody else has any!"

"Meaning me, of course! Anyway, I don't care to play this afternoon. I think I'll go home," said Ivy, turning away with crimsoning cheeks.

Laura gave a backward glance at the haughty little maid hurrying along as fast as she could, while the wind sent the mop of curls flying around her head in all directions.

For a few moments she stared blankly down the street, half expecting Ivy to turn around, but she failed to do so, and Laura, with a heightened sense of injury, went on her way intending to take the first side-street home.

But the longer the distance grew between herself and Ivy, the unhappier she became, the more she repented her harsh words. It was really no wonder that Ivy had thought them unfeeling at a time, especially, when she was already upset by her encounter with Lafe. Perhaps, too, this was one of Ivy's bad days when the least contradiction irritated her.

In this strain ran Laura's thoughts and the longer she pondered, the slower she walked until at last she came to a standstill.

It was right at the top of a hilly street which commanded a fine view. In the distance were the blue shadows of mountains; the river swept along between green-verdured hills; a steamboat with lowered stacks was passing beneath the bridge that hung like a black line connecting the east and west sides of the town. Overhead shone the midday sun in a sky of cloudless blue, but nature spread her canvas all in vain for Laura. Another time she would have paused to drink in the beauty of the scene, to follow with admiring eyes the movements of the boat which, brave in a new coat of paint, swept along in a wake of billowing foam, but to-day she stood unheeding. All that she saw was the pathetic figure of a little girl with crutches receding in the distance.

Something clutched at Laura's throat. Her resentment against Ivy died away, leaving only blame for herself. With a sudden resolve she turned and hurriedly retraced her steps.

"Nothing but a cross cat would act the way I did!"

Faster and faster she went until, as she came around a corner, she almost collided with someone hastening up the street. A little hot hand clutched her arm—

"Oh, Lol, is it you? I came back to make up! Someway I can't bear to be on the outs with you!"

Ivy was breathless and perspiring and her hat was blown all to one side.

Laura reached over and set it straight carefully, almost caressingly.

"Oh, Ivy-vine, neither can I—Isn't it funny? Shall we go on?"

Laughing softly and blinking back the tears of which they were half ashamed, they continued up the street, happy in the reconciliation, so facile and so complete in childhood, when bygones are bygones, and there is no danger of ghosts, once laid, ever rising up again to give added rancor to future disagreements.

What a beautiful day it was and how the sun shone and how blissfully they drank in the air!

"Oh, Lol, see, there's a wagon in front of Jarrett's Hall! I do believe those men belong to the show!" cried Ivy.

"Let's go up and look round," proposed Laura.

They had reached a long building fronting on Main Street, the first story of which was occupied by a half dozen stores. They climbed a covered stairway that led to the second story. At the top of the "hall stairs," as they were called, was the main entrance to the hall which occupied the second story of the edifice. These stairs also opened upon a sort of court, from which a broad flight of stone steps led to an upper street.

By walking along the court, the girls were on a level with the inner windows of the hall. The outside shutters stood wide open to admit light, and a few children were peering curiously through the dusty panes. Further away was a narrow door sacred to the use of actors or employes of the hall.

Laura observed that this door was closed when she and Ivy first appeared upon the scene; but after a time, leaving Ivy at a good position at the window with her inquisitive eyes pressed against the glass, Laura strayed back and found the door open.

She hastened to the threshold and took a long, eager look into the dingy hall, from the curious little box-like office at the "grand entrance," as the double wooden door was styled, past the rows of rough benches to the stage at the upper end of the hall, where some carpenters and other employes were busy making arrangements for the evening's performance.

Neither the dust nor the dinginess was seen by Laura. A subtle fascination held her in thrall—she saw everything through a golden light.

She, who had been stage manager so often under the disadvantages of improvised platforms and home-made curtains, could appreciate a real hall and a real stage with a real curtain, were they ever so crude.

She was on the point of returning to fetch Ivy to view the magic scene and share her joy, when one of the men, who appeared to be a personage of authority, left the stage where he had been directing the movements of everybody, and proceeded down the aisle.

His coat brushed against a bench and sustained a smudge of dust which he viewed with an exclamation of disgust.

Returning to the dressing-room, he hunted round and found a feather-duster which he carried away in triumph.

He came down the aisle for the second time, wielding the brush with vigor, making frantic dabs at the benches on each side, and raising great clouds of dust that rose and enveloped him, and settled back again on the furniture.

Laura was so interested in his movements that she forgot her manners, and stood watching his ineffectual efforts at cleaning up, with a smile of amusement mingled with compassion.

At length the stranger was seized with a fit of coughing as the dust invaded his throat, and he stood for a moment to rest from his labors.

Then for the first time he noticed the little girl standing smiling in the doorway.

He gave her an answering smile, lifted his hat and, to Laura's dismay, crossed over to her side.

He was very dark and foreign looking; she recognized him as one of the gentlemen whom she and Ivy had noticed on the street.

"Pardon, mademoiselle," he said; "but perhaps you are the good fairy to help me out!"

Laura answered him with a blush and a look of inquiry.

"The dust, c'est terrible," he went on to explain; "but there is no one to remove it from the seats. The ladies will have fear for their beautiful costumes. Can you not direct me to someone who will manipulate this woman's weapon? I confess it is beyond my powers!"

He glanced so ruefully at the feather brush that Laura laughed aloud.

"Why, I can dust the benches in a little while, if you wish!"

"Did not my heart tell me you were my good angel? Oh, mademoiselle, if you will be so kind!"

He handed the duster to Laura with a sigh of relief and returned to the overseeing of things in another part of the hall.

"Why, Lol, it's like belonging to the troupe," cried Ivy, who came at her friend's call and seated herself on a back seat where she could see everything that went on, while Laura gave the benches a careful overhauling.

Meanwhile the open doorway was filled with a group of curious children, wide-eyed and smiling, among whom were Nettie Lee and little Claude Bonner.

Laura's task completed, she placed the duster upon a front seat and turned to go away with Ivy. They had almost reached the door when they heard a voice:

"Merci, mademoiselle," cried the foreign gentleman, overtaking them; "may I prevail upon you to accept this ticket to the performance, as a slight acknowledgment of my obligations—or, better still," as he glanced at Ivy, "come to the side door tonight and ask for Mr. Edmonds and bring your sister and," his eyes strayed to the line of wondering childish faces at the door, "the rest of your little brothers and sisters!"

Laura's surprised and happy look and Ivy's gasp of pleasure gave testimony to their delight, and the man smiled as he watched them going away joyfully.

"Merci, mademoiselle!" cried Ivy, with a titter of delight, "Oh, Lol, isn't it lovely to be able to go after all!"

"Yes, it's fine! But I shall have to hurry home; there will be so much to do. I must help Nettie to get ready."

That little girl who was walking behind them clapped her hands.

"What are you going to wear, Laura?"

"Me? My white, I guess—"

"I'll wear my old standby—the dotted lawn."

They went down the street chatting gaily but presently Ivy's enthusiasm died away; her mind seemed intent on something else. At last she turned to Laura, saying in a rather choked voice:

"Lol, would you mind taking Lafe instead of me? You know he is so anxious to go!"

Laura veiled her surprise at this new phase in her friend, who had always hitherto claimed the best as her right. Her eyes glistened as she replied,

"Yes, indeed, I would mind his coming instead of you, but I shouldn't mind his coming along; tell him to bring Donald, too."

"But what will Mr. Edmonds think?"

"He said all my little brothers and sisters. I'm sure you folks are just the same thing. Lois is too small to go, she can't keep awake after eight, so we can smuggle Claude in, instead." Whereupon that little lad who had been walking along dejectedly at Nettie's side gave a whoop of delight. Laura continued, "It's too bad Hugh and Mat can't pose as my little brothers!"

"They are so inconveniently tall. Seems to me I can see Hugh's legs lifting his poor head up higher and higher every day," said Ivy dolefully. Laura laughed.

"The oak will never grow beyond the ivy's reach, so never fear! But I'd better hurry home, for there's Alene, too—I must send a note to her!"

"That will be splendid! Oh, Lol, your Mr. Edmonds will think when he sees us all of that verse in the Scriptures, 'Go out into the highways and byways and call the lame, the halt and the blind.'"

When they paused to say good-bye at the parting of the ways Ivy said with a sudden rush of words:

"Now, Lol, don't go to thinking I'm a heroine because I proposed to keep in the background for once! You don't know how I hesitated and hated it."

"Don't you remember your story about the blooming flowers and the singing birds?"

"Oh, Laura, it's so much easier for me to write about kind deeds than to do them!"

"I only wish the rest of us Happy-Go-Luckys may do as well when the time comes!" returned Laura.



CHAPTER XIV

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

"Come here, Nettie," cried Laura; "I'll plait your hair so it will be wavy for to-night, and then I want you to take a note to Alene."

Nettie was glad of the chance to visit the Towers but she objected to having her hair brushed so vigorously.

"Mother, do make Nettie behave! She won't keep still and her hair gets all tangled!"

"Nettie, you are too big to make so much noise. If you don't wish to go with the others to-night, say so and Laura needn't bother," admonished Mrs. Lee.

"Of course I want to go but I hate this fussing," returned the little girl.

"It would only serve you right if mother kept your hair cut straight around from your ears, like the Hoover children!" remarked Laura.

This veiled threat had a good effect; Nettie made no more trouble and soon her long tresses were confined in six tight braids and she was free to seize her hat and go on her mission.

Holding the note folded tightly in her hand, she went up the steep street and along the vine-covered wall of the Tower grounds, and finally reached the stone steps leading to the double gates of iron, through which a broad walk in the midst of grass and trees curved toward the house.

The gate opened readily to Nettie's touch and then shut with a loud bang that attracted the attention of a big, black dog which came bounding across the grass. At his first bark Nettie's heart stood still. She paused just inside the gate, too terrified to move, but in a moment she felt secure, for she saw Alene coming along the walk, calling imperiously to Prince.

"What a shame to scare the little girl! Go right home, sir! Don't be frightened, Nettie, he won't harm you. He only barks that way to let you know how glad he is to see you! Come in, girlie!"

"It's only a note from Laura; I can't wait," said Nettie shyly.

Alene glanced at the note.

"Isn't that fine? Yes, tell her I'll be down at seven, if Uncle Fred is willing! And you are going, too; I thought there was something up when I saw your hair; Laura's so proud of it and no wonder! But come in just for a moment!"

She took Nettie's hand and led her to the house, back to the immaculate kitchen, where, sitting in the rocking chair, the little girl enjoyed some cakes and milk provided by Kizzie, while Alene brought Prince in to beg her pardon and get better acquainted.

Their friendship grew so rapidly that by the time Nettie was ready to go home she was brave enough to stroke his glossy head, and she screamed with delight when, accompanied by Alene, all three raced to the gate.

"You won't be afraid next time," said Alene encouragingly as she held the gate open.

"No indeed, thank you!" returned Nettie, "Good-bye! Good-bye, Prince!"

She turned away, joyfully clasping to her breast a satin-striped box, in which beneath paper lace and tinsel was the most delicious candy; a whole box full all but a few bites, as Alene had said; while the latter leaned over the wall calling more good-byes, and Prince kept up a continuous barking that said so plainly, once you understood his language, "Good-bye! Good-bye! Come back again!"'

But when Alene, with an armful of flowers, reached the Lee house that evening, she found poor Nettie in a state of revolt; the process of being washed and dressed in her stiff-starched pique and having her plaits undone was very trying to both her and Laura.

She glanced up at the yellow canary swinging so blithely in his cage.

"I do wish people were like birds," she cried, "they are always dressed just in their feathers!"

"Even then you wouldn't want to take your bath," said Laura, giving a last touch to the shining locks which hung like a veil to the child's waist. "I'll be ready in a minute, Alene," she continued, as she released the little girl, "I didn't feel satisfied until I saw you coming!"

"I got all ready when Nettie left, and could hardly wait for Uncle Fred to come home to show him your note. The old dear said yes, right away, but insisted upon my taking some dinner first. Then I waited to gather these roses for your Mother. Shall we start now?"

Ivy was standing at the door with her seven-year-old brother awaiting their coming, and taking note of Alene's dress of white challis o'erstrewn with pink rosebuds which, as they came nearer, disclosed a yoke embroidered in the same design, while a wreath of roses adorned her hat. She thought it was a beautiful costume, and that the other girls looked nice, too, though Laura's white dimity and Nettie's blue pique were as well worn as her own familiar lawn.

"Where's Lafe?" inquired Laura.

"He ran ahead with Donald to join us later. I think they are ashamed to be seen with this mob!" returned Ivy with a laugh. "What will Mr. Edmonds think of us?"

Laura declared he wouldn't care, but when they reached the hall where a great crowd was congregated, and she saw so many getting their tickets at the box-office and filing, one by one, past the door-keeper, she began to feel less confident.

They threaded their way slowly through the crowded court, where all the children of the town seemed to have collected and finally reached the side door.

"Here comes an orphan asylum," was the derisive and no doubt envious cry of a boy who had heard of the wonderful luck that had befallen the Lees and their friends. Indeed the knowledge seemed general, and as they came along, first Laura with Nettie clinging to her skirts, and then Alene, to whom it was all so new and exciting, trying to keep little Claude safe from harm, with Ivy bringing up the rear, they were the objects of many curious glances.

"Mr. Edmonds said to ask for him," Laura faltered, when the line halted at the side door.

"Oh—Ah," said the young man who was on guard. He turned to look for that gentleman, and Laura glancing backward, felt like a kite with a long, embarrassing tail, which stretched apparently to the upper street.

What a relief it was to hear a genial voice saying,

"Oh, mademoiselle, is it you? Come in, come in!"

The speaker's smiling countenance and kindly air banished Laura's fears and she passed the threshold proudly, followed by her triumphant train.

Glancing at Mr. Edmonds, Ivy saw his smile grow broad and broader as they filed past one by one. Her trepidation vanished and when her turn came she met his amused glance with an answering smile.

"Are there any more of you?" he inquired, in a whimsical tone.

"No, sir, unless Lafe and Donald; I guess they're ashamed to be seen!"

"Hello there, Lafe and Donald," cried the gentleman, and the two boys, who were standing aloof, ashamed to be seen, and yet afraid they wouldn't, pushed their way through the crowd with an air of bravado which their blushing cheeks denied, and were duly admitted. Upon reaching the inside they joined a crowd of their chums, leaving the girls to be piloted to a reserved bench by an usher whom Mr. Edmonds had delegated.

How happy and proud they felt as they settled themselves in their places and looked around them!

The stage was in darkness, making it seem the more mysterious in contrast with the glaring light of the auditorium.

The hall was filling rapidly with the citizens, their wives and daughters, all dressed in their best, and our party was much interested in watching the new arrivals when suddenly Ivy gave Laura a nudge, and the latter, following her glance, saw a short gentleman accompanied by a tall lady in a rustling summer-silk coming up the aisle followed by two girls, one dressed in white, the other in pale green, with mammoth white hats.

"The Ramseys!" whispered Laura, and Alene, who was watching the little ones, looked up in time to receive a gracious smile from Vera, who appeared not to see the other girls, although she was entering the seat directly in front of them.

On being seated Hermione looked around and seemed pleasantly surprised to see them. She nodded and smiled and holding her arm, leaned back to whisper,

"Don't mention taffy or my arm will start stirring again!"

Suddenly the lights went down in the main hall, to shine with redoubled brilliancy upon the stage.

"Look at the Jacks-in-the-boxes!" cried Nettie, as several heads were seen popping from under the stage.

"It's the band," explained Laura. Sure enough, it was the musicians who took a row of chairs in front of the curtain, and with a preliminary tuning up and a few toots of the clarinet, began a swinging march.

How hard it was for the little ones to keep their feet still, though they knew that was the proper thing to do! Claude, however, found his little legs swinging in time, being careful not to let them touch the floor, and Nettie's bright head and busy hands kept up a sort of lilting movement, both children requiring some outlet for all that pent-up exhilaration.

The music died gradually to the softest murmur, the curtain ascended slowly, a movement and flutter went through the hall, and the people settled themselves in their seats with their faces turned to the stage.

Up, up, the curtain soared toward the ceiling. Little Claude watched it with a fascinated glance, expecting it to go right through the roof but when it stopped just in time he gave a sigh of relief and directed his eyes toward the stage. Then his face lengthened—as far as such a chubby face could—for all that he saw in front of him was a huge round affair of some soft material, all decked with flowers.

"Great scissors!" he muttered, as he gazed upon it in amazement; then he noticed at the other side of the hall a portly gentleman who held a sort of wand with which he pointed toward the stage where something interesting was taking place but, alas, all that was visible to Claude was the topmost part which resembled a clouded sky.

He gave a sigh of disappointment and glanced toward the girls. Alene was leaning forward with a rapt expression, Ivy's mouth was half opened—she appeared to have forgotten the world—and Laura's head was craned painfully to one side of that huge affair in front. Then he glanced at Nettie who sat beside him. Her face was the picture of woe, her lips were curled ready to cry.

"What's the matter?" he whispered sympathetically.

A tear came running slowly down her cheek.

"Don't you see—I can't see a thing!"

Alene, attracted by their restlessness, glanced round. There they sat, looking blankly at Hermione's mammoth hat, that shut away everything else from their gaze. To be sure, it was a beautiful creation of white chiffon, green foliage and pink ribbons; but when one has feasted his eyes for a week on gorgeous posters, and has been washed and starched and brought to the show to see wonderful things on a real stage, a girl's hat, be it ever so fine, is surely a poor substitute!

"You little martyrs!" exclaimed Alene, feeling that she must do something to help them.

She knew it would be useless to have them change places with her or the other girls. It was only by leaning to one side that they were able to see the pictures, for the brim of Hermione's hat met that of Vera's, a rival in pale green and white, forming a screen which completely hid the stage.

With a sudden compunction Alene remembered that her own hat was of goodly proportions, with a lovely lace cascade rippling over the brim. She glanced behind to find that she, too, was an offender, for a little girl whose head was on a level with Claude's, sat directly in the rear.

For a moment only Alene hesitated, then she reached for her hat pin, and whispering, called the attention of Laura and Ivy to the situation. They gave her a nod and following her example took off their hats which, while not so fine as Alene's and the Ramsey girls', were just as effectual in shutting out the view.

The people back of them nodded their approval and the mother of the little maid whom Alene had first noticed leaned forward to thank her, but the action of the three girls gave little relief so long as those other hats stood up defiantly in front.

What could be done? They were all missing the first scene and Nettie and Claude might just as well have remained at home for all enjoyment they were having.

Alene leaned over and tapped Hermione on the shoulder. The latter glanced around.

"Would you mind removing your hat, Hermione? The children—"

"What a shame! Thank you for telling me! I'll tell Vera, too!"

Vera glanced at her sister wonderingly when she commenced to unfasten her hat.

"The children can't see," she explained. "Take yours off too, Vera, do!"

"Are you crazy'? The very idea! No one can see it if I do!"

"That's the point, no one wants to see it!"

Vera tossed her head.

"It's just in people's way!" persisted Hermione.

"Well, it will be in my own way if I have to keep it in my lap."

Just then came a loud whisper from the rear—

"Country style! No one in the city ever wears a hat at the theatre!"

A chorus of low laughter followed this remark, and Vera, not knowing it was made by Ivy, began to have doubts as to the correctness of her position.

It was Alene, she knew, who had inaugurated the style here, and she was from the city. Vera noticed, besides, that all over the hall the women and children who wore large hats were taking them off.

"Well, if it's the correct thing. But what's the use of having a fine hat if it's not to be worn in public?" she murmured, as with a show of complacency the "screen" was removed.

Claude and Nettie gave a murmur of joy when they beheld the beautiful painted canvas spread out before them.

At the end of the scene when the curtain fell, the lecturer in a few words thanked the ladies for their courtesy and thoughtfulness. "To have regard for the rights and feelings of others is to act upon the Golden Rule! Not alone for the audience but for myself also I thank you! Especially do I thank the little girls who set the good example." He turned to the bench where the originators of the movement sat and gave them an impressive bow, then he stepped back, and the band started up with a crash and a bang that resounded throughout the hall.

"It was Alene who deserved all the credit," commented Ivy.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Laura warmly.

"He looked straight at me," whispered Vera.

"Miss Vanity, it was all Alene's work!" returned her sister.

At that moment Alene's gaze, straying to another part of the hall, spied her Uncle Fred who had come in unobserved by the girls and taken a seat not far away.

He was looking in her direction with such a pleased and happy countenance that Alene, meeting his glance, flashed him a radiant smile over the heads of the people.

"I wonder what makes him look so pleased," she murmured.



CHAPTER XV

AFTER THE SHOW

Meanwhile, outside in the court, many boys and girls who were unable to attend the show found a great attraction in its immediate vicinity.

To watch the doors through which so many lucky individuals passed had proved very interesting earlier in the evening, and after the door had closed upon the latest comer to creep closely to doors and windows, and listen to the hum and flutter of the crowd, and then to hear the band's inspiring strains was a source of joy. But when the music ceased and a great calm settled on the audience, they knew very well it was because the show had commenced, and that, alas, was not visible through thick boards.

One window, whose shutters were pierced by penknives in former years, was held valiantly all the evening by a special clique of youngsters who relieved each other at intervals in pressing their eyes to the holes, thus getting glimpses of the mysteries within.

A certain ingenious lad had repaired to a nearby house, borrowed a red hot poker, and returning to the hall, bored two peep-holes through another shutter, while an enterprising companion pried open a third window, thus giving a full view of the pictures to all who were fortunate enough to get near.

All these delinquents at first were thrown into intermittent thrills of fright whenever the word went round that the constable was coming; but when, after many false alarms, that worthy man was discovered sitting comfortably in the hall, well up toward the stage, they felt secure, knowing they could easily find safety in flight at the first show of activity on his part.

The panorama moved on. Christian's movements were followed with intense interest, especially by the younger onlookers. Claude found a special fascination in the big bag fastened upon the hero's shoulders. He wondered what it contained and when, toward the end, it was lost in some mysterious way that he could not understand, he felt very much disappointed not to have found out. Nettie whispered she guessed it was old clothes, but Claude knew it was something more interesting than that.

At last came the Dark Valley and then the Grand Transformation scene, when through the great pearly gates a glimpse of the Celestial City was obtained. Little white-robed angels, with crowns and harps, were seen flying through the pink tinted air; the white walls and shining domes of the heavenly mansions glittered in the distance, and Christian's trials were past. The children, gazing enraptured at the scene, were sorry that it could not last forever.

Nettie felt a special interest in one chubby cherub who reminded her of Lois, and wished for a closer acquaintance, and Claude still hoped to see the bag bobbing up again to display its contents, like a wizard's hat but, alas, in a moment the fairy scene was blotted out by the descending curtain!

Everybody rose and took place in the procession toward the door.

At that moment a crash was heard; a pane of glass was shattered by some one outside leaning too heavily against it. In a moment the score of heads which were peering in had disappeared. The red-faced constable was seen edging his way through the crowd, and Claude and Nettie had visions of handcuffs and the jail in store for the offenders, who, however, were far away when the enforcer of the law arrived upon the scene.

Ivy nudged Alene, who in turn nudged Laura, who looked round just in time to see Mr. Edmonds standing near the box-office.

"Bon jour, mesdemoiselles," he cried, with a smile and a bow that included them all. "I hope you enjoyed your evening."

"Yes, indeed, thank you, sir!"

"It was beautiful!"

"Lovely!"

"Where do you keep Lois, I mean the cherub?" murmured Nettie in so shy a tone that only her lips were seen moving, and Claude wished he were well enough acquainted to ask about the missing bag.

The girls felt a thrill of pride at their prominent position. Speaking to one of the show people was next to being a real actor, but they had to move on with the crowd which pressed around them.

Mr. Edmonds handed the beaming Laura a pretty book, which proved to be an illustrated copy of the Pilgrim's Progress, and with a parting au revoir, re-entered the box-office.

"Decidedly forward, keeping everyone back this way," said Mrs. Ramsey, who was slightly in the rear, having waited to fasten Vera's hat. "Alene Dawson is a bold piece! The idea of making everybody remove their hats! I was glad I wore a close-fitting bonnet or I'd actually have had to take mine off too. One can't be odd, you know!—Oh, there's Mr. Dawson! Good evening! Why don't you call upon me to chaperone Alene for you? She seems so forsaken, poor thing! I assure you I'll take her gladly any time with my girls!"

"You are very kind, but to-night is a sort of a Club affair I believe!"

"Club affair!"

"Is it the Happy-Go-Luckys?" inquired Hermione with a smile.

"Yes, Alene came on their invitation."

"But to be out so late, going home alone!" gasped the lady.

"She is never alone! Half a dozen of the girls and boys intend escorting her home to-night and, besides, you see I am not far in the rear!"

"What a likely tale!" cried Mrs. Ramsey, as the crowd carried the gentleman away. "As if the Lees or the Bonners could afford such an expense! I'll wager Fred Dawson paid for them all; but then he's always been odd—don't you remember that little foreigner he made such a fuss over because Mrs. Truby had him arrested for stealing? He actually spent a lot of money to get him off!"

"But the boy was innocent, mamma. Don't you remember how the lady found the money a long time afterward, where she had hidden and forgotten it?"

"But that is not the point—Fred Dawson didn't know he was innocent. And there's old Miss Marlin, the best teacher of painting and the languages in town—who charges outlandish prices because he upholds her, and he actually gives her a house, rent free!"

"She is his old teacher and very feeble! Dawson is a great-hearted fellow. In his quiet way he does more good than many of our famed philanthropists," said the usually silent Mr. Ramsey.

"Philanthropy, indeed! Were I Alene's mother I wouldn't like it at all, throwing his money away. If he doesn't marry, it will all go to Alene!"

"She will have plenty in any case; her father is very well fixed!" commented Mr. Ramsey.

"Is Alene an heiress?" cried Vera. "How funny! No one would ever guess it from her manner!"

"It's well you are not; you would want an air-ship in order to live up in the clouds above the heads of ordinary people! Alene has brains!" returned Hermione.

"An unspoiled child, I should judge," said her father.



CHAPTER XVI

LAURA'S PROPOSITION

"There's a club or something of that kind. I think it's a branch of the Sunshine Society," said Laura, as they sat under the trees on the terrace one bright afternoon, "that keeps a record of the birthdays of certain members who are sick or shut away from active life, and everybody is invited to a sort of surprise party, as it were; letters, books, or mementos of any kind are sent to reach the person on a certain date; it's a red-white-and-blue letter date for her, I guess—"

"Not blue," interrupted Ivy, "I'd call it a red letter day!"

"Well—" said Alene when Laura paused as if to ponder over something suggested by her words.

"Well," she returned, coming back to the present, to find her two friends waiting interestedly. "Well, it strikes me as a good idea for adoption by the Happy-Go-Luckys. It wouldn't be original with us, but if we wait to do only things which have never been done before, we may remain idle forever and ever, for there's nothing original under the sun."

"Except original sin," suggested Ivy.

Laura gave her a withering glance that included Alene who always found Ivy's sallies amusing. Perhaps Alene's smile on this occasion caused Ivy to continue:

"Yes, Lol, I've found that's true, especially when one's writing. If you put down something you think is decidedly fine or smart, you're sure to find that the Bible or Shakespeare or the Daily Observer in to-day's paper has said it all so much better! But excuse me, I'm interrupting you!"

Laura was too full of her subject to give more than a stiff little contraction of the lips to Ivy's digression; she went on to say:—

"Well, what made me think so much of the birthday idea was what Mother said when she came home from Mrs. Kump's this morning. The old lady lives all alone. She makes a living by doing odd jobs, so Mother wanted to get her to do some quilting. She does it beautifully, in an old-fashioned way that few understand now-a-days. When Mother got there she found her going round doing her work on her hands and knees—her feet were too sore to walk on. She told Mother she had been that way for a week. She was glad of the quilting, not having been able to do any other kind of work for some time. Mother was afraid she might be in actual want, but she didn't dare say a word for fear of offending her. Mrs. Kump happened to remark that Thursday, the day after to-morrow, is her birthday, and hearing that, just after reading about the birthday party, made me think of the Happy-Go-Luckys' 'Be kind' clause. So, girls, what do you think?" Laura turned to them a shining, expectant countenance.

"That we might set some birds a-flying straight to the poor old lady," was Alene's prompt reply.

"Yes, the birds will be the best in this case as it is rather quick time for flower seeds to take root and bloom," remarked Ivy.

"But these are a kind of magic flowers that spring up in a single night," said Alene.

"And who knows, some of them may turn out regular century plants. I read a poem not long ago, about a pebble cast upon the beach, that sent out ripples to the farther shore, which I suppose means that sometimes our smallest action may have a far reaching influence," said Ivy, who reclined on the grass, with her eyes fixed dreamily on the blue expanse of sky that stretched across the river and met the dark blue line of hills beyond.

"Come down out of the clouds! We have work to do and precious little time for its doing," cried Laura, giving her a shaking. She sat up laughing.

"Sounds like a sermon on the shortness of time! What's time to us children of eternity? But what shall we give to poor old Mrs. Kump?"

"That's the question," said Laura, glad to have arrived at something practical, a matter she often found rather difficult with Ivy. "Mother has promised a loaf of bread."

"And I'll ask Mother to give some rolls—but that's bread too; sounds so dry—I hate dry bread!"

"Kizzie always gives me a dish of honey for breakfast. I'll ask her for some of it, and Mrs. Major gets the loveliest little pats of butter from the country, marked with a dear little cow—I'm sure she will give me one!"

"Instead of a bird that will be a butterfly," interposed Ivy; "or a cowslip!"

"Or a buttercup and a honey-bee," returned Alene.

"You wretches! Here's one to get even. As Mrs. Kump works at quilting, we ought to send her a quilting-bee!"

Laura's sally was greeted with groans.

"Well, there's something you won't groan about. Mrs. Kump was lamenting that she couldn't go out to pick any berries this year and so will miss her jam. Let's go blackberrying to-morrow morning, if the boys will go along; we can get home before noon and I'll make her a jar of jam."

"Splendid!" cried Alene, "I've never gone berrying in my life!"

"What's the matter with you, Ivy? You are not usually so shy!"

"It will be too far for me," said Ivy dejectedly.

"Where did you think I meant to go? Why, just around the road, on the hillside near the bridge!"

"There's not a berry left there! Hugh went over this morning and found the bushes stripped! The nearest place is Thornley's, three miles away!"

"Then of course we won't go! I wonder if you could go horseback? I was thinking that Mat could borrow the groceryman's horse."

"No, Lol, I never learned to ride. Besides, it would be so jolty! The rest of you go without me; the walk will be only a pleasure for you!"

The girls protested against this; they talked of other things connected with Mrs. Kump's birthday party, and the blackberry project was apparently abandoned.

A bright thought had come to Alene, however, which she resolved to keep a secret until she found if she could carry out her plan.

It all depended on her uncle, whom she expected to come up the street at any moment, on his way home from the office. She jumped up when she saw him coming.

"Stay here, girls, until I speak to Uncle Fred."

She ran to the wall and climbed up at the spot where she had first seen her new friends.

Mr. Dawson crossed in answer to her call.

After a few moments' conversation she returned to the girls, saying gaily:—

"It's all right, he says we may have it!"

They gazed upon her wonderingly.

"What do you mean?"

Alene laughed.

"There, I forgot it was a secret. Well, here goes—All the horses are out at the farm now, but Uncle Fred says we may have the surrey if Mat can get a horse!"

Laura clapped her hands, and Ivy, who had been unusually silent and depressed in the last half hour, brightened and her face was fairly radiant with joy as she cried:

"Oh, Alene! You good fairy godmother! It's just like Cinderella and her pumpkin coach!"

"But we mustn't wear glass slippers," said Laura. "You see, Alene, when we go a-berrying we always wear our heaviest shoes and battered bonnets and patched dresses, for the thorns tear our shoes and clothes."

Alene's face clouded.

"I'm afraid I can't find a battered dress or a patched bonnet. Will I have to stay at home?"

"No, you goose! Just wear the plainest you have!"



CHAPTER XVII

IN THE BERRY PATCH

As if in a dream Alene heard a voice:

"It's after five o'clock, Miss Alene. You better get up if you want to be ready by six!"

Alene sat up with a yawn. She blinked her eyes and gazed solemnly at the rosy, smiling face of the little maid.

"I wonder why it's so much easier to get up the night before!" she ejaculated.

Kizzie laughed as she crossed the room and raised the blinds. The lace curtains billowed in the fresh air and the soft light of dawn stole into the room. A pretty room it was, too, with blue and gray matting, blue tinted walls, its white stand and dresser, and little brass bed.

With another yawn Alene slipped her feet to the white rug beside the bed, stood up, and lifting her gown as if for a skirt dance, skipped lightly to a willow rocker which stood invitingly before one of the tall windows overlooking the terrace and the town.

"I'll run downstairs and get some breakfast ready, and then come back and help you with your hair and buttons," said Kizzie.

Alene knelt down beside the chair and buried her face in its blue cushions to say her morning prayers.

There was a time when she had first come to the Towers when to her regular prayers she always added a sort of petition—"Please, dear Lord, I am so lonely!"

Now her heart was filled with the beauty of the day, its promises of joy. She had so much that for herself there was nothing more to ask—only thanks to give, but for her friends, beginning with Mrs. Kump, the latest, and ending with her parents, the oldest and best beloved, she petitioned many blessings.

Only a few moments given to God, but they were a consecration for the day!

Alene rose with a song on her lips and proceeded with her bath and dressing. She found herself doing so many things now-a-days that a few months before would have seemed an impossibility.

"I used to be a bigger baby than Nettie or even Lois," she reflected as she buttoned her shoes and started to comb her hair. This was always a difficult task. The comb that went through those long locks so smoothly when manipulated by some one else, encountered many snarls, and Alene was glad when Kizzie came back to relieve her. A vigorous brushing and curling soon brought the refractory hair to the required state, and the glossy brown curls were finally tied at the nape of her neck with a bow of blue ribbon.

She was too excited to eat her breakfast; it was only Kizzie's reminder that, "Mr. Fred will ask if you ate a good breakfast. He will be displeased if you don't," that induced her to partake of anything.

She had scarcely finished her bowl of milk and crackers when the big gate clanged through the still air, then came a medley of gay voices; the walk resounded beneath the tread of light footsteps, and Prince's sonorous bark gave forth a challenge.

"There they come!"

"Here they are!" Alene rushed from the table.

She paused for a moment in the open doorway in sheer amazement and then she gave a peal of laughter.

"No wonder Prince was scared!" she cried.

For there stood the girls with their sunbonnets drawn over their faces, and their skirts spread out to display each rent and patch, of which there were not a few. Laura put one foot forward that a dilapidated shoe, from which her toes peeped, might not escape notice, and Ivy seemed proud of a pocket, turned inside out, that was apparently all holes.

A snickering sound came from the depths of the bonnets and then their laughter rang out loud and long.

"We had rehearsed a speech about tramping along the tracks all night, but I couldn't say a word to save my life when I saw your bewildered face!" explained Ivy when their mirth had subsided.

"You poor girl!" remarked Laura with a commiserating glance at Alene's neat blue gingham gown with its trimming of fancy braid; "is that the 'very worstest' you could scare up?"

"Kizzie helped me to look through my trunk and wardrobe and we couldn't find a thing plainer. I looked it over but there's not a tear in it! I might have sewed a patch on, but that would have been make-believe!"

Alene's tone was disconsolate.

"Well, never mind, come along! There's Hugh waiting near the gate and Mat's minding the rig! You needn't take your hat, I brought Nettie's bonnet; it will do fine. It's too big for her!"

They ran along the walk and scrambled into the surrey. The girls took the back seat, Hugh jumped in beside Mat, and with gay good-byes to Kizzie and Prince they were off on their way to the country.

The bells of the factories rang out, calling the men to work. Few pedestrians, however, were seen for the majority of the working people lived in the streets nearer the river, while the merchants and leisurely class occupied residences in the upper streets, along which they drove. Occasionally an energetic maid was seen cleaning the front steps or porch, and just on the out-skirts of the town they passed a group of boys going the same way, who eyed them curiously.

"Hey, Hughie," cried one, "where are you bound for?"

"Berryin'!"

"So are we!"

Mat gave the grocer's slow-going nag a touch that livened him and they were soon carried out of range of the lads.

"It's that Stony Road gang!" Hugh glanced round to explain.

"The ones who tried to steal our lunch that day? But I didn't see Mark Griffin with them—he's your fish-boy, Alene," said Ivy.

"I guess he'll join them later on; that's his home!"

Hugh pointed to a low stone house that stood some distance in from the road, beyond a well-trimmed hedge and broad stretch of lawn, with grape-arbors and barns showing in the rear.

"Why, his folks must be well off," said Laura in surprise.

"Old man Griffin owns the boat-yards over in Westville."

"Well, his son might find better company than that, surely!"

"Mark's been away at school most of his life and when he came home this vacation, the first thing we knew he was hobnobbing with that gang. They steal and play cards and torture animals!"

"Horrors!"

"I don't think he would torture anything, he doesn't look like that kind of a boy!" exclaimed Alene, warmly.

"Might as well be bad as in bad company," returned Hugh, with that "preacher air" of his which Alene always found exasperating.

"Mark and Jack Lever used to be thicker'n flies, but I've not seen 'em together this year," interposed Mat.

"Jack's fine as silk, couldn't stand the Stony Road pace, I guess! Fact is, I haven't seen him for six weeks. He's never in his father's store; must be out of town."

"Gee up!" interposed Mat. "If I didn't keep up a perpetual song, I believe Old Hurricane'd stop still and never go on again; can easily see he used to be a race horse!"

"Yes, he always raced the last few yards home for his grub!"

"He's doing splendiferous. Only for him we wouldn't be here, so don't spurn the ladder by which we climb," cried Ivy.

"Well, he'd make a better ladder than anything else, he's so bony; besides that he'd rather stand still any day and let us climb him!"

"You ungrateful Mat! But, Oh, girls and boys, to sit and let the air blow upon us, and feast our eyes on the glorious sunrise and the lovely green fields and flowers! The air is like champagne I tasted once, kind of thin and clear and nippy and refreshing!"

"If I knew you were a boozer, Miss Bonner, nothing would have induced me to undertake the management of this nervous racer. If the air brings on an attack of the delirium tremenjous, how can I manage the two of you?"

"Just manage your own tongue, Mr. Lee, but that would be an impossibility," said Ivy.

"Talking of wine and things reminds me of Claude," said Laura. "I overtook him coming down street the other day and we walked together. He stopped to peer in at the bars of the jail. 'I'd hate to be put in a stall like the poor drunkards.' (He called them Dunkards.) 'And I'm sure you never will, Claude,' said I. He threw back his shoulders and said, 'Well, I drank root-beer till I was six years old and then swore off and haven't drank a drop since!' I could have screeched!"

Hugh laughed heartily.

"The little scamp! He insisted on taking the pledge when I did last year! The temperance lecturer was here. He was a speaker, I can tell you! When he cried that ancient warning:

'Young men, Ahoy there! 'What is it?' 'The rapids are below you.'

I could see some of our old soaks shrinking in their seats; and when he wound up, 'Shrieking, howling, blaspheming, over they go,' it was simply immense! There was such a stampede for the platform that you'd think we were drowning, and scrambling for life-buoys. I knew from the way Mother spoke when I set out for the hall that she would like me to pledge myself. Someway I didn't see any use in it, but that lecturer made me see lots of things, so I up and followed old man Potter who hadn't drawn a sober breath ever since I could remember. Claude clung to my coat-tails. "I want a ribbon, too!" he screamed. The lecturer gave one look at the little shaver and the crowd roared as he pinned a badge on the boy's coat. Ah, here we are at the patch!"

Mat turned the horse into a lane leading to the left.

"Here's your bonnet, Alene," cried Laura. "Don't forget the buckets, boys!"

Mat tied Old Hurricane to the fence beneath a shady tree and they started for the nearest clump of bushes, each carrying a tin cup, which, when filled with berries, was to be emptied into one of the buckets placed at a convenient spot.

Alene gave a gasp of joy, when parting the branches she found an abundance of delicious fruit. Her first scratch, a tiny one on the back of her hand, was proudly exhibited to the others.

"How many have you eaten?" inquired Laura.

"Not a one!"

"Show your tongue, little girl," said Ivy in a doubting tone. "Why, you poor thing, you haven't tasted one! Look at mine," she opened her mouth.

"Poor Mrs. Kump!" said Alene.

The others laughed.

"Oh, there will be plenty for her. Eat all you wish, Alene; Mat and Hugh are noted pickers, there's no fear of our taking home empty buckets," said Laura.

Alene's lips were soon in the same state as Ivy's. The air had given her a sharp appetite, and when in the course of the morning, Laura found a package of sandwiches and tarts hidden under the seat of the surrey, she declared that nothing had ever tasted quite so good as the portion she disposed of, along with her tin of clear cold water from a neighboring well.

While enjoying luncheon her eyes wandered over the berry patch which sloped gently upward to the road. A great many children and a few men and women were scattered over the field, stripping the bushes.

Across the patch a barred gate led to fields of pasture, and some of the boys on the safe side of the fence were goading a great red bull into a state of frenzy.

As he tossed his head and bellowed, stamping and goring the ground, Alene was glad there was a strong fence between them. She thought she recognized among the mischievous lads one of the crowd they had passed on the road in the early morning.

The girls brushed away the crumbs of the feast and went back to the bushes, while the boys returned the borrowed water bucket to its owner, who lived a short distance up the lane.

Alene was busy picking the ripe berries from an unusually heavy-laden branch, rejoicing to see her measure filling so rapidly, when she heard a terrified shriek.

She jumped to her feet, letting the cup fall from her grasp, and turned to find the other girls standing with horror-stricken faces, gazing across the patch. In a moment she knew what had happened. The wide, barred gate had become unfastened in some way, probably by one of the boys. It was standing wide open and the angry bull had come through and was seen tearing like a mad creature in the middle of the patch.

Everyone sought places of safety, the small children clinging to their elders with frightened cries, while one or two of the more courageous young men who tried to head the animal and turn him back to his pasture were compelled to fly, to escape injury.

The three girls stood for a moment as if paralyzed; then Laura grasped Ivy's arm.

"Quick, quick, to the fence! He's coming straight upon us!"

"It's my red dress," gasped Ivy.

Alene glanced round. She saw they were not far from the fence but that it would be necessary to skirt a row of thick-grown bushes in order to reach it. Could they do so in time?

In the meantime Mat and Hugh, returning leisurely along the lane, were startled into activity by the sight that met their view. Their gaze at once sought the place where they had left the girls. It was deserted; but not far away, Ivy's dress made a bright spot that immediately held their glance, and the bull apparently had singled it out for attack; his mad flight led straight in the path of the girls.

The boys, with one impulse, made a dash across the fence; with clenched hands and set teeth they stumbled onward; but alas, they were too far away to render any help!



CHAPTER XVIII

TO THE RESCUE

And then an unlooked-for actor appeared upon the scene; a boyish figure, supple and well built, sprang, as if miraculously, out of a dense clump of bushes, just beyond the terror-stricken girls.

With a ringing shout he darted straight in front of the infuriated brute, and flung his coat defiantly in its eyes. Angry and snorting, it tossed the coat aside and started after its tormentor.

The trembling girls, thus suddenly and unexpectedly rescued from their peril, found new anxiety for the safety of their brave deliverer.

With bated breath they watched him as, having succeeded in diverting the attention of the enemy, he half circled the field with the maddened creature in hot pursuit, so close at times that he felt its hot breath on his neck.

Always heading in one direction, toward the open gate of the pasture field, the boy led the race, and finally breathless and almost exhausted, he gained the goal.

Through the gate he ran and gave, as he cleared it, a sudden jump to one side, while the momentum of the bull carried it forward and beyond him. A moment later he stood in the friendly grass of the berry-patch, with the gate closed securely between him and the foe.

"It's Mark Griffin!" cried Ivy.

"Yes, I knew him at once," returned Alene.

The three girls clapped their hands joyfully, starting a round of applause. Soon from every part of the patch came cheers and shouts and whistling; a small boy, who perhaps was the cause of all the trouble, scrambled from a tree near the big gate with a whoop that would have startled an Indian brave. He ran across the field, picked up the coat from where it lay on the ground almost in ribbons, and returned it to its owner.

With a humorous glance at the crumpled and grass-stained object Mark flung it over his shoulder and, followed by the urchin and one or two other boys, started away from the field and was soon out of sight down the lane.

"He wouldn't wait a minute," explained Hugh apologetically, when he and Mat returned to the girls.

Ivy curled her lip.

"There's a great deal in the way things are asked," she said, and Hugh knew she was offended.

"Who wouldn't run away from a lot of girls ready to slobber over him with thanks and prayers?" said Mat with a broad grin.

"As if we would make him a courtesy and say, 'Thank you, sir, for saving my life!'" retorted Ivy.

Hugh busied himself picking up the tins and the upset buckets. He sympathized with Mark's dislike of a scene.

"Any of you fellows would have done the same if you had the chance," the latter had said.

"Did she expect us to bring a fellow by the coat collar to be thanked? Girls are queer, they always enjoy fussing and the limelight," concluded Hugh. He kept resolutely away from them.

"What's the matter with Hugh?" whispered Laura after a time.

"Why?"

"He seems kind o' grumpy."

Ivy picked out a monster berry and put it into her mouth.

"The wind's changing I guess! Boys are like weather-vanes, you never can tell what way they're going next!"

Laura smiled at the idea of comparing staid, dependable Hugh with anything so uncertain as a weather-vane.

Ivy kept on filling her tin cup and pretended not to pay any attention to her brother. She knew her uncalled-for, sarcastic remark had offended him. Had it been anyone else, she would have made ample apology, but it was only poor old Hugh—it was not necessary to trouble herself about him. He would "come round" after while, as he always did. No matter how far in the wrong Ivy might be, it was always Hugh who made the first advances toward a reconciliation. Perhaps if he had waited longer, Ivy might have behaved differently, but Hugh never waited.

Sure enough, he soon gave signs of the "coming round" process, but instead of "coming round" to Ivy with a handful of flowers he had found, he gave them to Alene.

After that it was to Alene he came when he had an especially large berry to show; he insisted upon her eating it; he compared the state of his tin cup and hers, and they made a wager as to whose cup would be filled the first.

His celerity amazed Alene.

"How can you fill yours so quickly?"

"By sticking to a good bush when I find one!"

"You girls lose time by flitting from bush to bush like butterflies," added Mat.

"We are more like busy bees, Mat. We gather only the best as we fly! There's Laura, no boy can beat her picking berries," said Ivy.

"I believe there's a good deal in what Hugh says," remarked Laura, "not only in berry picking, but in work and study. We accomplish more by sticking to one thing at a time. They say 'Beware of the man of one book.'"

"I would indeed be beware of him. He'd be an insufferable bore!" retorted Ivy, as she moved away to another bush.

"Now we will transmigrate ourselves into robins and do the 'babes in the wood' act!"

Ivy gazed at the speaker compassionately.

"Has the poor boy gone daffy?"

Mat pointed to the two buckets, by that time filled with berries.

"We will cover them over with leaves!"

"Do you know what Claude does when he's angry or out of humor?" inquired Ivy.

"Throws himself on the floor and kicks, I guess!"

"No, he runs to a corner and hides his face!"

"Well?"

"If I were you, I'd follow his example!"

"But I'm not angry or out of humor with you, Ivy. On the contrary, I feel as mild as a lamb, and I'm so razzle-dazzle-dizzled pleased with getting these buckets filled in spite of you girls, that I could—could—"

"Please don't, whatever it is you could do, be wise and don't do it!"

"What's the time?" asked Laura.

"Eleven A.M.!"

"Are you sure of the A.M.?"

"I'm surer of it than of the eleven! I made a guess at that!"

"We'd better start home. It will take some time to make the jam and get Mrs. Kump's basket ready," said Laura.

Mat made a horn of his hands and gave a yell.

"What's that for?"

"To call our party in."

"We don't want everybody in the field; we're all here but Alene and Hugh."

"Where are they? Haven't seen 'em for some time! Ah, here they come!"

"Hugh took me over to see a thrush's nest," explained Alene. Her face glowed with animation beneath Nettie's pink lined bonnet; her lips and fingers were stained with berries and Laura asked herself if this could be the white-cheeked, forlorn, little Peggy-Alone she had seen standing beside Prince on the terrace just a couple of months before.

They trooped gaily into the carriage, Mat again took the reins and away they went on the return trip.

They came into the town by a different route, which led past the Ramseys' buff cottage.

"There's Vera and her mother and some ladies sitting on the porch," remarked Alene.

"And see, there's Hermione at an upstairs window," said Ivy.

The girls waved their hands to that smiling friend and the boys gallantly doffed their hats as they raced Old Hurricane past the house.

Mrs. Ramsey gazed after the vehicle with a look of amazement. She had obtained a glimpse of the girls, in their print dresses and sunbonnets, but had failed to recognize them.

"Who can they be?"

"They evidently know you," said one of the ladies, smilingly. "Didn't you see that little curly-headed girl swinging her bonnet?"

"Not at us, surely!"

Vera smiled at her mother's shocked tone.

"That was Ivy Bonner; they were waving at Hermione upstairs."

"I thought it looked like Dawson's rig, but surely Alene wasn't—"

"Yes, she was there, with her face all stained with berry juice! I guess they were out picking blackberries!"

Mrs. Ramsey raised her eyes in despair. "What does Fred Dawson mean by allowing it? If that poor child's mother only knew!"



CHAPTER XIX

THE BLUE BOX

It was eight o'clock when Jed Granger, a youth of eighteen, who acted as a sort of under gardener at the Towers, left a hamper at the Lee home.

"Here's a note from Alene," explained Laura, running her eyes over the sheet of tinted paper. "Of all the foolish things to do!"

Ivy sat beside the kitchen table, writing a neat label for Mrs. Kump's jar of jam. She glanced up at Laura.

"Well?"

"Just listen! Mother, listen to this!"

"Laura Dear:—

Good luck! Uncle Fred gave me two dollars to buy something for Mrs. Kump. Didn't have time to consult you or Ivy but I know you will be pleased! It's on top of the hamper. Be sure and look at it.

Good-bye! "Alene D."

"Candy! Let's look at it!"

Laura, still wearing a look of disgust, opened the package, displaying a box of pale blue and silver tied with narrow ribbons, which after a careful untying and lifting of the lid disclosed a splendor of lace-work and tinsel-paper, over layer upon layer of bon bons and candied fruit, with a cute little silver tongs.

"Delicious! And what a beautiful box!"

"It's certainly very fine!"

"But for old Mrs. Kump!" cried Laura. "The money or something substantial would do so much better!"

"There's plenty of substantials in Alene's hamper," said Mrs. Lee. "Butter, coffee, tea."

"But this fine candy and the ribbons and fixings! It's like throwing the money away!" said Laura sharply, as she wrapped up the box and replaced it on the hamper.

Though Ivy had doubts of the usefulness of Alene's gift, she felt a certain satisfaction in having it to send along with the more practical things; she wished she had a volume of her own poetry, bound in blue with the name just as she had often pictured it in silver letters, "Early Blossoms," to send; it would go so well with Alene's box. Laura's condemnation, however, made this seem a foolish desire, which she would not dare to mention.

They returned to the work of getting everything ready for the boys to carry to Mrs. Kump. Ivy completed her label and pasted it on the jar, where the fancy initials looked effective. Laura and her mother proceeded with the packing. The former still wore a disapproving countenance and her vexation hung round them like a cloud.

"This reminds me of something that happened to me once upon a time," said Mrs. Lee, who had occasion to move the hamper. Ivy smiled encouragingly.

"Ob, a story, a story! Come and sit here, Lol, and listen!"

"Once upon a time," Mrs. Lee began, "I and my cousin Clementina, just about my own age, ten years, were the best of chums, even thicker than you Happy-Go-Lucky girls, for we had just ourselves to play with, all the other members of both families being much older; the next in age was my sister Roxana, going on sixteen. Clemmie and I used to watch the store windows and I remember one day we stood transfixed at a new display in Smithley's drug store. In addition to drugs, they sold many other things, so there we stood, Clemmie admiring a pair of pink garters with silver buckles, while I looked longingly at a volume of Jane Eyre.