"'Only thirty cents! If I only had a pair!' sighed Clementina.

"'A dollar and a half,' I lamented, for in those days there were no cheap editions of books.

"Day after day on our way to and from school we stopped before our idols. Clem told me she often dreamed of that pair of garters with its shining buckles!

"'Saturday's my birthday; if some kind, rich old gentleman would happen along and adopt me before then, the first thing I'd ask for would be a pair of pink garters like these!'

"That day when I reached home I found a small package which my godmother, Mrs. Keyes, had left for me. It was a pretty handkerchief with my initial in the corner, and knotted inside was a silver half dollar. To me that was quite a fortune and Roxana gave me much advice as to its disposal, but I scarcely heard what she said; I was thinking of something else; you can guess what it was."

"Yes, we know, we know," cried Ivy.

"Friday evening, I sneaked away from Clem and went to Smithley's.

"I could hardly control my voice to speak when the proprietor came forward. I had come to a halt near the show window.

"'What's your lowest price for Jane Eyre?' I found myself saying.

"'A dollar and a half. It's a most fascinating book, but for your own reading I'd advise—'

"'Thank you, sir, but I think I'll buy those.'

"I pointed to the garters. Mr. Smithley wrapped them up and tied the package with a pink and white cord.

"I could hardly wait to get home before opening the precious parcel. I wanted to show it to mother the first thing, but she was not in and I proudly displayed it to Roxana. She eyed the garters dubiously.

"'Very easily soiled! How much did you pay for them?'

"'Thirty cents, at Smithley's.'

"'Thirty cents! The idea! For something you can't wear!'

"'I don't intend wearing them! It's my present for Clementina's birthday!'

"'You foolish thing! Why didn't you consult me? A pair of black ones would wear so much longer!'

"Roxana's manner did not chill my pleasure. I went upstairs and wrote an inscription on a card:—

"'For Clementina on her Tenth Birthday, from Edna,' and placed it with the garters.

"I could hardly wait for the next day! I pictured Clem's surprise and rapture.

"Mother came home, and after supper I slipped away to get the package to show to her. I knew when I returned to the sitting-room, that Roxana had told her about my purchase and how she regarded it.

"She said it was pretty but—well, they kept on about it, until I began to think myself a culprit. I could hardly see the pink garters for my tears. At last Roxana suggested an exchange. By that time I didn't care for anything; all my pleasure in the gift was spoiled.

"'I'll not give Clementina anything,' I said.

"'Don't be unreasonable, child, the black garters will be so useful,' chided my mother.

"'But Clementina admired these!'

"'She never dreamed of owning them, though,' said Roxana.

"'Yes, she did!'

"Well, it resulted in Roxana's carrying off my foolish purchase and coming back with her sensible one.

"I can smile at it now, but at the time it was a real tragedy to me. Mother never suspected my disappointment. We were all so used to accepting Roxana's opinions as laws that to rebel against them would lay oneself open to the charge of treason.

"Well, the next day I went to Clementina's. She came running down to the front gate to meet me.

"'Happy birthday,' I faltered, thrusting the little package into her hands.

"'Why, Edna,' she said, but I hurried away, not daring to wait to see her open it.

"That was apparently the end of our friendship.

"When we met again, Clementina treated me very coolly; I was terribly cut up but I did not blame her. I knew it would have been better taste not to have given her anything, but it was too late then.

"For several days we kept apart.

"I avoided Smithley's window, but one day I stopped before it almost in spite of myself. There hung the pink garters, with their shining buckles. They seemed to mock my chagrin. Then all at once Clementina stood at my side. She held out her hand!

"'Forgive me, Edna, I might have known it was Roxana!'

"My lip trembled.

"'Carrie Smithley told me just now. You see, she was in the store when you bought the pink garters and when Roxana returned them she told Mr. Smithley what a foolish thing you had bought; she said you were too stubborn to come back yourself and she had to do it. She always had to do the things the rest of the family shirked!'

"I had to smile at Clem's mimicking Roxana, it was so true to life.

"Poor Clem! She said she never expected me to give her anything, but when she opened the parcel and saw the black garters, she rushed into the darkened parlor and cried and cried, on the sofa behind the door! Not because of the garters, but because she expected different treatment from me—'It just seemed like a slap in the face,' she said."

"I guess it did," murmured Ivy. "Is that the end?"

"There's a kind of a sequel," said Mrs. Lee with a smile. "Clementina gave a glance into Smithley's window.

"'Say, Edna, would you care if—'

"'Oh, Clem, I'd be so glad!' said I."

"And so it ended happily after all!" cried Ivy.

"Yes; and Cousin Clem has them to this day—put away in a cedar box that belonged to her mother!"

Laura smiled rather doubtfully.

"And of course there's a moral, Mother Lee, but this is different!"

Going home, Ivy talked the matter over with her mother.

"I'm inclined to take Mrs. Lee's view. The poem says 'Give to the hungry potatoes,' but I guess it doesn't mean to give potatoes only!" said that lady.



CHAPTER XX

MRS. KUMP'S BIRTHDAY

Mrs. Kump's home, a one-storied frame building, stood on the west bank of a run that trickled down from the hills to the river; a small window faced the main road, while two others with the 'front' door between, opened upon a porch thickly trellised with grape vines; a couple of steps at one end of the porch led to a wooden platform which bridged the stream.

At six o'clock that morning the dew lay heavy upon the matted grape leaves, and over the little vegetable garden behind the house, with its outlying poles of hop-vines and sweet-peas.

The scent of pennyroyal came from the banks of the stream; the birds twittered round the little gray house and the sun shone upon it feebly, through a thick wall of fog.

Stepping softly across the bridge and through the green opening of the porch went Hugh and Mat, those worthy aids of the Happy-Go-Luckys; in front of the door they placed the birthday offerings, and then, giving a resounding knock on the panel, they ran and hid in the bushes across the road.

Presently the door opened and a gray head peered forth, then out stepped a thin figure in a blue calico wrapper. With hands upraised she advanced to the porch steps.

"The grocer's man made a mistake," the boys heard her say. She gazed along the road but no one was in view. Retracing her steps she bent over the baskets.

"There's a card on 'em. The owner's name, I reckon. I'll get my specs and see!"

"Now's our chance to light out!" whispered Mat, and away they flew.

Mrs. Lee crossed the bridge that same evening, followed by Nettie in starched white frock and golden curls.

A clump of hollyhocks made a gorgeous splash of color against the wall of the house beneath the end window. Four-o'clocks, ragged-robins and blue lark-spur struggled up through the cabbages and long grass of the little garden, to bid them welcome, and at the door they were met by the mistress of the house, who had heard their footsteps.

Mrs. Kump was a large-boned woman of medium height; her complexion was of golden bronze; the flesh had fallen, giving her cheeks a square set, and her dark eyes gleamed brightly beneath a broad wrinkled brow; a cap of black lace surmounted her head, a white net fichu was crossed on her breast and fastened with a cameo pin in a wide gold frame, and her dress was of silver gray.

She led the way into the little sitting-room and drew aside the muslin half-curtains. Through the open window came the murmur of the running stream, the scent of pennyroyal, and the rays of the setting sun.

A striped rag carpet covered the floor and the walls, with gorgeous papering of flowers and vines, were hung with many old fashioned pictures.

There was the Lord's Prayer in an intricate design of crimson and gold, a framed sampler and motto, and smaller pictures in square and oval frames; these for the most part friends and relatives of the owner, their pictured features shadowed and dimmed by time.

In the middle of the room a square table with a red, woolen cover, held a half-dozen books cross-cornered one upon the other in several groups; a glass lamp filled with red-colored water and oil stood in the center, the top covered with a paper shade and the bottom swathed in a woolen mat.

A high, wooden mantel, painted black, occupied the other end of the room; the fireplace was hidden by a square, cambric screen, with a cut-out picture of fruit and flowers pasted in the center. Nettie's glance was immediately taken by a white marble book, with yellow painted edges and clasps, lying upon the old glass-knobbed bureau.

Mrs. Kump drew the straight-backed rattan rocker to the open window, giving it a hurried dusting with her black silk apron, and invited Mrs. Lee to be seated.

Then, as she noticed her visitor looking at the quilting frames which occupied one end of the room, she said,

"You'll think I'm slighting your quilt, Mis' Lee!—I got so far back on the job, with my poor legs bothering me so! But sez I to myself, 'I'll try and catch up on Thursday,' but when I went to the door this mornin' and found the good fairies' offerings, I fairly wilted. I made up my mind to keep the day, and I'm keepin' it; I haven't done a stroke of work!"

Mrs. Lee looked interested.

"The day—yes—I believe you told me—"

"My birthday—sixty-seven—the years do run up when once you begin to count 'em! But about the baskets—thinks I to myself, 'The grocer's man left 'em at the wrong place,' but he must have druv away fast, there wasn't a soul in sight, and then I comes in for my specs and there was my name writ in black and white 'Mrs. Keturah Kump, with best wishes for her birthday!' I nearly wilted! I got so narvous-like that I could hardly lift 'em! And who was livin' to care for me or my birthday? All my folks dead—all but the young ones. They live out west and don't bother their heads about me. But about the baskets—you'd orter see what they held—a good share of everything—I'll show you my cupboard stocked, and lots of things down cellar—and there, I'd been worryin' and doubtin', not bein' able to work for so long. I don't mind tellin' you, Mis' Lee, now that things is changed for the best, that I was about at the end of my string. Sugar and tea about out and not enough flour to last a day longer! I unpacked the baskets and stood and looked at the things—butter and eggs and bread and cake and blackberry jam, the only spread I ever et, and I put 'em away as if in a dream, leavin' out a snack to make breakfast, though I was so excited I couldn't swallow a bite!

"I put on a drawin' of tea, and puttered about settin' the table, when all at once I spied a little passel that I had set aside when I brought the baskets in. So I opened it—and what do you think! I sat right down by the table and cried and cried! It seemed to me that the other things might be for any old, worn-out woman, but this was just for me, and it went straight to my heart! The loveliest blue box, the inside fixed with lace just like the valentines that poor David sent me when he came courtin', and it was filled with candy, the loveliest you ever saw!—with real cherries and vi'lets fixed up, lookin' too good to eat! Just think—for me, a poor old woman that most people would think it all wasted on! Something beautiful came over the day, I felt young again, and vigorous and proud and happy all at once, just like I used to feel long years ago when I'd first see the Johnny-jump-ups in the spring, way down in the medder near the creek!"

Mrs. Kump rose suddenly and went to the big bureau, wiping her glasses as she went. Coming back, she proudly displayed Alene's box.

"Take some, child," she said to Nettie, "and you too, Mis' Lee! I thought at first it was too good for me to eat but it'll get spiled, so I'll eat it little by little, and I can keep the box to hold some trinkets I've had for years! Just see the little silver tongs! Nothin' was too good for me! Why, I felt so perked up that I got out my best dress and my silk apron, to do honor to the day!"

A score of years seemed to fall from the speaker, her eyes gleamed brightly, as she glanced from her silver-toned best dress to her listener's sympathetic countenance.

As she wended her way homeward with Nettie, who carried a huge bouquet from Mrs. Kump's garden, Mrs. Lee's thoughts dwelt on the old lady's words.

"I wish the girls had been along to hear—Ah, there they are!" she said, as, coming in sight of the Bonner house, she saw Laura and Ivy seated on the front steps.

Nettie gave a screech of delight and jumped across a gutter to make a short cut to exhibit her flowers.

Mrs. Bonner, hearing voices, came to the door and one of the boys brought out chairs for her and Mrs. Lee.

"As you are all so much interested, I guess I'll sit down a while and tell you all about Mrs. Kump's birthday!" said Mrs. Lee. "Now, not so many questions! Yes, she got the baskets with her name printed so artistically on the card, and she never suspects who gave the things. She has enough to tide her over for a long time, and the jam went to the right spot, but guess what it was that pleased her the most."

"Old ladies are very fond of tea," ventured Mrs. Bonner.

"The print of butter!" cried Ivy.

"Mrs. Bonner's coffee cake," said Laura.

They made several other guesses but Mrs. Lee still shook her head.

"I know," said Nettie quickly, "it was that blue box!"

"Not Alene's candy!" cried Laura, incredulously.

"Yes, that was it!"

Mrs. Lee thereupon told what Mrs. Kump had said, word for word.

A silence followed the recital.

"Who would have thought it?" Laura said at last.

"Ah, Laura dear, you forgot the thought behind the gift. 'The love of the giver is greater than the gift of the lover,'" said Mrs. Lee.



CHAPTER XXI

TO CHINA IN A GLASS-BOAT

At the upper end of the wharf a small boat was anchored, gay in red paint with black trimmings. It consisted of a single deck only, on which was a raised cabin that extended the whole length of the boat, having doors at each end and several small windows on the sides.

The girls hastened along the broad plank, over the shallow space of water between the boat and the shore, and entered the wide front opening.

The interior resembled a country store.

A counter, running three quarters of the length of the boat and stacked with all sorts of glassware, divided the room in two parts.

Sandwiched between the counter and the shelves, which were also heavily laden with glass, was a clerk, intent upon the customers who crowded the narrow aisle.

And what queer customers they were! Boys and girls, for the most part poorly dressed, who kept an eye on the different articles displayed, or hovered round the large scales at one end of the counter, guarding strange looking bundles and baskets.

To Laura, who had visited the boat each summer for as long as she could remember, it was a familiar scene, but everything proved new and wonderful to Alene.

For a time they were content to wait and watch before making any investments.

"What are they doing?" inquired Alene, pointing to two boys who had dragged a battered basket and a great bundle to the scales.

"Just watch and you'll see."

The clerk took the basket which was filled with pieces of old iron, small bolts, nails, and such things, rusty and apparently good for nothing, and weighed it on the scales; its owners watched carefully to verify its correct weight, and while they calculated its value the clerk proceeded to weigh the bundle.

"Rags," whispered Laura to the wondering Alene. "They buy them from all the towns along the river and sell them in the city to make paper and things."

"The iron?"

"No, silly—that's made over I guess at the foundries."

Alene became interested in watching the two boys whose property had been valued. With an air of importance they turned their attention to choosing its equivalent in crystal ware.

After examining critically the different articles, the older boy at last decided upon a large plate with "Give us this day our daily bread" in fancy letters around the rim, but his companion hesitated between two pitchers.

"Oh, Laura!" Alene's cry of dismay drew Laura's attention. "He's going to buy that purple monstrosity!"

"I think that blue one with the bulgy sides is out o' sight," the boy was saying, his gaze straying from one to the other; "I wonder which ma would like the best!"

Laura stepped forward with an elder-sisterly air.

"Is it for water?" she inquired.

"Yes; ma broke her chiny one the other day and I want to s'prise her."

"Then I'd buy that white one with the frosted flowers; it will look so cool with the water sparkling through. You think the blue one is prettier I know, but it would not be so suitable for water. Don't you think so?"

"That's so, thank y', miss," said the boy, lifting the straw crown which served him as a hat.

Alene drew a breath of relief. "Oh, Laura, you know just what to do! I'm sure he wanted the purple-blue one awfully and he took the other just to please you!" she whispered as the boys left the boat with their treasures, giving a doubtful look backward at the abandoned pitcher.

Laura shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, boys are funny; they mean well but their tastes run to bright things. Any girl in a gaudy dress is beautiful in their eyes!"

"And there isn't always a Laura near to point out the superiority of the girl in plain white," returned Alene with a sanctimonious air at which they both laughed.

"Now for our own choosing," said Laura briskly, and the clerk came forward to her nod.

They spent a delightful half hour at the counter fingering the pretty things, sometimes having as much trouble to decide between different objects as the boys had with their pitchers.

"I'll take this sweet little blue goblet for Ivy, and that pitcher for Mrs. Major, and the berry dish for Kizzie. I'd like to get Uncle Fred a new tobacco-jar to replace the one I broke, but I don't see any." Alene pointed out the things desired, all of which Laura had helped in selecting; then Laura bought her mother a cake-stand and Mrs. Bonner had commissioned her to buy a dozen tumblers, which purchase took much time and thought.

Presently Alene became aware of a pattering on the roof. Softly it came at first, then more and more insistent.

"Why, Lol, it's raining like—like in the days of Noah!" she cried.

"It's only a summer shower," said Laura carelessly.

Having completed their purchases, they strayed to the far end of the boat and discovered a narrow, paneled door which led to a tiny private cabin.

"It would make a lovely play-house!" exclaimed Laura as they peeped in.

It certainly looked inviting with its gay rug and crimson-cushioned furniture.

"What do you say? Let's slip in and wait for the rain to be over!"

Laura's proposition almost took Alene's breath away.

"But will they allow?"

"Oh, yes, what difference could it make? It's empty, so we won't be in anyone's way!" returned Laura airily, and as the rain still beat upon the boat, and they were both very tired, having been on their feet for several hours, so they entered the inviting little parlor without further hesitation.

It was cosy and snug within but rather stuffy, the small windows being closed; but the girls seated side by side on the big chair beside the table found the situation very enjoyable.

"I feel like a traveler, as if we were taking a sail to some outlandish place," said Laura, getting up to adjust her hat before a small mirror set in the wall, beneath which was a stationary wash-stand with holes for bowl and pitcher.

"Let's pretend we're on one of those funny Chinese boats like Uncle Fred told me about; they have large, painted eyes without which no Chinaman would set sail. They say; 'No got eye, no can see—no can see, no can walkee!'"

Alene placed her bundles on the center table and leaned back cosily in the cushioned chair. She was in the midst of a reverie where a queer-looking Chinese mandarin was trying to persuade her to buy a blue glass pitcher, when Laura's voice brought her back to reality.

"Alene, Alene, it's moving—the boat!"

"But it's tied to that big iron ring—it can't move from the wharf!"

There was a creaking and straining of the woodwork around them which they had not noticed before. Laura ran to a window, followed by Alene. The hills appeared to be gliding by! Sure enough, the boat was moving; it had left the shore while they were talking.

For a moment they had a strange sensation.

"It's like being abducted," said Alene.

"Oh, dear, I wonder how far they will go!"

They ran through the paneled door to the front of the boat. The clerk was busy arranging his stock.

"Why, I thought everybody was gone!" he cried in surprise.

"We went into the cabin to rest awhile; we never dreamed you were going away. Where will the boat go?"

The young man laughed.

"Oh, don't get scared! We are only bound across the river a few miles above, to catch the train! Wait, maybe I can get Jones to return and land you first."

He came back in a few minutes.

"He says he can't do it; the captain is coming on the train and if we fail to meet him 'on the dot' it's as much as his job is worth. But it won't take very long and then we'll put back and land you at home."

The girls were forced to be content. They returned to the cabin and discussed the situation.

"I wish Ivy could have come along, she would enjoy this," cried Laura.

When the boat at length drew near to shore and a plank was thrown out, they went on deck and gazed around.

In front and on each side as far as they could see, a steep, scrubby bank reached up to the railway tracks which swept along the foot of the hills. A small wooden tower stood near the tracks a short distance away. The rain had ceased as suddenly as it had come and the sunlight lay on river and land.

"The train must be late," remarked the clerk. A muffled rumble was heard—"Hark, there it is now!"

But it turned out to be a freight, which drew its long length past, like a many-jointed snake.

Time passed slowly to the impatient girls. The young man ran up to the tower to make inquiries.

"The operator says our train may be hour late," he reported.

He felt very sorry for their dilemma, but he knew it would be useless to ask the man in charge to make a special trip to let them off.

Laura and Alene glanced at each other.

"If he says one hour, it may be more and then it will take quite a time to get back," murmured the former.

"Couldn't we walk to some bridge and cross over?"

"I don't know the way, and I never heard of any bridge nearer than Westville, three miles above. Let's take a walk, it'll help pass the time," proposed Laura.

They crossed the plank and wandered arm in arm along the shore.

"I suppose they'll soon have the bellman out ringing for us! To think the dire fate I've often predicted for Nettie when she tarries on the way from school should happen to myself instead!"

"Hello, there!"

Across the water came this welcome hail. A skiff manned by a boy came in sight rounding the bend of the river.

The girls paused and waved their handkerchiefs.

"Is he calling to us? I wonder who it can be!"

"Why, it's Mark Griffin!" cried Alene, with a gulp of delight.

They stood watching the movements of the skiff, fearing it would turn in some other direction and leave them in their plight.

"Maybe he's going on down the river," wailed Laura.

Alene waved her handkerchief more energetically.

"He wouldn't do that!"

"But he doesn't know we're abducted and cast away on this unfriendly coast," rejoined Laura, whose courage increased with the nearer approach of the boat.

It was evident the rower had no intention of turning aside; he aimed in their direction with even and rapid strokes of the oars which soon covered the expanse of water between.

"I noticed you girls running out on deck when the boat drew off and I thought something was wrong and hurried over to see," he explained half shyly, as he drew the boat to shore.

"Oh, have you come to take us home?" cried Alene. "How lovely of you!"

"I'll run back to the cabin for our packages," and Laura, not waiting for his reply, hurried away.

"If you don't object to going with me!"

"Object! Why, we are delighted at the chance! We didn't know what to do!"

Alene told the cause of their predicament, which the boy had already guessed.

"It seems funny you thought we would object to being rescued by you; you didn't wait to find out if we objected or not, that day at the picnic, and the day you faced the mad bull!"

He laughed.

"Excuse me, you see the old fellow was so quick he didn't give me a chance! But this is different!"

Alene was silent. She was afraid he might think her a great baby were she to say how very, very much relieved she was by his presence.

"Well, I guess Hugh Bonner would object," returned the lad.

Alene stepped gingerly into the boat, trying to hide her nervousness when it rocked beneath her and Mark came to her assistance.

"Sit here in the bow and I'll bail out this water," he said.

Alene found it a very spacious and pleasant seat; the rolling of the boat which had alarmed her when standing gave her only a delightful sensation. She put her hand over the side of the skiff and let the water glide through her fingers while she watched with interest the movements of the boy.

"You didn't answer my question," he remarked at last.

"What question?"

"About Hugh objecting."

"Why should he object? Here's Laura with our bundles!" She moved aside to let her friend step into the boat.

The packages were put in a safe place, Mark grasped the oars, Laura, who felt perfectly at home on the water, took a third oar and they started on their homeward way.

"How glad I am to leave the bleak coast of China!" cried Laura.

"You mean Glass-gow, don't you?" spoke up the boy, pointing over his shoulder to where the friendly clerk stood calling, 'Bon voyage!' from the deck of the glass-boat.

The girls laughed.

"I guess we will have to forgive him?"

Alene glanced across the water.

"I suppose we had better, at any rate until we reach dry land," she replied.

"Won't Ivy be sorry she missed this good chance to say 'thank you, sir,' for rescuing us again?" remarked Laura.

"Do you mean the little girl with the big, snapping eyes and—"

"Yes; she was offended with Hugh because he failed to drag you back with him to be thanked prettily by us girls!"

"I didn't want any thanks, but I suspect Hugh wasn't sorry I wouldn't go with him. I'm afraid he doesn't approve of me?"

Laura became suddenly occupied with her rowing and Alene felt called upon to answer.

"Why—" she hesitated.

"You needn't be afraid to say; I know they think I'm a bad case!"

"Oh—no, Hugh said you were all right by yourself!"

"Then he doesn't like my chums?"

"He said if you would give up those Stony Road boys—"

"I'm no snob to go back on a boy because he's poor!"

"Why, it's not that! Hugh and his chums are poor but—"

"They say they torture animals!" broke in Laura.

"I told them I was sure you wouldn't allow that," Alene protested.

Her warm defense seemed to mollify the boy; his air of mockery and resentment fell away and he gave her a grateful glance. Then his attention became absorbed in keeping the skiff a safe distance from some passing barges.

For a time there was silence. The boy cleared the tow and continued rowing, giving all his attention to the boat.

The girls glanced at each other, fearing they had offended him.

With a sudden impulse he ceased his energetic rowing and let the skiff drift. His face flushed as he said:

"For myself I make no defense, but you may tell Mr. Hugh that so far as my chums are concerned he's bearing false witness. They may be poor and rough and unruly, but they're not cruel! They belong to the Torchlights!"

"The Torchlights?" cried the girls in duet.

But the boy had resumed his oars, cutting the water vigorously as though glad of a vent for his pent-up indignation. Alene wondered what he meant by the Torchlights, but did not like to ask; Laura more venturesome inquired,

"The Torchlights? What are they?"

"A sort of club," he responded, shutting his mouth with an air of finality that vexed them.

They glanced at each other. Laura's half-curled lip said plainly, "As if we really cared!" and Alene's returned scornfully, "The idea!"

They pretended not to notice his taciturnity and talked lightly to each other of their purchases and other personal matters.

The lad, left to his own reflections, continued rowing manfully. Presently he announced,

"I'll land you at the upper end of the wharf, that will be nearer home."

"Oh, thank you, that will save us quite a walk!" returned Laura.

"And I'll get home before Uncle Fred," cried Alene.

"Wouldn't they all have been scared if we had had to wait for the glass-boat to take us home?"

The boy smiled. He thought there were others who would have been scared in that event.

"Is Mr. Fred Dawson your uncle?"

"Yes. Do you know him?"

"I used to be captain of the Fred Dawson Baseball Club," he replied with a tone of pride.

"How nice!" and Alene determined to ask her uncle all about it that very night. "Ah, here's the wharf! It seems to be coming right up to us!"

A few minutes later their light, little craft swept in to shore.

Mark gallantly gathered up the bundles and handed them out to Laura, who had skipped lightly across the bow to the bleached stones of the wharf, then he gave his hand to his more timid passenger and she stepped ashore.

"And the Happy-Go-Luckys will be on time as usual," cried Laura, as they said good-by to Mark, who intended taking the skiff farther up the river.

"The Happy-Go-Luckys? Who are they?" he exclaimed.

"A sort of a club," returned Laura demurely, glancing mirthfully at Alene ere they turned away to climb the hilly homeward path.



CHAPTER XXII

VEXATIONS AND CONSOLATIONS

Ivy turned disconsolately from the window. She had waved good-by to Laura and Alene when they had looked round at the corner ere passing from view on their way to the glass-boat.

The trip had been postponed from day to day in the hope of her being able to go along, and even at the last moment her friends had wished to give it up and devote the afternoon to an indoor meeting of the Happy-Go-Luckys; but Ivy would not have it so; she insisted on their going, she vetoed every argument to the contrary, but now that they were beyond recall and she faced the empty room she almost regretted her persistence.

And yet it was a pleasant room enough, with nothing of luxury to recommend it but having an air of quiet comfort. An unobtrusive wall paper, a green-and-oak carpet, a bright rug before the fire-place, which was filled with tall ferns; a picture of the "Mammoth Trees of California," above the mantel, a lamp with a green globe hanging over the center-table, a few chairs, and Ivy's couch drawn close to the two windows with their snowy curtains—all beautifully neat and clean, but alas, so tiresomely familiar to the little prisoner. Even the sight of her books piled at the foot of the lounge wearied her!

She threw aside the beloved Sunset Book after vainly trying to get interested in it. How flat and unprofitable it seemed! Why could she never write anything but the trite and useless things that almost anyone who was able to hold a pen could say as well or better? The verses about the four o'clocks, which the other day had seemed a pretty conceit, to-day sounded silly, fit only for the little waste-basket at her side, where she threw them with disdain.

Life was unprofitable, friends noticeable only by their absence; even the faithful Hugh had deserted her. He had made no motion toward "making up" since the day they went blackberrying—it would have served him right if the bull had put an end to her! If that boy Mark Griffin hadn't interfered—and why he had she didn't know, what business was it of his?—Hugh, instead of wearing his air of indifference, would be crying his eyes out beside her dead body—or rather her grave, for she would be buried and done with by this time. But no; here she herself, instead of Hugh, was crying over it! For the last week he had been even less attentive than ever; he was up and out long before she awoke in the mornings, came home at noon to snatch a hasty lunch and was off again after supper until bedtime, with only a careless nod to her, Ivy, whom he had hitherto allowed to claim all his attention and the little leisure time he could spare from his work as office-boy and assistant clerk in a real-estate firm down street.

Heigho! Who was that coming? Claude and Nettie, hand in hand, with beaming faces and crumby lips!

"Oh, you greedy youngsters, where do you put all the cake and things you devour, anyway?"

Simultaneously two mouths were opened wide.

"They are big enough naturally, you needn't stretch them! No wonder you are both noted dunces in your class—you are nothing but mouth and stomach! Come here, I've a little time. Let's see what you can do!"

"I can figure!" said Nettie proudly, but she eyed the slate upon which Ivy had written, half abashed.

"Three plus two equals what?" said Ivy.

"Six!"

"No, try again!"

"Six!" cried Nettie decidedly again.

"No; five, stupid!"

"Six," reiterated Nettie, "Teacher says so!"

"That's three multiplied by two; I said three plus—"

"Well, it's six at our school," declared Nettie doggedly, her eyes half filled with tears.

"To think you are any relation to Laura! Why, she's as bright—"

"She's big, and awful old, and not half as nice as Nettie!" cried Claude.

"Indeed, no wonder you stand up for her! You don't even know the alphabet!"

"Yes, I do!"

"Well, see here!" Ivy picked up his primer.

"I don't want to study—it's vacation!" said Claude, drawing back.

"He may injure his brain by overstudy; such a precocious scholar!"

Nettie pursed out her lip. "Precious scolder herself!" she muttered.

"Come, Claude, I'll give you this big red apple if you say it correctly," urged Ivy.

"A—B—C," commenced Claude bravely, "A—B—C—Poke Bonnet."

"No, that's D!"

"Well, it looks like a poke," returned Claude.

"How funny! It only needs a bow and string, see?" cried the little girl.

Claude proceeded with the letters:

"L—M—N—the same old hoop—I ought to know its name."

"O," whispered Nettie.

He turned upon her indignantly—

"I was just going to say O—that's easy! P—Q—R—little wormy thing—Oh, bother T—U—V—W—let's see, see-saw, X—wizie!" he concluded triumphantly and with a sudden movement he snatched the apple from Ivy's lap.

"Come back, you didn't earn it!" commanded Ivy.

"I did, didn't I, Nettie?" he cried, digging his uneven little teeth into the rosy cheek of the apple.

"Come here at once!"

Ivy reached for her crutches but Nettie, too quick for her, grabbed one and fled with Claude, while Ivy in a rage threw the other after them. Across the floor it sailed and hit against the wall with a resounding clap.

"That's the end of my teaching, and everything I do trying to help others ends just that way! Now in the story-books the children are good and no matter how dull, anxious to learn and thankful to be taught, and the teacher gets some satisfaction out of it! I believe the only respectable children are in books; the others are imps! Dear me! I feel like knocking my head against the wall!" She threw herself upon the sofa and pressed her face against its fir-scented cushions.

Presently soft footsteps were heard. A lady entered the room, and glancing from the discarded crutch to the couch, crossed the floor and placed her hand caressingly on the curly mop of hair.

"Are you asleep, Ivy?" she inquired gently.

"No, mamma, just thinking."

"Is there anything I can do? Here is a cool drink."

"No, thank you—yes, I guess I will, I am rather thirsty!" She sat up and eagerly drank the lemonade.

"Were the children naughty? I thought they might amuse you for a while—"

"They were simply diabolical—but just on a par with all the rest! The girls gone to enjoy themselves—and that hateful Hugh running away every day as though afraid I might encroach on his valuable time—and—"

"Hugh? Why, what has he done?"

"He's not been the same since that day we went blackberrying."

"'We have pleasant words for the stranger, And smiles for the sometimes guest; But for our own the bitter tone Though we love our own the best,'"

quoted Mrs. Bonner. "I'm afraid that's your way with Hugh, sometimes, Ivy, and as for the girls leaving you alone, you almost ran them out of the house!"

"They might as least have called in on their way home!"

"Have they gone past?"

"I haven't seen them, but they were to be back about half past four and see, it's nearly six—Ah, here they are now!"

The girls came bustling in.

"All the way from China!" cried Laura breathlessly.

Ivy listened to their adventures with glowing eyes.

"So the buccaneers took you captive for ransom and carried you across the ocean; but a gallant ship, flying the American colors and commanded by a brave knight, came to your relief, swept the pirate fleet from off the sea and brought you away, leaving the waves red with gore!"

"And here we are with all our valuables intact, even to this little vase of purest amethyst," said Alene, handing Ivy the blue glass goblet, while Laura gave a package to Mrs. Bonner, saying impressively:

"And these tumblers of priceless glittering crystal are yours, dear madame; here's your change—fifteen cents—they only cost a nickle apiece."

This called forth a chorus of mirthful exclamations, in the midst of which two little figures came quietly in. Emboldened by Ivy's smiling countenance, they stole to her side and displayed a collection of bright pebbles which they had picked up from the flat, tar-coated roof of the foundry, which, being built against a hill, was easily reached from the upper street.

"We gathered them for you," said Nettie shyly.

"Oh, girls, while you were in China, these tots journeyed to the sea-shore in search of treasure, and I'm the Princess Lazybones who sits at home, and receives her subjects' peace-offerings."

"There, Alene has forgotten something," said Mrs. Bonner, picking up a small bundle from the table. Laura reached for it, intending to overtake Alene who had gone away a few minutes before, but a glance showed that it was marked in pencil, "For Laura," in Alene's handwriting.

"For me, and she didn't buy a single thing for herself," grumbled Laura, untying the cord. "Isn't it just too sweet!" She held up a dish of pale pink glass with a knot of blue forget-me-nots in the corner.

"It's beautiful!" exclaimed Ivy. "I was just going to say that somebody else forgot to buy a single thing for herself, but I see Alene didn't forget her!"

"That little sly piece, and I never noticed her at it!" Laura said, secretly hoping that a certain quaint amber-colored bowl which she had deftly tucked away among Alene's purchases would prove as pleasant a surprise to Alene.

Hugh, coming in to supper just before Laura went home, peeped into the room in time to hear Ivy's laughing remark,

"We should confer upon Sir Mark the title of 'Rescuer-in-Chief to the Happy-Go-Luckys!'"

Hugh, with a hasty nod to the girls, turned away.

"Don't be in such a hurry, Hugh! I've just been telling Ivy how thrilling it was, when just in our moment of despair, Mark Griffin appeared—"

"Like the hero on a stage," interrupted Hugh.

"No, in a skiff," corrected Laura.

"I've no time for rhapsodies now," said Hugh curtly. He turned away with Ivy's voice, "Hear! Hear!" ringing mockingly on the air.

* * * * * *

Through the open window came the sound of children's voices,

"Here comes an old woman from New Foundland. With all of her children in her hand,"

shrill and clamoring, but powerless to disturb Ivy who, seated beside the window with her blue goblet beside her and a pad of writing paper on her lap, was busy writing.

After a series of brow puckerings and erasures, she gave a sigh of contentment.

"There it's finished! I'll read it over and put it in the Sunset Book to-morrow!"

The old woman from New Foundland had gone home to bed, and Claude, one of her shrill-voiced children, had rushed in sleepily and thrown himself upon the rug, where he lay oblivious to all things, when the absent-minded Ivy came out of her trance; the first thing she saw was his chubby, outstretched form with both arms flung above the touzled head from which his cap had partly fallen.

The smile of sisterly love and pride with which she enveloped him, must have pierced the vale of unconsciousness, for the lad stirred and smiled in his sleep.

Ivy took the goblet and poured the pebbles into her lap. They fell against one another with a velvety sound, and gave forth a rainbow of color, like precious stones in the light of the lamp.

She mused happily over them, the children's treasures, gathered so carefully and given so generously.

"How cross I was to-day and all for nothing! I must be one of those 'hirelings' who are always 'looking for consolations' for I feel consoled to-night; if only Hugh—"

A noise was heard in the little entry; footsteps and voices, and then a pushing as of something being moved up the steps.

"What's that? It's Hugh's voice and there's someone with him!"

Ivy glanced expectantly toward the open doorway. Presently Hugh and another boy, their faces reddened with exertion, appeared carrying some object between them. Could it be—yes, it was a writing desk, such as Ivy had often seen in dreams and store windows, but never hoped to possess! Her heart gave a sudden jump and then seemed to stand still.

"Bub, be careful you don't scrape it against the side of the door! Hello, sis—where's the best place to put it?"

Hugh tried to speak in a careless tone, but Ivy's scream of pleasure, the sudden crimson roses that bloomed in her thin cheeks, and the shower of stars which flashed through and dried the mist in her eyes, brought a funny grip to his throat; he gulped and made a wry face.

"Say, Fatty, look out! You knocked my hand against the wall!"

Attracted by the noise, Mrs. Bonner came in, Claude awoke and everybody crowded round to see the new article of furniture.

It was placed where Ivy could admire it at leisure, and the strange boy having said good-night, Hugh displayed a lovely bronze key, unlocked the lid and disclosed all its attractions.

"See this little drawer and the shelves, and the place for your ink and paper, and the large drawer below, and then there's a secret drawer I'll show you when the rest are not here," Hugh whispered the latter part.

A secret drawer! Ivy clapped her hands—what a heavenly culmination of attractions! And the desk as a whole, of quartered-oak with bronzed handles and a shelf with a tiny mirror above, was indeed a beauty.

"Oh, Hugh, how—where did you get it?"

"I've been working overtime nights at Pearson's furniture store. The old man's sick and his son had to stay home evenings. I bargained to stay in his place and take it out this way! I kind of thought you'd like it," Hugh explained breathlessly, glancing from his auditors to the desk.

"Oh, Hugh!" cried Ivy deprecatingly.

"It was dead easy! Hardest part was to keep it quiet so to surprise you. It wouldn't do to get too friendly or I'd a blurted it out!"

Hugh's head was bending over the desk, dangerously close to Ivy as it proved, for she gave his hair a sudden pull.

"Oh, Hugh, you good-for-nothing!" she cried.



CHAPTER XIII

THE CRIMSON BAG

"Uncle Fred, I'm going to play being poor for a whole week," said Alene, meeting Mr. Dawson at the gate one evening.

"What put that idea into your head, child?"

"You see it's so much more exciting to do things when you haven't money! We felt quite hilarious this afternoon when Nettie discovered that one could get a great big sugar cake for a cent at the new bakery. It was Ivy's treat and we all went in a crowd and bought half a dozen for five cents! We really don't see how they can afford to give such big ones!"

"They depend on large sales and small profits, no doubt; besides it will attract other customers. A good advertisement too, for here am I, for one, who would have gone past the new bakery a hundred times, never once glancing that way, never dreaming of those elephantine sugar cakes, were it not for you! Are you sure the bakery didn't bribe you girls to sound their praises?"

"The idea!"

"It's not so foolish after all; I'm almost famished for one of those sugar cakes. Greedy Alene, to devour them every one!"

"No, I did not! There was Laura and Ivy, and Nettie and Claude, and Lois and little Elmer, besides myself, to divide among!"

"Which suggests my school days and problems in arithmetic! I think this would be a question in short division or would it be short cake?"

"No, indeed! We all had almost enough! But, Uncle, do behave! Here's my purse; I want you to keep it."

"'With all my lordly goods I thee endow!' Why, thank you, Miss Dawson! I hear the gold pieces clinking! But I don't know if my mamma will allow me to accept such valuable presents!"

There was a little gurgling laugh from Alene.

"Do let me finish! I only want you to keep it for me until the end of the week!"

"Indian giver! Indian giver! Take your old purse! I guess it was only the clink of pennies I heard, anyway!"

Alene clasped her hands behind her back.

"You must keep it or I can't play being poor! Now Uncle, won't you be good! I feel so ashamed to have so much when the other girls have so little, and I want to try it for just one little week; besides, it will be fun!"

"Fun for you, but what a temptation to put in your own Uncle's way! However I don't want to be too selfish. I'll keep the purse."

"For a week. Thank you, Uncle!"

"Have you any more stray pennies to put in my charge?"

"I have exactly six cents left and I must get along on that."

"Won't you allow me to contribute an occasional quarter?"

"Well, not more than a nickel at a time. Just pretend I'm a poor little girl who is hired to run errands at the Towers!"

"And if you demand part of the content of the purse?"

"Don't give it to me! But I shan't!"

Alene held her week's allowance in her hand until they entered the house; then she placed it beside her plate at dinner. She found it troublesome keeping track of it.

"I need a small purse to put it in. There's a pretty one for a quarter at Nixon's store—ah, I forgot already, I haven't enough money."

Uncle Fred offered her the use of a flat red-morocco pocketbook, but Alene said it was not convenient to carry, and besides, people would expect so much from its size! She at last decided to use a small knit bag of crimson silk with silver rings, which she kept in a box upstairs.

The next day she had a long letter to mail to her parents, and the girls accompanied her to the post-office.

On the way back they heard music.

They soon came to where the players stood, a crippled Italian and a little, dark-skinned boy, with a harp and violin.

At the conclusion of several numbers the boy went through the crowd, holding out his battered cap.

Laura put in all she had, a bright new cent.

"I haven't a penny," lamented Ivy.

"I have just one solitary, shamed little fellow, done up in crimson satin and silver buckles," announced Alene, taking the pretty bag from her wrist.

Ivy giggled.

"Everybody is looking, Alene! They expect a piece of silver, at least, from that gorgeous purse!"

"Well, I can't help it! I paid a nickle postage on my letter, you know!"

"Yes, I know, but the rest of the town is in ignorance of that great expenditure."

"You needn't laugh, Miss Bonner. Considering the amount of my capital, it was a big payment to meet!"

"And so early, too, in your poverty-stricken career, I can sympathize with you," said Laura.

The bright bag with its shining rings, over which the heads of the three girls were bent, seemed to have attracted the attention of the crowd as Ivy had said, and the penny, hidden away in its crimson corner, while Alene fumbled in vain for it, held them longer in the public gaze.

Laura gave a relieved sigh and Ivy a squeak of delight when it at last appeared, and Alene dropped it, as if it burned her fingers, into the outstretched cap.

As she turned away with cheeks that were blazing to match the hue of the bag, a tall boy standing near lifted his hat courteously, and gave way to her.

"Sir Mark!" whispered the irrepressible Ivy. "And looking as grave as a cemetery, without the ghost of a smile!"

"If he hadn't, I'd never, never have spoken to him again!" declared Alene. "Girls, I can sympathize now with those who would like to help others and can't."

"Giant Generosity with his pigmy purse," suggested Ivy.

"It's so much pleasanter as well as more blessed to give," remarked Laura.

"But, after all, money isn't everything!" said Alene. "If we are poor we can still give love and sympathy and unselfishness—"

"And advice," broke in Ivy. "And feel the richer the more we give!"

Alene said never a word to her uncle, that evening, relative to the state of her finances. She kept her collapsed purse hidden away.

"When one is poor, one is too proud to beg!" Which reflection did not keep her from being very glad when Mr. Dawson remarked:

"Here, child, is a nickle for the little maid who trimmed my lamp so nicely."

She dropped him a courtesy.

"Thank you, Uncle. I think she will be very glad to get it. I feel quite prosperous again," she said, shutting the coin away in her crimson bag.

Mr. Dawson laughed.

"I suspect you will find that wealth has its uses, and when you are of age and have command of a large sum of money, I only hope that you will use it well. I think your experiences as a Happy-Go-Lucky will teach you much that you would not otherwise learn."

"There's one thing I should like to do—find that clever doctor who cures the lame children, and have him cure Ivy. When I'm grown up I'll build a hospital just for the poor children—but then it will be too late to help her!"

"My friend Dr. Medway, who assists in those operations, promised to pay me a visit this summer," remarked the gentleman.

Alene clapped her hands.

"Oh, I'm so glad!"

"What about, Miss Jump-at-Conclusions?"

"To think that if I'm not grown up, someone else is," said Alene mysteriously.

Uncle Fred made no reply but smiled thoughtfully as he puffed away at his pipe.

* * * * * *

Heralded by Prince's loud barking, and escorted by Jed and Kizzie, who ran out to investigate, a vendor, laden with a large square basket, came to the kitchen door. Alene, who was at luncheon, hurriedly gulped down her coffee and joined the group.

The man opened his basket and exhibited some really fine specimens of Mexican drawn-work, beaded moccasins and Indian blankets.

Mrs. Major bought a centre piece, Kizzie a collar-and-cuff set, and Alene looked longingly at a pair of dainty moccasins that were now, alas, beyond her means. She thought regretfully of the cut-steel purse in Uncle Fred's possession.

"But even if he were here I wouldn't ask for it. That would be breaking my word," she said sturdily. The man used all his persuasive powers in vain; she looked and longed and sadly shook her head.

At last he took from the bottom of the basket a long wooden box, and raised the lid.

"How lovely!" They all crowded round with cries of admiration.

"You thinka them vair fine!" the man said, picking up a handful and turning them over in the light till they shone like fairy lanterns of rainbow-tinted dew.

"Here-a is whata you call heem, black fire opal, here-a meelk, here-a cherry, here-a blue!" cried the seller volubly.

Alene stood in silent ecstasy! How she would love to buy three, one each for Laura, Ivy and herself! She knew she could borrow the money from Mrs. Major, and repay her upon Uncle Fred's return that evening, or even let it stand until the next week, when she would regain her fortune but—

"And here-a, leettle lady, ees de jewelry—de feela-gree broocha and de Swastika charm," continued the man persuasively, having noted the little girl's indecision. The others, who were aware of her vow of voluntary poverty, looked on in sympathy and were ready, as she knew, to help her if she desired.

"The other girls often wish to buy, and it's just as hard for them when they can't; besides, it wouldn't be right to borrow for such things when one is poor, and I'm not supposed to know this week that I'll be able to afford it next," reasoned Alene, shaking her head the more energetically to fortify her resolution.

The man, disappointed, slowly repacked his wares, shouldered them and shambled away, while Alene stood looking on.

"After all, opals are unlucky," said Kizzie consolingly.

Alene felt Prince's soft nose against her hand.

"You feel sorry, don't you, old fellow? But this is what the rest of the Happy-Go-Luckys have to bear all the time! I've been used to going through the world picking up everything I fancied, with never a thought for others who had to go without. This is a sort of experience week for me! But cheer up, Prince Sobersides, and come along for a run!"

* * * * * *

"Girls, this is the Crimson Bag's last night, and it's my treat!" announced Alene, when she met her friends Saturday evening.

They proceeded blithely down the street, dressed in their best, in honor of the evening which was generally observed in the town as the gala time of the week, when the stores were kept open to accommodate the workingmen who were paid that night, and the young people promenaded Main Street as far as the ice-cream parlors.

When the girls reached "Clyde's Parlors and Restaurant," as the highly gilded sign in the window proclaimed it, they found the place crowded.

Ivy gave Laura a nudge and the latter, turning suddenly, collided with another girl.

"I beg your pardon—Oh, Hermione, is it you?"

"You can't think it's my ghost that nearly knocked your hat off! Ah, there's your other two-thirds, Alene and Ivy! How d'you do, girls?" She paused for a chat until Vera with several other girls came along on their way out of the store.

"Ah, good evening, Alene! Let me introduce my friends," she said, proceeding with the ceremony and totally ignoring Laura and Ivy.

"And these are my friends, Miss Lee and Miss Bonner," said Alene.

Vera soon hurried her party away, but they had gone only a few steps when she paused at a show case, apparently much interested in its contents.

"I want to see what Alene Dawson is going to buy!" she explained in an undertone. "That's the reason she likes to go with those girls; she can 'show off' more with them and act the Lady Bountiful! Mamma says it's a shame for her uncle to allow her so much money to throw away!"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, come along, girls; it's none of our affair," said she, but Vera's words had aroused the curiosity of the others and they loitered beside her.

All unconscious of their spying, Alene and her friends went their way. Instead of taking seats at one of the many little tables placed invitingly around, they stopped at the next counter. Alene unfastened the crimson bag and gravely searched within it.

"More show!" whispered Vera.

"Three Dill pickles, please; you need not wrap them up," said Alene, laying a nickle on the counter.

Then Vera made a hasty retreat amid the raillery of her friends.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE GARDEN PARTY

"Letters for the whole bunch!" cried Lafe Bonner, coming into the sitting-room on his return from the post-office. "Hugh Bonner, E—s—q—Esquimau—wonder why they call his nibs that? Master Donald Bonner, Master Roy Bonner, Little Claude Bonner, Master Walter Bonner and—" Lafe stammered and got very red when he saw the address 'Gen. Lafayette Bonner.' "One for me, too," he continued hurriedly; "and last for Mrs. L. Bonner."

All the members of the family in reach took their letters, and Ivy, seated at her new writing desk in the corner next to the window, turned round expectantly, saying,

"Where's mine?"

Lafe held up his empty hands.

"You may search me! Somebody's forgotten this time!"

"Come here," commanded Ivy.

Lafe advanced, wearing a guileless expression until Ivy ran her hand into his empty coat pocket, and fumbling round, found a snug space in the lining and brought forth the missing epistle.

"Of course I couldn't fool her in that," mused Lafe sheepishly, when he read the contents of his high titled note:

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO A

GARDEN PARTY AT THE TOWERS ON

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER THE FIRST.

HOURS 1:30 TO 8 P. M.

The opening of the mail, always an important event in the town, had proved a pleasantly exciting one that day.

There was a shower of white envelopes from the little square window. Almost everyone who called received one or more, according to the number of children in the family; many regular inquirers who were never known to get even a circular, were at last rewarded, and proudly waved their little white banners so that all the world might see. The unusually large number of mail-bearing pedestrians gave Main Street a gala air.

Ivy, on watch at the window, hugged herself and smiled contentedly, for was she not one of the conspirators who, in league with the Post-office Department, had sent all those little white flags a-flutter through the town?

It was Mr. Dawson who had suggested the idea.

"You have enjoyed so many merry-makings at your friends' hands, don't you think it would be a good thing to make some return, Alene alanna?" he inquired one evening, when they sat by the library table, he smoking a pipe as usual, while Alene finished a page of a daily journal which she sent each week to her parents.

She beamed at the questioner across the table.

"Oh, Uncle Fred, I'd love to! What shall we do? May I get the girls to help, and make it a regular Happy-Go-Lucky affair?"

"Certainly—and the boys, too, if you wish. I notice they are generally mustered in, 'to help or to hinder,' as the case may be. You might have an outside party if the weather is fine."

"And then we could invite so many more!"

"Invite all the town if you wish. I'll see that there's enough big sugar cakes to go round if we break the bakery. Suppose you ask Mrs. Major and Kizzie in, and see how it strikes them!"

Alene skipped away and soon returned with the buxom housekeeper and the rosy little maid, all in a stir of excitement.

"I see Alene had no trouble in finding enthusiastic allies," said Uncle Fred in his genial way, that always set people at ease.

Everybody found seats and a pleasant hour followed in offering suggestions and making plans, while Prince lay on the rug lazily nodding approbation, or giving a friendly bark when Alene asked his opinion.

That was only the beginning of a happy time. The girls were deep in blissful preparations the next ten days; the cheerful helpers, Mat and Hugh, held many consultations with Jed and the gardener and Uncle Fred; an array of pavilions, swings, maypoles, rustic seats and tables sprang up in the Towers' grounds, and the kitchen range glowed like a furnace, turning out enough good things to feed a multitude.

Laura, Ivy, and Alene spent two afternoons in the library, making out lists and addressing invitations. Uncle Fred peeped in once or twice, bringing sheets of postage-stamps.

"May I take a few invitations? There are some fellows big and little I'd like to ask," he inquired.

Alene glanced up from her task, pen in hard and nodded absent-mindedly.

"I suppose so."

Apparently overwhelmed by her condescension, he furtively picked up half a dozen invitations and slouched away with a culprit-like mien that made Ivy lean back in her chair and laugh till she was out of breath.

Alene gazed at her wonderingly with such an innocent air that another explosion resulted, and sober Laura, all unaware of the little by-play, gave Ivy a smart rap on the back, which only increased her mirth.

"Hysterics?" inquired Alene.

"I thought she was choking, but she's only practising to be a contortionist," returned Laura, gazing apprehensively at the convulsed figure beside her.

"You girls will be the death of me, along with Mr. Dawson; he looked so funny," explained Ivy, in gasps, wiping her eyes.

They settled back to work with a will.

"Shall we ask Mark Griffin?" inquired Laura. "I have him on my list."

"So have I."

"And I!"

"One invitation will answer, I fancy! Kindly address it, Miss Dawson."

"And now the Happy-Go-Luckys may be as reckless as they please; fall off tree-tops, get lost in the grape-arbors, or tumble into the fountain—it's all the same," cried Ivy.

"If he comes!"

"Perhaps he won't, without his band of buccaneers. I wonder if they are the Torchlights," said Alene.

"He 'shut up like a clam' as Mat says, when I asked him that day, but I got even with his High Mightiness," returned Laura.

"Say, girls," broke in Ivy, "I feel kind of lonesome! Everybody in town will have a bid but us."

"Poor child, she shall have one!" Alene held out for inspection a missive duly stamped and addressed.

"Now, Ivy, you might address Hermione's, and I'll send Vera's."

Ivy made a grimace.

"I'm glad you don't put it the other way!"

"I'd like to ask Hermione to help in our tissue-paper work, but we can't ask her without Vera."

"Hermione's a dear, so for her sake let's set up with Vera," said Laura.

Ivy gave a prodigious groan.

"'Take the bitter with the sweet,' though it will be Vera bitter."

So it came to pass that the library was the scene of many more busy hours, and the working-force of the Happy-Go-Luckys was increased by the Ramsey girls, who threw themselves heartily into the making of tissue-paper caps, rosettes and flowers, in which Vera proved an adept, and her productions were so much admired and praised by the others that she became quite amiable, and gave them no reason to regret the invitation.

The time went fast enough to these busy workers, though it seemed very slow to the rest of the young people.

Every lawn in town flew yards of dainty garments all belaced and beruffled; many small frocks and waists having seen much service were patched and mended to see more, there was an epidemic of ribbons, curling-irons, and fancy slippers, which grew worse as the great day approached, and when it came at last—as fine a day as one could wish—each house sent forth its quota of shining-faced, bedizened merry-makers to besiege the Towers' gates.

The smaller children were directed to the library, where they were captured by the larger girls, decorated with tissue-paper favors and set loose; "like a flock of birds and butterflies," as Hermione said, or "a plague of hungry locusts," to quote Ivy, who stood on the porch at the front door watching their flight.

"I don't want this old red cap," declared Claude.

"And I want a yellow one like Lawa's weaf," wailed Lois, while Nettie, for once figuring as amiability, with a blue top-knot on her golden tresses, only lingered with the others to give them countenance, as it were.

"Shoo, shoo!" cried the unfeeling Ivy, waving them away with her skirts. "Who are those boys who went past just now, looking so much amused, Laura? The short one stared at you as if he knew you."

"I didn't notice," returned Laura, glancing after the lads.

"It's that boy you made buy the white pitcher," said Alene.

"The other looks like one of Mark Griffin's soldiers of misfortune. Hoy, Mat!" Ivy hailed the latter in passing. "Who are those boys?"

"Bud Waters and Artie Orr; they came with Mark Griffin and Jack Lever,—there's Jack now."

"That thin boy leaning on the cane? I wondered who he was!"

"Yes, he's been laid up with a broken leg; is just able to hobble round; that's the reason we haven't seen him and Mark together for so long. They are hobnobbing with the Stony Road gang to-day."

"The gang? Why, are they all here?"

"Five or six, I should say. Mr. Dawson seemed to know them and sent Jed to show them round."

"That explains where Uncle Fred's invitations went."

"I shouldn't wonder if he knows all about the Torchlights, too!"

"Neither should I, Laura."

"The Torchlights?" cried Vera; "Who are they?"

"'A sort of club,'" said Laura, shutting her lips together in an imitation of Mark.



CHAPTER XXV

IVY'S FRIEND

In the middle of the afternoon as Ivy sat alone on a bench beneath a tree, listening to the band and watching the children circling merrily round a number of maypoles, she heard a voice at her side:

"Excuse me, but may I have part of your seat?"

"Why, certainly!" she said, making room for the speaker, a middle-aged man with genial blue eyes and a blonde beard, who was dressed in an easy-fitting, light suit, and carried a large book which he placed with his hat on the grass at his feet.

"I guess he's a friend of the housekeeper's; I noticed him speaking with her to-day," thought Ivy, her gaze straying back to the light-footed dancers.

"It looks easy, twirling those ribbons around the poles, but isn't it rather warm weather, for dancing?"

Ivy turned upon him a pair of eyes full of pity for his ignorance.

"Why, it would be lovely! I'm sure I'd never think of the heat if—" she glanced eloquently at the crutches which leaned against the tree.

"It's too bad, at a time like this especially; I shouldn't like that either! Though my dancing days are past, I like to walk a lot and gather 'yarbs an' things,'" he said. Taking up the big black book, he displayed a collection of pressed plants, leaves and flowers, in which Ivy took so much interest that he showed her through the book, explaining the value and rarity of his treasures gathered from many places, and relating incidents connected with his travels in search of them.

Ivy gave a sigh of admiration.

"How lovely to travel that way! One could write a book about it!"

"Do you like to write? I hope then you will get a chance some day to visit all those countries."

Ivy shook her head.

"Not hopping around on those," she said bitterly, and with a few sympathetic questions he drew from her the sad story of her affliction. She was afterwards surprised at her own volubility, being, as a rule, very shy with strangers.

"I have seen children who were even worse than you completely cured," he said; he related several instances while Ivy listened with flaming cheeks and glistening eyes. A dozen questions trembled on her tongue when a crowd of girls came along, one of whom paused beside her, saying,

"Ivy, Ivy, come on! Don't you hear the bell?"

"Oh, Laura, I forgot all about eating," said Ivy somewhat ruefully.

The stranger smiled.

"Then you are the only one to forget, for see, the youngsters are racing from everywhere right upon us." He glanced at his watch. "Four o'clock—it's time for me to seek my place at the visitors' table!" He picked up his book and hat while the girls hurried away.

The children assembled in front of the Towers and marched in five battalions headed by chiefs wearing different colored tissue-paper wreaths.

Laura with yellow roses led the yellow-capped tots; Vera with blue flowers, the blue-capped ones; Hermione crowned with lilacs, the lavender; Ivy in crimson roses, the red, and Alene in pink roses, the pink.

A few of the children marched in wrong companies. Lois, despite her blue cap, clung closely to her beloved "Lawa."

"With Claude it's not color blindness, but Nettie," explained Ivy, when that rebellious red-cap was seen stepping brazenly in Vera's train.

Vera for once seemed to forget herself in seeing to the welfare of her small charges, who one and all regarded her with admiring eyes; she enjoyed the sensation of being the centre of attraction and graciously accepted their homage, although the majority were "nobodies" whom she had affected to despise.

"Vera bitter has become Vera sweet," observed Ivy, giving a shy nod to the Botanist who was seated with the other grown-ups at the visitors' table watching the children filing past. Beside him was Mrs. Ramsey, resplendent in black net over coral-colored silk, who at that moment was explaining for his benefit:

"The tall, fair girl, wearing blue flowers, is my daughter Vera, and there is Hermione, my oldest, in white with the lilac wreath."

"The Happy-Go-Luckys are partial to tissue-paper," Mr. Dawson said, smilingly.

"The dear girls! And the tots look like fairies in those pretty caps!" said the lady, proud of her daughters' success.

"This active life has certainly done wonders for Freddie's little niece. She was pale and delicate when she came here in the spring and look at her now!" and Miss Marlin, a slight little woman in Quakerish gray, smiled at Alene whose cheeks outvied the roses in her wreath.

"Her mother will be delighted to find her so improved," said Mrs. Ramsey. "My girls think the world of Alene and that funny club, the what-do-you-call-'ems?"

"The Happy-Go-Luckys," suggested Mrs. Major, who wore her best black silk in honor of the day.

The Happy-Go-Luckys, unconscious of having won a champion, passed on to their respective tables; soon all were placed and with mirth and laughter the feast began.

And what a feast it was!

"Niagaras of lemonade, seas of milk and coffee, pyramids of fruit, hills of candy, mountains of cake, whole continents of toothsome things—"

"Not forgetting Sandwich Islands," said Jack Lever, interrupting Mat's flow of oratory.

"Is that in reference to our cannibalistic appetites?" inquired Mark Griffin.

"'The bogie man will get you if you don't be good!'" squealed Artie Orr in a high falsetto voice.

"Who is that farmer-looking gentleman at the visitors' table? The one speaking to Mr. Dawson?" Ivy asked in an aside of Kizzie who flitted from one table to another, her rosy face like a small sun shining above a cloud of pink and white lawn.

"He's visitin' Mr. Fred—he's from the city, I think. He just came to-day and I didn't hear his name."

"Why, that's Dr. Medway," said Alene; "he's from Dr. Luke's hospital."

"I never dreamed he was a doctor! I talked away like a graphophone, and he told me about many children worse than I am who were cured, just think!"

"Oh, Ivy, Ivy, he'll cure you then!" cried Alene with a quick breath of ecstasy.

Ivy's joy subsided; the tears came in her eyes.

"But I guess it would cost a fortune," she said dejectedly.

Shortly after lunch Dr. Medway, sauntering along the walk enjoying a cigar and escorted by Prince, who had taken a fancy to him, was arrested by a voice.

"I beg your pardon, sir, but are you Dr. Medway?"

"I am. What can I do for you, young man?"

"Ivy, the little lame girl—I'm her brother, Hugh Bonner—you told her about so many cures—Oh, sir, if you would undertake to cure her—why, I haven't any money now, but I'd pay you some day if it took me a lifetime, and I'd—I'd work my fingers to the bone for you!" cried the lad, forgetting in his earnestness the dignified speech he had prepared, and speaking with all the intensity of his long-cherished desire.

"You are a good brother, Hugh, my lad, but I'm not a Shylock. I heard of the little girl before I came here. I shall see your mother about her to-morrow; and be assured the main thing is to cure Ivy—nothing else matters!" and the doctor gave Hugh's hand a vigorous grip.



CHAPTER XXVI

AN ADVENTURE

"Where is Lois?" Laura flitted from one group of people to another, growing anxious in her continued failure to get any information.

"She was naughty, and she's gone!" screamed Claude and Nettie, who came rushing hand in hand out the front door.

"Where did she go?"

"Over the roof."

Laura grew pale.

"The roof? Whereabouts? Where is she, I say? Where were you?" She took hold of their shoulders as if to shake the answers out of them.

Alas, when they spoke her worst fears were confirmed! The children had climbed the four flights of steps to the tower room, where Lois had crawled out upon the roof; they called to her and in trying to turn she had slipped out of sight over the edge.

Laura ran moaning toward the foot of the tower, dreading to find a little crushed body lying there inert, but no! the crowd was gazing upward horror-stricken, and she caught a glimpse of a white object clinging to a swinging ladder high up in the air.

Between the second story and the sloping tower roof a scaffold had been erected by workmen who were repairing the walls. Fearing possible injury to the children by falling stones, Mr. Dawson had instructed them not to work on the day of the picnic and they had secured the scaffold from the reach of mischievous boys, placing it fortunately just in position to arrest the child's fall.

"If only she doesn't get dizzy!" a voice was saying and Laura for the first time noticed that a boy was scaling the wall. Favored by the thick vines and uneven stones up he went with the agility of an acrobat. He was bareheaded and the sun shone on his face, reddened with exertion, and on his sandy hair and Laura recognized him as one of the Stony Road boys, the one she had talked with on the glass-boat.

"It's Bud Waters—the rest of us were too heavy to try it, and he was off like a squirrel, soon as he saw the child," explained Mat hurriedly. He was with a crowd of boys, among whom were Mark, Hugh, and Jed, carrying a coil of rope.

"We're going up to the roof—if she only holds out that long!"

"Mat, Mat, it's our Lois!" wailed Laura. She saw Mat's face blanch, and the crowd passed, leaving her half crazed. She knew that Alene and Ivy were standing beside her with tears in their eyes, murmuring half audible prayers, but she did not see them. Her gaze turned steadily upon the little hanging figure, and on the boy who went climbing up the wall.

Ah, he has almost reached the goal—he has grasped the ladder—a thrill went through the crowd—he is holding the little one safe from harm! Then, seated beside her on the ladder, he gave a whoop of joy that was answered by the crowd's enthusiastic cries. A moment later the other boys were seen at the narrow windows above and the rope came gliding over the roof.

Then everything became a blur to Laura; she heard a shout of many voices and knew no more until she found herself sitting on a bench with Mrs. Major fanning her, Miss Marlin demanding fiercely from everybody why she had forgotten to bring her lavender salts, Kizzie dancing round with a glass of water, and Ivy and Alene kneeling on the grass chafing her hands, and then, oh blessed sight, Uncle Fred coming across the lawn with Lois safe in his arms!

On seeing her big sister, she stuck a tiny finger into her mouth half abashed.

"Lawa, don't cwy! I didn't mean to go so far down the woof!" she cried, cuddling into Laura's arms.

"Oh, girls! I could kneel to that boy! I'd go and kiss him now only I know boys hate to be fussed over!" declared Laura.

"I'll give him a bushel of kisses!" cried Lois rapturously, whereupon they kissed her all round while Nettie looked on enviously at the stir the little maid was making.

"I wonder why when I'm naughty I get a scolding instead of kisses," she confided to Claude.

"I suppose it's because you've never been quite that naughty, though you've been pretty bad," he said, which latter assurance consoled his chum.



CHAPTER XXVII

IN THE TOWER

Later in the evening when the smaller children had gone home, some of the others proposed a visit to the tower room to view the sunset, and a gay crowd scurried up the stairs.

Ivy, who could climb the stairs almost as nimbly as her mates, lingered in the rear with Jack Lever.

"It's pretty hard lines," he remarked smilingly, answering her sympathetic expression.

"Yes, indeed, but you will be all right in no time! Just be thankful it won't last for years and years!"

"The brave little gipsy!" thought Jack. He gave her a kindly glance, noting with an insight gained by his late acquaintance with pain, the marks of suffering always so pathetic on a childish face.

"Things like this teach us a lot, don't you think? I feel as if I'd become quite old, tied so long to a sofa, like a thing-um-bub—those lace affairs the girls make, you know—"

"A tidy?"

"Untidy I call 'em, always sticking to a fellow's coat! If it wasn't for the Torchlights, I'd have gone all to pieces."

Ivy started, but curbing her curiosity and profiting by Laura's experience she merely repeated,

"The—the Torchlights?"

"Yes, our club, you know."

Ivy felt that Jack was ready and willing to enlarge upon the theme; she chuckled inwardly, gleefully anticipating the tale she would have for the other girls.

Alas, at that moment Jed came up the stairs with a large pitcher of lemonade and glasses on a tray, and Kizzie followed with a huge frosted cake.

"We thought you would like this, along with the sunset," she said.

Together they climbed the fourth and last flight of stairs and received a noisy greeting from the others on entering the tower room.

Jack gave them an elaborate bow.

"I assure you, my friends, we feel flattered by this demonstrative welcome."

"We don't want to throw cold lemonade on your joy, me boy, but your credentials are excellent," returned Mat, taking the cake from Kizzie.

Jed and the little maid, assisted by the boys, proceeded to pour out lemonade and to cut cake amid the clinking of glasses and merry talk.

The tower room was of octagon shape; crimson tapestry curtains edged with tarnished gilt fringe hung at the eight narrow windows, and a rug of faded crimson velvet half covered the painted floor. A heavy walnut table and a revolving bookcase graced the centre of the room, and an old fashioned wooden settee and several ancient chairs stood round, now occupied by the young people who ate and drank and chattered, the majority quite unmindful of their journey's object—Old Sol, in his departing splendor, glorifying the clouds with prismatic color, ere he sank beyond the far-reaching hills.

"You look quite uplifted," cried Alene, when Ivy, one of the few onlookers, turned from the window.

She gave an expressive glance backward toward the fast-fading sky.

"It's that and something Hugh just told me. He spoke to Dr. Medway—"

"Yes, I know, and oh, I'm so glad!"

"And I too!" cried Laura, joining them.

"I like Dr. Medway; he never once called me 'an interesting case' but talked as if I were just a little girl he would like to see cured. When I think of it I feel so queer, I have to keep tight hold of my crutches, to keep from floating away into the air, like a balloon!" Ivy glanced across the room. "Things seem to be upside down, for there I imagine I see Hugh and Mark Griffin buzzing together like two old gossips!"

"It's not imagination; all the boys are as amiable as the children when they play Mrs. Come-to-See! They were tottering on the brink of friendship and Lois toppled them over into each other's arms."

"You Happy-Go-Luckys look to your laurels; Hugh and I belong to a club of our own now!" called Mat.

"What, the Torchlights?" chorused the three.

He looked surprised.

"How did you know about it?"

They looked wise but said not a word, and Ivy whispered to the girls how near she had come to finding out.

At that moment, taking a glass of lemonade, Mark Griffin stood up.

"To the clever and plucky, The Happy-Go-Lucky—club!"

he cried, with a sly smile, which told them he knew all about it.

"How did you know?" asked one.

"Who told you?"

"Hugh, that was shabby of you!"

"You girls are always patching up some mystery or other. How was I to know?" said Hugh.

Jack Lever, who was leaning against the table, came over and sat on the settee beside the girls.

"Mark didn't play fair; he never said a word about it till Mat and Hugh had told your secret, so to get even I'll tell you his."

Amid the girls' applause and Mark's protests he commenced.

"You ought to know Phillip Gamer, the first Torchlight, ran away from home when he was twelve to join the Salvation Army. He was a drummer boy in the ranks until a detective, hired by his dad, shadowed him and brought him home, but last year at school he said the Army had helped him to a view of a question which had puzzled him all his life. His mother declared that even as a baby, he had protested in lusty tones against silver-backed hair-brushes and perfumed soaps, and when the nurse perambulated him in the park, a bunch of ragged, barefoot kids would surround the beaming youngster in his silk-lined carriage. There might be a dozen other baby vehicles round, which they wouldn't think of touching, nor of speaking to those tony babies, but they seemed to overlook Phil's frills and laces and took to him like brothers.

"At school he refused one of the high-priced rooms, because it would separate him in a way from the boys he wished most to meet, the boys who thought things out for themselves. Phil's coming knocked out that feeling,—a sort of caste—which divided the rich scholars from the poor; his room was a meeting point—the plane upon which they became fellow-men. Here the Torchlights came into being. Our counter-sign, The Brotherhood of Man, and though there was only one of us who intended to work as a minister in the slums, each was pledged to individual effort in his own locality.

"Mark and I were the only Torchlights from this town, and the first thing I did when I got home was to break my bones in a runaway, and that put me out of the race."

"But it didn't keep him from doing a lot for the boys," said Mark. "Every week we all visited him and had a jolly evening with games, reading and singing and a dandy lunch. At first Jack's people rather scouted the idea of entertaining the Stony Road gang. The first night one of them cut a fine china plate in two, and another shied egg-shells over his shoulder against the wall. Mrs. Lever was horrified, but we begged her to wait and give us another trial."

"Now mother and the rest are completely won over and help us lots. I believe I would have knocked my brains out against the wall this summer, only for the Torchlights. I found we can't do good to others without receiving a reactionary benefit. As Phil says, many a rich lad joins in a patronizing way, thinking he's going to revolutionize things, and soon finds it's himself that needs to be done over."

"We were surprised to find a sister club ahead of us here, but we are not at all jealous!" said Mark.

"We can help each other out."

"I thank you in the name of the Happy-Go-Luckys! The Torchlights are fine!" said Laura heartily.

"We might all take for our club poem this little verse," and, half embarrassed by the sudden silence, Alene recited softly—

"'Jesus bids us shine, With a clear pure light, Like a little candle, Burning in the night. In the world is darkness, So we must shine, You in your corner, And I in mine.'"

"Your lights are torches, you can take them with you out into the world," said Laura.

"As we are all so solemncholy, I'll propose a toast:

'To the dear, ducky duckies, The Happy-Go-Luckys!'"

cried Mat.

"And here's another—take it for your motto:

'For lofty flights The Torchlights!'"

Ivy's neat allusion brought forth three cheers for Bud Waters.

"Mr. Dawson inquired about Bud to-day. I bet he'll look out for him, though he has been kind to the Torchlights all along."

The girls glanced at each other as if to say, "What did I tell you?"

"The other day he gave us the use of a big room over his offices; said we could use it for a library and he'd provide the books and furniture," said Mark.

"When there's 'something doing' in the way of reform, Fred Dawson is right there," said Jack.

Whereupon there followed three ringing cheers for that gentleman, which made Alene color with pride. And then the meeting adjourned.

They all descended to the first floor, where the boys joined the men in the library, and the girls went outside for a parting ramble and chat, with Prince gambolling around them.

"There are things about the Torchlights we might copy," remarked Laura. "They take in members whether they like them or not, and try to help them."

"We might invite Hermione and Vera to start with," suggested Ivy.

"That would be kind. I think they would like it," said Alene.

They had reached the grassy terrace beneath the apple-trees, and Ivy, with a sudden recollection exclaimed,

"Girls, it was here we first met, or I should say parted, for Net and I ran so hard we lost our apples in tumbling over the wall, leaving poor Lol to be eaten up by Prince."

"That was the fifteenth of June. I remember it so well," said Laura.

"We have had some lovely times together since then," said Alene.

"To-day was the loveliest of all," declared Ivy.

Then Alene uttered hopefully a prediction that in time proved a true one:

"Girls, we'll have a happier time still on the anniversary of that day—Ivy will be cured, and we'll dance round the Maypole together, the 'maddest, merriest' Happy-Go-Luckys in all the world!"



THE END.