"Ah, do you love my country?" cried Marie, all her embarrassment forgotten. "It ees so good to hear that; I am sometimes so homeseeck for my mountains."
"Indeed I do love your mountains and your lakes and the good people who live there," responded Mr. Hamilton with a warmth that delighted Marie's homesick heart.
"But I must speak to my aunt," said Marie struggling to rise from her many wraps. "You will perhaps come into the house." "No, sit still, and I'll tell Mrs. Perrier we're here," urged Ruth. "We can stay only a few minutes, and we like to sit here in the sunshine."
She disappeared into the house, and while she was gone Mr. Hamilton set himself to the pleasant task of getting acquainted with the shy girl whose wonderful dark eyes looked so confidingly at him. It needed only a few sympathetic questions to induce her to tell him of the little town nestled at the foot of the Jura Mountains, of the sparkling lake on which she used to look from her chamber window, and of the Jungfrau, seventy miles away, but seeming so near in clear weather.
"I know just where your old home is, Marie," he said kindly, when, in her pretty, broken English, she had pictured her birthplace to him. "I don't wonder that you are homesick, for even I often long for a sight of those beautiful mountains."
"It gives me much good to talk of them to some one who knows how beautiful they are," answered Marie simply. "But here comes Miss Ruth, and—"
"Now, Marie, don't you scold me," interrupted Ruth gaily. "I just couldn't help bringing out your lace pillow and your embroidery for Uncle Henry to see."
"Oh, a gentleman," laughed Marie, "a gentleman, he does not care for fine stitches."
"There, isn't that beautiful, Uncle Henry?" persisted Ruth. "And what do you think? I've learned to make a very simple pattern."
"You don't say so!" said Uncle Henry, much impressed. "Couldn't you—couldn't you make me something to wear?"
"What shall it be?" laughed Ruth. "I'll tell you. If you'll promise to have a black velvet suit and wear it to the office every day, I'll make you a large lace collar to wear with it."
"I'll let you know when I leave the order for the suit. It will be time enough to begin. on the collar then," answered Mr. Hamilton, much amused at the idea. "I'm afraid we must be saying good-bye to Marie now," he added with a glance at his watch, "or you won't have any time to rest before starting out again."
But just then Mrs. Perrier came out on the porch carrying a tray, and nothing would do but that Mr. Hamilton and Ruth must taste her home-made grape-juice, and the little cakes made from a recipe she had brought from Switzerland. They were almost as thin as paper, and so deliciously crisp and toothsome-looking that Ruth couldn't resist them.
"Oh, Uncle Henry," she cried impulsively, "I am so hungry: and you have a hungry look, too, hasn't he, Marie? Never mind if we don't get home quite so soon; I can rest while I'm eating."
"Just as you say, my dear," answered Mr. Hamilton with proper meekness. He was having an unusual and interesting experience himself, and didn't in the least mind staying.
The little lunch was delicious, and Ruth sighed as she finished the last cake she felt she could possibly eat. Mr. Hamilton stooped to pick up his whip before saying good-bye, and as he did so dislodged a book which was tucked into the steamer chair. It fell to the floor, and a paper fluttered out of it and floated almost to Ruth's feet. She picked it up to return it, but her eye was caught by a pencil sketch which stood out boldly.
"Why, Marie," she cried in astonishment, "did you draw this? It's that little piece of the shore of the lake that I've been looking at while I've sat here. Do let me show it to Uncle Henry."
"Eet ees nothing," faltered Marie, full of shy embarrassment. "I cannot make eet look as I see eet."
Mr. Hamilton studied the little sketch with kindly, critical eyes.Then he apparently forgot that there was need to hurry, for toRuth's surprise he sat down again by Marie's chair, saying earnestly:"Have you more sketches in that book I knocked down, child? Let mesee them if you have."
His manner was so serious, so compelling, that Marie gave him the book without a word. There were sketches in pencil and sketches in water-color. Those in the first part of the book were tiny drawings of the interior of Mrs. Perrier's house, with now and again that smiling woman herself in a characteristic pose. Once in a while there was a sketch in color of mountains, lake and sky done evidently from memory. All crude and faulty, but showing so much strength, so much individuality and color-sense, that Mr. Hamilton turned the leaves of the little book again and again, and finally laid it down reluctantly, saying:
"If I only had time, Marie, I should like to talk them all over with you. There is so much promise in them that you must keep on trying; you must study as soon as you are strong enough."
"I am so glad that you think I am not wasting my time when I do such things," she answered wistfully. "They will never look as I want them to look, but I cannot help trying. I shall hope to study some day."
Marie walked to where the horses were tied to show Ruth how much she had improved, and as they turned to wave a last good-bye to her Mr. Hamilton said impressively, "Ruth, do you know we've discovered a genius there. I firmly believe that girl will make a name for herself some day. We must help her."
"I should like to," answered Ruth, who all the way home seemed to be in a brown study.
"I'm very sorry to be late," said Ruth penitently, as she walked into Miss Burton's little sitting-room to find the three other girls there before her.
"We were just wondering whether that fiery steed had carried you off so far that you couldn't get back," laughed Miss Burton.
"He's a beauty, and I'd have given anything to have my father see you ride off on him," said Dorothy, who longed to ride, but hadn't yet been able to persuade her father that it was a necessary part of her education.
"You see we didn't wait for you," continued Miss Burton, "so take off your hat and coat, and you shall have a cup of chocolate and some bread and butter as soon as you are ready."
"Riding does give one such an appetite," murmured Ruth apologetically, forgetting that they didn't know that she had been feasting only about an hour before. "But what were you talking about, girls, as I came up-stairs? Your voices sounded so earnest that I felt quite curious."
"We were talking about Mildred Walker," answered Betty. "I don't believe you ever heard of her, Ruth, but she's a girl who always lived here until about three years ago. Her father had a good deal of money, and suddenly he made a great deal more and they went to New York to live. They lived pretty extravagantly, I guess, and now he has lost all his money and is very sick, and Mildred will have to do something to help support the family. She's only nineteen, and she's never done anything but have a good time all her life, so we were wondering how she would get along."
"When my father heard about it," said Dorothy, "he slapped his hand down on the table and said, 'There, that settles it; my girl shall learn to do something to support herself in case need comes.' He looked so fierce and decided that I should have been quite worried if I hadn't made up my mind some time ago what I wanted to do."
"Oh, Dolly, what is it?" cried Ruth, almost upsetting her cup in her earnestness.
"Why, physical culture, of course," answered Dorothy. "I haven't any talent for anything else, and I just love that."
"It's a very good choice, Dorothy, for, even if you're never obliged to teach, it helps one in many ways," said Miss Burton. "I've always been very thankful that my wise father felt just as yours does, for when the time came I was able to take hold and do my part. When father helped me plan my education there seemed no possible chance that I should be obliged to earn my own living, but it came suddenly, as as it so often does, and I'm glad to think that both father and mother lived to see me working happily and successfully."
Miss Burton was smiling as she finished, but there was a soft mistiness in her brown eyes which touched the hearts of her adoring audience.
"Dear little Miss Burton," said Ruth, giving her a swift hug, "we can't be sorry that you had to earn your living if we try, for if you hadn't we never should have known you."
"Who can tell?" said Charlotte with mock solemnity. "Perhaps she might have come into our lives in some other way. Perhaps even now some one is drawing near to us who may be destined to play an important part in our lives or hers." Charlotte's voice grew deeper as she spoke, and her eyes had a faraway look.
"Oh, Charlotte, you goose. You make me feel positively creepy," cried Betty.
"You don't see any one over my shoulder, I hope," said Dorothy with an involuntary backward glance.
"Now, Miss Burton," said Charlotte with a laugh, "I leave it to you if that isn't sufficient proof that I ought to be an actress."
"I'm afraid the modern manager would require still more proof than that, Charlotte," answered Miss Burton, much amused. "But you certainly did that well."
"Let's all tell what we think we could do if we had to," proposedBetty. "What should you do, Ruth?"
"I suppose that after I've studied the violin a few years more I could give lessons," said Ruth thoughtfully. "But somehow I don't seem to look forward to it with any wild joy. Whenever I plan ahead, I always think of myself as in a home, making things look pretty, and having lots of dinner-parties. I believe I should like to be a model hostess," she added honestly.
"Oh, Ruth, just a society woman?" asked Charlotte with scorn in her voice.
"Ruth's idea means more than that, Charlotte, if you think of it in its broadest sense," interposed Miss Burton. "To be a perfect hostess implies capacity for managing one's household, a wide culture, forgetfulness of self and a ready appreciation of the needs of others, sincerity, charm, interest in one's fellow beings, and so many other good qualities that I can't stop to mention them. It's really a beautiful ideal, and Ruth is fortunate in living with a woman who is one of the few perfect hostesses I know."
"I don't think I quite realized before how much it meant," said Ruth. "But it must have been watching Aunt Mary that made me think of it, for I used to have quite different ideas. It just occurs to me," she added with an infections laugh, "that the last time I remember saying anything about it I told father that when I grew up I should keep a candy-shop."
"And eat all you wanted, of course," added Charlotte as they all laughed. "That was my first idea, too."
"And what's your present idea?" asked Betty.
"Oh, mine's so big and impossible, and so slow in coming, that I can't bear to talk about it," answered Charlotte, grown suddenly shy, and then she relapsed into silence, and no amount of urging would make her speak.
"No one asks me about mine," said Betty plaintively after a pause in the conversation, "and I'm just dying to tell."
"Oh, Betty, forgive us, and divulge the secret this very minute," laughed Miss Burton.
"Well," began Betty slyly, "I'm going to be different from the rest of you; I'm going to be married and keep house. And my husband's going to be an invalid, at least I think I shall have him an invalid, and I shall have to support the family. Oh, I forgot to say that before I'm married I'm going to learn all about cooking and—and domestic science. Then I shall do all my own housework, and make cake for the neighbors, and cater for lunch-parties, and raise chickens and squabs, and keep bees, and grow violets and mushrooms, and have an herb-garden. Oh, and in my leisure moments—"
Miss Burton and the girls were quite helpless with laughter by this time, and Betty interrupted herself to look at them with pretended astonishment.
"I was just about to say," she went on severely, "when you interrupted me by laughing so rudely, that in my leisure moments I should make clothing for the children and myself, and also furnish fancy articles for the Woman's Exchange."
"Oh, Betty, when you are funny you are the funniest thing I ever saw," gasped Charlotte, going off into a fresh burst of laughter.
"I'm much obliged to you, Betty, for that laugh," said Miss Burton, wiping her eyes, "and I hope I'll be there to see when you get that model establishment of yours in running order."
"I'll send you samples of the various things if you're not on hand," responded Betty with a twinkle. "But really, Miss Burton," she added with sudden seriousness, "I do want to take a course in cooking and domestic science."
"Judging by the specimens of your cooking I've eaten I should think it would be the thing for you to do," replied Miss Burton heartily. "The opportunities for teaching in that line are many, and even if you never have to earn money by it, to know how to cook is a very great accomplishment."
"I dare say," said Charlotte, "that we shall all do something absolutely different from what we are planning now. Probably Betty will marry a millionaire, and Dolly will take in sewing. Who can say that Ruth may not be an artist? And I—well, I think my strong point is cooking, and I shall undoubtedly be feeding starving families on baked apples for years to come."
"Oh, fudge," said Dolly, much disgusted with her part of the prophecy."You can't tell fortunes for me, Charlotte; I won't have it."
"I'm sure to be an artist," laughed Ruth. "I can draw a pig with my eyes shut just as well as I can with them open. I should love to splash on color, though."
"You might be a house-painter," said Betty meditatively. "When my millionaire builds his house I'll employ you to do the painting."
"And Charlotte can be cook," suggested Ruth. "But speaking of artists, girls, makes me think of what I've been wanting to ask you ever since I got here. Uncle Henry and I called on Marie this afternoon and found her sitting on the piazza in the sunshine. Just as we were leaving we found out quite by accident that she has been making perfectly lovely little sketches, and Uncle Henry thinks she's a genius. He told her she must study as soon as she got strong, and you should have seen the longing look in those great dark eyes of hers."
"I suppose she hasn't a cent that she feels she can use for lessons," said Miss Burton thoughtfully. She, as well as Ruth's special chums, had become very much interested in Marie, and Mrs. Perrier's little house had been the goal of many a breezy walk.
"I think Uncle Henry means to help her, of course," continued Ruth, "but I was wondering if there wasn't something we could do to earn money. Wouldn't it be great if the Cooking Club could do something to help?"
"I should say it would," responded Dorothy with the greatest enthusiasm. "Didn't we begin to try even at our first meeting to make our club helpful to others?"
"I hope we shan't miss the mark the way we did that time," groanedCharlotte with a disgusted expression on her face.
"Oh, but didn't Joe look too absurd in that ladylike black skirt and bonnet?" said Ruth going off into a fit of laughter. "I don't care if the joke was mostly on me; it was the funniest thing I ever saw."
"We never could pay him off with anything half so clever," laughedBetty. "But, girls, it's Marie who wants to be an artist, not Joe.Who's got an idea?"
"Let's have a supper in the Town Hall and cook all we can ourselves and solicit the rest," proposed Dorothy.
"Too much outside work when we're in school," protested Charlotte.
"If we could have it four weeks from now it would come in the April vacation," persisted Dorothy.
"Why not have some sort of an entertainment," suggested Miss Burton, "and seat your audience at small tables? Then at the end of the entertainment you could serve light refreshments."
"And we could have tableaux and perhaps some music," cried Ruth in a burst of inspiration. "You'd help us out with it, wouldn't you, Miss Burton?"
"Of course I would. I've had to plan such things several times."
"Let's choose the prettiest girls we can find in the school for waitresses," said Betty, "and have them wear cunning aprons and big bows on their heads."
"Why not have the thing open an hour or so before the entertainment begins, and give them a chance to buy home-made candy and salted almonds and some of those specialties which the gifted members of our club delight in making?" suggested Charlotte. "We shall need all the money we can get, for just the price of the tickets won't amount to very much."
"That's a practical idea, Charlotte," said Miss Burton. "And if you'd like it perhaps I can make some money for you by reading palms. The boys could build a little tent for me, and I could give each applicant five minutes of my valuable time."
"Oh, Miss Burton, can you really read palms?" cried Betty much impressed.
"Well, Betty," said Miss Burton with her radiant smile, "I can, at least, make it interesting for persons who like to have their palms read. And fortunately I have a costume which I wore for this same purpose at a Charity Bazar in Chicago."
"That will be great," said Dorothy. "Oh, girls, I think this is going to be the grandest affair we've ever had in Glenloch. Can't you just see how everything is going to look?"
"We'll get the boys to help decorate the hall," suggested Betty.
"They'll be useful in lots of ways," added Charlotte. "Boys come in handy sometimes."
"We must have a business meeting right away with Kit and Alice," continued the practical Dorothy. "We shan't accomplish anything until we know just what each one is to do."
"There's just one thing," said Ruth hesitatingly. "Do you suppose we can make a success of it without telling people what we are going to do with the money? Of course I know," she went on hurriedly, "that our own families must be told, but it seems to me it will be much pleasanter for Marie if it isn't generally known."
"That's so," declared Dorothy. "It would be horrid for her to feel that she is being made an object of charity for the town. Let's tell just our mothers and fathers, and swear them to secrecy."
"If we give a good entertainment," added Charlotte, "no one will have any right to ask what we're going to do with the money."
"Good," cried Ruth, much relieved. "I felt almost sorry I'd proposed it when I began to think about poor Marie."
"Girls, girls, it's half-past six," cried Betty, as Miss Burton's clock struck the half-hour. "I actually haven't heard that clock strike before this afternoon."
"Mercy me! We have dinner at six," and Ruth turned to find her coat and hat.
At that moment there was a knock, and Miss Burton's landlady poked her head into the room to say there was a gentleman at the door who wanted to see Miss Ruth Shirley.
"It must be Mr. Hamilton," said Ruth, who felt guilty on account of the lateness of the hour. "I'll call down and tell him I'll be there in a minute."
"It's not Mr. Hamilton. It's no one I know," answered Mrs. Stearns.
Ruth looked puzzled. "Oh, do come down with me," she implored, catching Miss Burton's hand, and together they went along the hall and down to the turn in the stairs. Then, as Ruth caught sight of the tall, handsome man standing in the hall with the lamplight shining full upon his face, she forgot everything else in the world, and getting over the remaining stairs in some incomprehensible way, threw herself into his outstretched arms.
"Oh, Uncle Jerry, Uncle Jerry!" she cried with a little break in her voice as she buried her head on his shoulder. She was quite unconscious that, though his arms tightened around her, his eyes were fixed with eager longing on the smiling girl who had stopped half-way down the stairs. There was a long second of silence. Uncle Jerry's face went white and then red. Margaret Burton's smile faded, and an expression of perplexity took its place. Then she came down the stairs, and holding out her hand said:
"I see you haven't forgotten me, Mr. Harper. I am very glad to see you again."
Ruth looked up in amazement as Uncle Jerry took the white hand in both of his. "Why, Miss Burton," he began impetuously, "I—" and then something made him look up to the hall above where three heads were gazing over the railing with eager curiosity.
"I am more than glad to meet you here," he continued lamely. "I—I had no idea of meeting an old friend."
"Miss Burton, you never told me that you knew my Uncle Jerry, and I've talked about him lots of times," protested Ruth in an aggrieved voice.
"Well, of course, I supposed your Uncle Jerry was Jeremiah Shirley," laughed Miss Burton. "You never told me that Jerry stood for Jerome, nor that his last name wasn't the same as yours."
"Why, so I didn't. And I suppose all the girls think your name is Jeremiah, and they're probably sorry for you. I'll run up now and get my hat, and bring them down to be properly introduced."
It seemed only a minute, and a very short one at that, to Jerome Harper, before Ruth came down-stairs again with the girls behind her. He ventured a little protesting glance at Miss Burton as she stepped into the background, and allowed the chattering girls to absorb him. Being Ruth's Uncle Jerry it was plainly his duty to show himself in the best possible light to these, her friends, and he did it in so charming a manner that they all fell in love with him on the spot.
They left the house together, and only Dorothy noticed that Uncle Jerry lingered a little to say good-bye to Miss Burton. Dorothy usually did notice everything connected with Miss Burton, and just then she had been thinking how pretty she looked in her simple white wool gown, with her fair hair low on her neck and her brown eyes shining.
"What under the sun made you say that some one might be coming to play an important part in Miss Burton's life, Char?" she said in a low tone to Charlotte as they started off. "Did you really have a feeling?"
"A feeling? No, goosey; of course I didn't. Why do you ask?"
Dorothy pinched her arm to hush her, and nodded significantly atUncle Jerry, who was just ahead of them with Betty and Ruth.
Charlotte looked surprised and then scornful. "I hate to see any one getting up a romance out of nothing," she whispered almost crossly. "They're just old acquaintances, of course."
But Dorothy knew that Charlotte hadn't seen Uncle Jerry's face as he said good-bye.
Uncle Jerry stayed only until Monday morning, and his visit seemed so short to Ruth that after he had gone she could hardly believe that it had really happened. Neither could she quite reconcile herself to the fact that out of that brief time he had taken two whole hours away from his only niece to call on Miss Burton. Her only consolation was that he had promised to return for the night of the grand entertainment, and he thought it probable that he should be able then to stay a week.
She had little time to think about her own affairs, for with the date of the entertainment once set the days flew by on wings. It was planned for the second Wednesday in April, which would come in the middle of the spring vacation, and thus give the girls a chance to rest after it was over. Once in the midst of their preparations, the girls began to realize how big a thing they had undertaken, and were fearful that they should not be able to make it a financial success. Fortunately their elders realized it, too, and came promptly to the rescue. Mr. Hamilton offered to pay for the hall, Mr. Marshall agreed to provide the tables and chairs, and to pay for having the stage enlarged, and the Candle Club boys devoted themselves to their hard-working friends, and were ready to do anything to help.
As time went on the lofty ideals with which the girls had started gradually diminished in fervor. At first they had planned to make the ice-cream and cake, but later they accepted with a gratitude that was almost pathetic Mrs. Hamilton's offer to take upon her own shoulders the duty of providing both of these necessities.
In spite of all this assistance, however, the week before the performance passed in a mad whirl of rehearsals and preparation of costumes, topped off on the very day before by the making of candy and the doing of innumerable last things. Even at nine o'clock on Tuesday evening Ruth and Arthur were still at work packing into paper boxes the crisp wafers which Ruth had engaged Mrs. Perrier to make for her.
"Fifteen, seventeen, nineteen," murmured Ruth. "Oh, dear, I'm so tired and sleepy I don't know whether there are twenty-five or twenty-four in two dozen."
"Go to bed then," laughed Arthur, "and I'll finish. There are not many more, anyway, and you've got the hustle of your life before you to-morrow."
Ruth pulled herself out of her chair slowly but with evident willingness. "Some folks don't give boys credit for being half so nice as they are, but I do," she announced with a smile of sleepy gratitude as she started out of the room.
Wednesday morning the Town Hall was the scene of such excited animation that it was difficult to tell whether anything was being accomplished or not. The Cooking Club girls and the Candle Club boys together with a dozen picked helpers had assembled to decorate the hall, and for the moment there seemed an endless confusion of boys, step-ladders, hammers and cheese-cloth.
"For goodness' sake, Phil," begged Dorothy, leaving a group of girls and running over to where Phil and Arthur were talking together, "won't you and Arthur take the management of this decoration? You've done it before and you know how it ought to look."
"All right, your Majesty," responded Phil. "Come on, Art; let's agree on a general scheme, and then you can boss this side of the room and I'll take the other."
"Ruth! Ruth! you're wanted," called a half-dozen voices at once, and Ruth stopped her work to find John, Mr. Hamilton's man, waiting at the door with a good-sized box.
"It's just come by express, Miss Ruth," said John, "and 'twas labeledTown Hall, so Mrs. Hamilton thought you'd better open it here."
"Help me open it, some one, please," begged Ruth, and as the top boards were quickly ripped off, she took out first a letter from New York in Uncle Jerry's writing.
"Dear Ruth" (it began):
"I have just stumbled on a little shop devoted to souvenirs of Switzerland. The proprietor has a bad attack of homesickness, and can't stand New York any longer, so he is selling out at a sacrifice. It occurred to me that I might kill two birds, etc., by contributing to the good cause at Glenloch and helping this poor fellow at the same time. I thought you might make a little something by selling them for any price you can get.
"I shall probably get there almost as soon as the box, so won't stop to write more.
"Yours with love, Uncle Jerry."
Ruth had an interested audience as she unrolled some of the packages and peeped into others to see what they contained, and could he have heard the enthusiastic comments Uncle Jerry would have felt still more sure of his place in the hearts of his Glenloch friends.
"It's wasting time to look at them now," said Ruth with a sigh."We must arrange a table and put them on it this afternoon."
"What a pity that we couldn't have some one in Swiss costume to sell them," suggested Charlotte, who had paused in her work to take one look.
Ruth took in a quick breath as the idea struck her. "Do you suppose Mrs. Perrier,—or Marie," she thought aloud. "Why, Marie might even feel well enough to come herself if we sent for her and sent her home. Couldn't some one, couldn't you, Arthur, ride over and ask her?"
"Why, yes," agreed Arthur, hurrying after John to tell him to bring Peter Pan to the hall. He came back again in a minute to find Ruth and say coaxingly:
"Say, Ruth, John's got the carriage outside here, and why can't you just slip out and drive over with me? It'll do you good to get away from this noise and confusion for a while."
"Oh, I can't, possibly. It would be mean when the others are working so hard."
"You'll be back before they know you're gone," pleaded Arthur. "It'll do you so much good that you'll be able to work a great deal faster," added the wily youth.
"Go away, and don't tempt me," laughed Ruth. She started to leave him, but turned back to say earnestly: "Let's make Charlotte go with you. She's got a splitting headache, and she won't be fit for anything to-night if she doesn't rest for a while."
Arthur felt that he hadn't got quite all he was asking for, but he fell in with Ruth's idea cheerfully, and their united arguments persuaded Charlotte to go for the restful drive through the wooded roads.
They were back almost before Ruth could realize that they had started, and announced with an air of triumph that Marie would be delighted to come, and that Mrs. Perrier had a costume which could easily be made to do.
"And I begged her to bring her lace pillow," said Charlotte. "I thought that would add a touch to the whole occasion."
Ruth gave her a rapturous hug. "It will," she said joyfully. "And isn't it all going to be the finest thing you ever saw?"
The hall hummed like a beehive as the work went on, and little by little things took shape and began to promise a harmonious whole. It really seemed as though some good fairy were watching over affairs, for the carpenters finished their work and went at an early hour, the chairs and tables arrived in good season, and the big picture-frame which had been put together for the girls proved to be all that could be desired.
To be sure there were disagreements, and even accidents, for Bert and a step-ladder had a difference of opinion and collapsed together, and Betty dropped a pail of paste on Jack, who had politely stopped to admire the artistic work she and Frank were doing on the palmist's tent. As he was looking up and had just opened his mouth to say something complimentary the result was disastrous, and the poor fellow stood there blinded and gasping until Dorothy carne to the rescue with a wet towel.
At one o'clock the workers departed for lunch, a few of the boys and girls promising to come back in the early afternoon to finish the little that was left.
"I haven't the slightest idea whether it is going to look pretty or not," said Ruth wearily as they left the hall.
"Just wait until it's lighted," consoled Betty. "Then you'll see."
When the earliest of the audience arrived that evening the old hall, dressed in her best, was waiting to receive them. The cool green and white of the draperies softened the plainness of the walls, and a huge, round ball made of red and yellow roses and glittering with diamond dust swung from the centre chandelier and glowed in its light. Smaller balls hung from the side-brackets, each enclosing an electric bulb which shone with soft radiance through the vivid red and pale yellow of the roses.
In the comer nearest the door was a booth draped in pink and blue, and here two pretty girls in white were ready to sell the various delicacies made by the members of the Cooking Club. The girls had worked hard, and Ruth's maple fudge, Dorothy's creamed walnuts and dates, Katharine's salted nuts, and Alice's peanut brittle made such a tempting array that none could see without wanting to buy. Betty's contribution was a dozen glasses of delicious-looking orange marmalade, and behind them were piled boxes of Mrs. Perrier's crisp Swiss wafers.
As a joke Charlotte had brought in quite unexpectedly at the last moment a huge pan of baked apples, and she insisted on having them on the table in spite of the fact that the pan in its nest of pink crepe paper took up a large amount of space.
"The rest of you are represented by your masterpieces," she said, rolling out the long words with great relish. "So why shouldn't I put mine there? I'm sure I shall never achieve anything more perfect than those baked apples, and they're much more digestible than all that sweet stuff."
As usual Charlotte's argument was unanswerable, and the apples remained on the table, forming a sturdy and wholesome contrast to their more dainty companions.
At the front of the hall and quite near the stage sat Marie dressed in the pretty Bernese costume with its velvet bodice, and silver pins and chains. Before her was a table covered with Swiss carved work, bears, paper-knives, picture-frames, watch-stands and dainty edelweiss pins. Her eyes were sparkling and a faint color stole into her cheeks as she chatted in her soft voice with those who came to look at her wares.
In spite of the attractiveness of good things to eat and pretty things to see, the most popular place in the hall was the gaily decorated tent where Miss Burton in gypsy costume read palms. From the time the hall was opened there was a waiting group outside the tent where Dorothy took the money, and cut each five minutes off on the dot so that she might get in as many as possible. So many applicants were there that, when at half-past seven Ruth's Uncle Jerry arrived with the Hamiltons and a party of their Boston friends, there seemed to be no immediate chance that he would be able to penetrate the mysteries of the future with the aid of Miss Burton.
"Dear me, Miss Dorothy," he said beseechingly, "can't you make a special appointment for me? I'm afraid my life-line isn't strong enough to bear me up under such a disappointment."
"I'm afraid I can't, Mr. Harper," answered Dorothy firmly. "There are enough waiting now to keep the palmist busy until the entertainment begins, and after that you must take your chance with the others."
In the depths of her heart Dorothy was glad to turn away Uncle Jerry. He was altogether too much in a hurry, she thought with a little frown. She didn't want any one to like Miss Burton too much.
Uncle Jerry wandered off disconsolately, but solaced himself by buying candy and Swiss carvings until his hands were so full that he couldn't manage his parcels. Then, in a fit of desperation, he returned them all to the young ladies from whom he had bought them, begging them to sell them over again for the good of the cause.
At five minutes before eight there was a burst of applause as Phil appeared on the stage and requested the audience to be seated at the small tables, as the entertainment was about to begin.
When the confusion had subsided into silence, some one at the piano began to play softly, and the curtain parted to show in the frame a beautiful Spanish girl with fan and mantilla. Following her in quick succession came a fair-haired English girl, a smiling maiden from Japan with arched eyebrows and bright-colored parasol, and a rosy Dutch girl in cap and kerchief. Then a Turk sitting cross-legged upon his cushion smoked his long pipe and beamed affably on the audience, an Esquimaux gentleman came from his igloo in the north to pose for a moment, and a boyish Uncle Sam and John Bull shook hands fraternally.
Each picture was shown twice, but it was ail too short for the enthusiastic audience, which applauded so vociferously that Frank was obliged to step before the curtain and announce that owing to lack of time no encores could be given.
Then followed representations of celebrated paintings; the Girl with the Muff, a pathetic Nydia, and the charming little Dutch girl holding a cat. Molly Eastman posed for that with Bagheera, Betty's largest cat, clutched tightly in her arms. When Bagheera heard the applause he struggled wildly to escape, nearly knocking Molly over as he leaped from her arms just as the curtain covered the frame. Molly looked ready to cry because her picture could not be shown a second time, then snatching up her beloved Teddy bear, which went everywhere she did, she stood, triumphant, waiting for the curtain to be drawn. It was too good to be lost, and the boys pulled the curtain twice, much to Molly's joy and the delight of the audience.
This was the end of the first part of the program, and there was a buzz of conversation which softened into silence as the school orchestra filed on the stage. It was warmly greeted, for this was its first public appearance, and the proud parents of the performers were anxious to hear the results of their practice together. Like wise boys they didn't try to do anything great, but delighted the hearts of their hearers with a simple arrangement of some of the old patriotic songs that every one loves. They ended with the Star Spangled Banner and played it with so much spirit that the entire audience rose to do honor to the grand old song.
With the second drawing of the curtain, ten dainty Japanese ladies fluttered upon the stage with mincing steps, waving gay fans and bowing low as they drew up in line before the audience. So much did the flowing garments, the fan-bedecked hair and the slanting eyebrows change the girls that even some of the mothers failed at first to recognize their own daughters.
"I see Charlotte, and that one on the end is Ruth," announced the irrepressible Molly Eastman loudly, and then buried her head on her father's shoulder when every one turned to look at her.
The fan drill was beautiful to see, for the intricate marching, the delicate swaying of the figures, was done with a precision which gave no chance for criticism. The performers came out to bow their thanks for the hearty applause, and, when the audience refused to be satisfied, fluttered out again with fans held coquettishly before their faces. Then each girl extracted from her flowing sleeve a paper bird, and holding it as high as she could reach began to fan it into motion. It was a pretty sight; the gaily-colored birds flying in all directions, and the graceful girls, quick of eye and action, doing their utmost to keep them from falling. There were one or two narrow escapes, but not one really reached the floor, and at a signal they were caught upon the outstretched fans and the little ladies had fled.
"If that looks easy to you just try it," said Mrs. Hamilton during the pause in the program. "I made an attempt at it the other day when Ruth was practicing at home, and I found it the hardest thing I've undertaken for some time. It's wonderful training for the eye and muscles."
As she finished speaking, slow, dreamy music began on the piano and the curtains were pulled apart, disclosing a pedestal on which stood Dorothy in a flowing Greek robe and with her golden hair dressed in classic fashion. At first she was like a beautiful statue, then, as the music proceeded, she went through a series of poses, each one so vivid and graceful that when she became a statue once more and the curtain hid her from sight the hall rang with applause.
The program was already so long that Dorothy refused to repeat her number, and when the curtain was drawn again four fine lads stepped out to swing Indian clubs. The boys did it well and the fathers and mothers glowed with pride over the straight young figures and the easy grace which made the clubs seem like mere toys.
The last number was announced as a march by the Glenloch Academy children, and the boy who made the announcement couldn't keep from laughing as he hurriedly got out of sight.
"Rather unusual, isn't it, for boys and girls of that age to allow themselves to be called 'children'?" asked Mr. Hamilton, but even as he spoke his question was answered, for as the piano began a simple melody in rushed twelve children, blowing horns, jumping ropes, and pinching and pulling each other in very real fashion. There was a roar of laughter from the audience, for the boys were all figures of fun in their checked aprons and tassel caps. Tall Phil was a sight never to be forgotten as he smiled amiably on the world at large, but Joe had the best of it, for he was so plump and rosy that he looked fairly like the child he was trying to represent. The girls wore skirts which stuck out stiffly all around, and had their hair braided in pigtails and tied with ribbons to match their sashes. Betty looked the very picture of innocent, chubby childhood, and couldn't forbear making eyes at her adoring father, who sat near the stage, and seemed to find it difficult to look at any one but his engaging little daughter.
The piano struck up a stirring march, and the merry children dropped their toys and formed in line with Jack and Ruth as leaders. The performers did their best to make it as childlike as possible, and it was an amusing procession that the two captains led through intricate ways. It had an ending alike unexpected by performers and audience, for as they were going through one of the last figures, Joe slipped, made a heroic effort to recover his balance, and then sat flat on the floor facing the audience. He had such a funny, surprised look on his face that every one in the hall roared with laughter, much to his discomfiture. Then an idea seized him, and scrambling to his feet he put both fists in his eyes and bellowed like a naughty child. The others kept on marching, but he stood there inconsolable, until Betty, always quick to think, gave him a little shake in passing and held out to him a bright red apple she'd been nibbling. An ecstatic smile spread over his face, he grabbed the apple, took a big bite, and fell into line just as they all marched off the stage. So cleverly was it done that the audience decided that the fall had been intentional, and the whole thing a part of the performance, and gave Master Joe an extra salvo of applause when the children returned to make their bows.
As the curtains fell together for the last time, twenty-five girls dressed in white and carrying trays came into the hall. They wore coquettish little aprons, and large ribbon bows in a variety of color, and suggested butterflies as they flitted among the tables. One by one the performers, most of them still in costume, slipped out from behind the scenes.
"Is your lemonade good, Uncle Jerry, and are you having a nice time?" asked the Japanese maiden leaning confidingly on Mr. Harper's shoulder.
"Yes, to both the questions, 'Yuki-San,'" replied her uncle affectionately. "But, Ruth," he was speaking now in a low tone, "I shan't be really happy until I have my palm read; and perhaps not then," he finished inaudibly.
Ruth glanced quickly toward the palmist's tent. "Miss Burton said she should keep busy while the refreshments were served so as to make as much money as possible. I'll see if she can take you now."
Uncle Jerry watched until he saw Ruth beckon to him. Then he made his way quickly to the tent, and started in just as Dorothy resumed her position outside as guardian.
"Only five minutes, Mr. Harper," said Dorothy decidedly.
"Give me ten, Miss Dorothy," pleaded Uncle Jerry, "and I'll give you four times the price of admission. It's for the good of the cause, you know."
"For the good of the cause, then," she answered grudgingly. "Ten minutes and not an atom more."
"You're a terror, Dolly," laughed Ruth, slipping into the chair beside her. "How can you be so severe with my beloved Uncle Jerry?"
Dorothy's answer was slow in coming, and Ruth went on happily without waiting. "Don't you think we've made a big success? Everything's sold except two or three boxes of candy and a loaf or two of cake. And Marie's perfectly radiant because several people have given her orders for lace and embroidery."
Dorothy was holding her watch in her hand and almost counting each second as it ticked away. "Eight and a half," she murmured. "Why, yes, I do think it's a success, and won't it be fun when we can take the money over to Mrs. Perrier's and surprise Marie? Time's up, Mr. Harper," she added with cruel promptness, and Uncle Jerry, fearing the invasion of other applicants, didn't dare to disobey.
Dorothy looked at him critically as he emerged from the tent. There was no mistaking the triumphant light in his eye, and she saw that she must resign herself to defeat.
"Did she give you a good fortune, Uncle Jerry?" inquired Ruth.
"Splendid. The best in the world," he answered with such happiness in his voice that Dorothy felt her resentment fading away. "Now, Miss Japan, let's go and buy everything there is left," he added.
Dorothy watched them as they strolled away, and saw Uncle Jerry draw Ruth into a quiet comer, where he told her something that made her clasp her hands and look at him with beaming eyes.
"They haven't the least idea I've guessed," said Dolly to herself with a sad little shake of the head, "but I'll show them that a girl can keep a secret even when she hasn't been asked to."
"It's terribly romantic," said Ruth with a satisfied sigh. "She didn't know he cared anything about her, and he thought she couldn't care for him because she went away from Chicago without letting him know or leaving him her address."
"And they're really engaged?" asked Betty for the third time. "I can't believe it."
It was a warm afternoon in May, and all the girls were out in Mrs. Hamilton's garden drying their hair after a shampoo. To the surprise of every one the spring had made good its early promises, and buds and blossoms had hurried forth with quivering eagerness. The soft breeze which rustled the leaves and played caressingly with the floating locks was as mild as in summer, and the girls felt that pleasant languor which comes with the first warm days.
"Yes, really engaged. Uncle Jerry wanted to settle it when he first found her here in Glenloch, but she made him wait until he came the second time," answered Ruth shaking her hair to the breeze which curled it into tendrils. "I've been simply bursting to tell you ever since the entertainment, but I had to wait until Miss Burton said I might."
"I think it's funny you didn't guess. I felt it in my bones from the first minute I saw him," said Dorothy. "And I was perfectly sure of it when I saw him tell you, Ruth."
"Why, Dolly, you're a witch! And you never said a word to any one?" asked Ruth incredulously.
"No. I didn't think Miss Burton would want me to. And I'm so jealous of you that I can't see straight, because, of course, she'll have to like you best," finished Dorothy with a mournful sigh.
"She'll think you're a trump when I tell her that you truly guessed and never said a word," comforted Ruth. "The only other thing I can do is to offer you a share in Uncle Jerry."
"You'll have to divide him in small pieces if you're going to share him," said Charlotte. "Did you ever see anything like the way the boys took to him?"
"Between the two clubs he had small chance to be alone with MissBurton that week he was here," laughed Betty.
"He was a dear to take us all to Boston and give us such a dandy time," murmured Charlotte.
"What a week we had," said Alice, pulling her black locks apart to get out the snarls. "Can't you just see Marie's face when we gave her that two hundred dollars?"
"She's so happy now," added Ruth, "and she's getting better every day. Arthur and I rode by there yesterday, and she was out helping her aunt make a garden."
"Isn't your hair most dry, girls?" asked Dorothy, with a sudden change of subject. "Let's hurry and put it up any old way, and then have some tennis."
There was a simultaneous groan from Katharine and Charlotte.
"I didn't expect anything of you two lazy things," said Dorothy coolly. "I'm glad you don't want to, for that leaves just the four of us without any fuss about deciding."
"I'd like to play," said Ruth, tugging at her refractory curls, "only you'll have to wait till I do my hair properly, and take this mess of towels into the house."
"Oh, Ruth, if I didn't like you so much I should say you were pernickety," cried Dorothy impatiently.
"I suppose I am fussy," confessed Ruth. "But mother was always very particular about having me keep my own things in order, and especially about leaving other people's belongings the way I found them, and I can't get over the habit."
"For goodness' sake, you sound as if you thought it was a crime," said Charlotte. "I only wish I had a few such bad habits as that."
"I'm a shining example for you, Charlotte," laughed Betty, "for I cleared up my top bureau drawer to-day."
"You're a shining example for me in more ways than one, Betsy," answered Charlotte with such unexpected earnestness that rosy Betty grew rosier than ever.
For a few minutes the girls worked busily, and the hair, black, brown, shining gold and burnished copper, was soon adorning the heads of its owners in the accustomed way. Ruth and Betty took in the towels and brought out racquets and balls. Charlotte and Katharine languidly changed their seats to where they could watch the court, and the other four began a vigorous game.
It was a long and hotly contested deuce set, and ended in favor ofDorothy and Alice just as Katie appeared with tray and glasses.
"Ellen thought you'd like some lemonade, Miss Ruth. I'll bring it out directly."
Ellen's lemonade was a work of art; full of tantalizing and unexpected flavors of orange, mint and clove. The girls, who knew it of old, groaned with pleasure at sight of the frosty-looking pitcher with sprigs of mint at the top.
"This is richness," sighed Dorothy, as she settled herself on the big rug and took one of the fresh chocolate-frosted cakes that Katie had brought out.
"Ellen's the best old dear," said Ruth. "I never even have to ask for things."
"There's a letter on the tray," said Betty suddenly. "No, not a letter, because there's no stamp on it, but it's for you, Ruth."
Ruth picked it up and opened it. Then she laughed and held it out to the girls, reading aloud as she did so.
The Candle Club Presents its compliments to The Cooking Club And requests the pleasure of its company Saturday, May eighteenth, At half-after six
The Club Room
"My, but they're formal," said Dorothy. "Will you look at the elegance of 'half-after six'?"
"Jack did the invitations with his new typewriter, I suppose," saidBetty. "I wonder how many sheets of paper he spoiled."
"Of course we'll all go," said Charlotte, lazily pulling herself up from her seat on the ground. "It's perfectly lovely sitting here and drinking this delicious lemonade, and I hate to mention it, but I've got to get home, girls. Betty, you ought to walk 'round my way to-night; I went with you last night."
"Wait till I get the last drop out of my glass," gurgled Betty, pulling away at her straw with great diligence.
"We're all going," added Dorothy. "It's almost six anyway."
Ruth went with them to the front of the house and then back to the tennis ground to pick up racquets and balls. It was so cool and still and beautiful in the garden that she sat down on the rug again with her hands clasped around her knees. The old apple-tree covered with pink and white blossoms rustled softly overhead, a fat robin cocked his eye at her as he listened for worms, and from the other side of the garden came the faint, melodious tinkle of the little fountain.
Something flipped into the grass beside her and the robin flew away.
"It's just a penny," called a gay voice, "the one they're always offering for your thoughts, you know."
Ruth looked up as Arthur dropped down on the rug beside her. "They're worth so much more that I couldn't let you have them for a penny," she said with a laugh.
"Make it a spring bargain sale and give 'em to me at a great reduction," he suggested.
"They were perfectly good thoughts," answered Ruth. "I was just wondering how I happened to drop down in such a lovely place, and why every one is so nice to me, and thinking how I shall miss you all when father sends for me."
"Don't begin to think about that," protested Arthur quickly. "You know you came for a year, a whole year."
"I know," laughed Ruth. "I don't believe you were a bit pleased when you heard that I was coming for a whole year. I really think you've got used to me very nicely."
"It's astonishing how soon we get used to things that we know we must put up with," said Arthur with a sigh of resignation. "Oh, by the way, there's something I forgot to tell you," he added.
"What is it?" cried Ruth eagerly.
"You won't tell the other girls, will you?"
"Why no, if you really don't want me to."
Arthur looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't for a while, anyway," he said at last.
"I won't tell until you say I may," said Ruth with great decision.
"Well, then,—I was sent out here to ask you to come in to dinner," chuckled the graceless youth, picking himself up from the ground, and making off with surprising agility.
"Oh, you villain," groaned Ruth, throwing a tennis ball at him with such unexpectedly good aim that it hit him squarely in the back.
"Good shot! How did it happen? Oh, but you did bite nicely that time," and Arthur laughed again at her pretended rage.
"If you ever want to be forgiven, come back here and help me take in the racquets and balls," called Ruth, starting toward the house.
"Sure, I will," responded Arthur amiably. "Give me all the racquets and you can take the balls. I know," he continued a moment later, "why every one is so nice to you."
"Is this another sell?" demanded Ruth.
"No, this is truth. You'll find the answer in Mary's Little Lamb if you change the words a little. You look up the last verse and see if I'm not right."
Ruth looked thoughtfully at him as they entered the house, and then sternly repressing the pleased smile that flitted over her face said with assumed indifference:
"I hope that's a compliment, but how can you expect me to remember the rhymes of my childhood?"
The days went by so fast that Ruth could hardly keep the run of the calendar. They were full days, with hard work at school, delightful rides on Peter Pan with Arthur or his father to accompany her, and pleasant afternoons with the girls at one house or another. Then there were important letters from her father and Uncle Jerry which necessitated lengthy replies, and frequent conferences with Miss Burton and Mrs. Hamilton.
On the night of the Candle Club party the girls met first at Dorothy's house, and went out into the stable together. A large room on the second floor had been given up to the boys who had furnished and decorated it to suit their taste and their opportunities. An old piano, begged for by Frank when the Marshalls were buying a new one, stood under one of the electric lights and looked well-used. That it had outlived its most tuneful days was not to be denied, but Arthur could still coax college songs out of it, and for miscellaneous strumming and tunes with one finger it was invaluable. It was also a convenient place on which to leave sweaters, hats and books, and altogether the boys considered it one of the most valuable of their possessions.
The furniture of the club room could hardly be called ornamental, but it was certainly comfortable. A couple of steamer chairs, a roomy couch covered with bright cushions, and an ancient bookcase offered an impartial welcome to the lazy and the studious, and bore mute witness to the fact that many happy hours had been passed there. The boys had made the room gay with banners, and trophies of past victories, and red curtains and a few rugs added to the general cheerfulness.
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall went out to the stable with the girls, and as they went up the narrow stairs there was a shout of laughter from the club room, laughter so mirth-compelling that the girls giggled involuntarily. At Mr. Marshall's peremptory knock there was a sudden stillness; then the door opened a crack and in a choked voice Arthur said, "Just hold the line a second, please, and we'll let you in."
Almost as he spoke there was a low, "all right now," from Joe, and Arthur threw the door wide open. For an instant the guests coming from the dark stairway into the brightly lighted room could hardly see; then as they took in the general appearance of their hosts the room rang with laughter.
The boys were all dressed in shirt-waists and skirts, with neat white collars and little bows of various kinds. The skirts came to the tops of their boots, and as they had donned the heaviest, biggest boots they could find, the result was amusing. They all wore frivolous little aprons, and on their heads jaunty white caps perched on hair which made the girls go off into fresh fits of merriment. It was the most wonderful hair-dressing the girls had ever seen; heavy braids, thick curls, even pompadours—and all made out of yarn.
"What happened that made you keep us waiting?" asked Ruth as she wiped real tears from her eyes.
"Betty fell over his skirt and had to fix it on again," said Phil with a twinkle, realizing that the girls hadn't yet taken in the full meaning of the performance.
Then it was the boys' turn to laugh, for, looking at Joe's red wig, the girls knew at once what Phil meant, and each hurried to pick out the imitation of herself.
"Do you mean to tell me I look like that?" asked Dorothy, pointing a scornful finger at Jack, who was deeply engaged in tightening a large, black bow which dangled at the end of his long, yellow braid.
"Why, Dolly, I flattered myself I was the handsomest one of the bunch, and now you speak harshly to me," protested Jack in a tone of great grief.
"So far as beauty goes there isn't much choice between you," said Charlotte meditatively. Her eye was taking in Phil's tall, slender figure, upon which the skirt hung in limp folds. His brown braids were twined about his head in a coronet, a style with which Charlotte's mirror was familiar.
"Oh, those ridiculous boys! Do see my bunch of curls," shrieked Ruth, getting around where she could better see the back of Arthur's head.
"Whatever made you think to do it, you silly things?" asked Betty, eyeing with disfavor the magenta-colored hair which graced the head of her double.
"Why, we are going to cook a supper for you to-night, and we thought we couldn't follow better models as to dress than the celebrated Cooking Club," answered Phil making a low bow with his hand on his heart.
"Do get to work, then," said Dolly with great disdain. "Let's see if you can imitate our cooking as remarkably as you have our looks."
A long table stood in the middle of the room, covered with a white cloth, and on it reposed several chafing-dishes, a pile of plates, forks, spoons and knives, and a quantity of paper napkins. Olives, crisp little pickles and plates of crackers were the only visible evidences of food, and to the hungry girls the prospect was not encouraging.
"If you will kindly be seated, young ladies," said Frank, whose woolly black locks made his imposing manner ridiculous, "we will now show you how much we know."
"How little, you mean," added his sister in an audible whisper.
"I'm not going to have Dolly near me while I cook," said Frank decidedly. "You go and watch Arthur, Dolly; that's a good girl."
"Don't watch me," groaned Arthur. "Charlotte and Ruth have got their eyes glued on everything I'm doing already. Watch Phil, Dorothy. He's much nicer than I am."
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall slipped quietly away about this time, and then, with their guests showing an irritating and undue interest in all that they did, the boys began the preparation of the supper. As the work progressed, wigs were pushed out of place and finally discarded; hooks and eyes, too fragile for such muscular young ladies, loosed their hold, and skirts were trampled under foot and cast aside. At last it was only six boys in girlish-looking waists who were working with pretended confidence but real anxiety under the eyes of their unsparing critics.
It leaked out afterward that the boys had been practicing for several weeks on the special dishes they made, and it was a great relief to the girls to find this out. On this evening, however, the lordly creatures asserted that cooking was an art that reached perfection only when man undertook it, and that a man knew by instinct quantities, seasoning and time of preparation.
The girls, though not half believing, watched with a surprise not unmixed with awe while Phil cooked a lobster a la Newburg, seasoned to perfection, Arthur prepared delicious creamed potatoes, and Frank did up cold lamb in hot currant jelly in the most approved style. There were potato chips and buttered brown bread to eat with the lobster, and warm rolls to go with the second course. Everything was so good that the girls could only wonder and eat.
"Could I have a glass of water, please?" begged Ruth just before the feast began.
"Sure. Oh, wait a minute and I'll get you something better than water," said Joe, plunging down the stairs and into the house, to return in a moment laden with bottles of ginger-ale.
"Now watch him open them, Ruth," said Charlotte with pretended admiration. "See how skilfully he does it. No girl could ever attain to anything like that. After all boys are superior beings and—"
"Wow," gasped Joe, as a fountain of ginger-ale rose from the bottle and struck him squarely in the face.
"Here, take that bottle out of the way. It's going all over my creamed potatoes," shouted Arthur.
Blinded and dripping, Joe made a frantic effort to head the bottle another way, and in the attempt turned a liberal portion over Bert, who was standing near.
"I was just about to say," continued Charlotte calmly, "that boys always do everything in such a complete way."
"Well they know when not to talk," growled Joe, mopping himself with a napkin, and frowning darkly at the offending young lady.
It was a supper of gayety, and good things to eat. The boys were so proud of their cooking that they disliked to let the conversation wander from that particular subject, and brought it back by some skilful remark whenever they thought the interest of the girls was flagging. Each club toasted the other, and Jack toasted the ladies, ending with the sentence, which became a byword in Glenloch, "Girls are all right if you only know how to manage 'em."
"What a lot of dishes," said Betty with a sigh as they rose from the table.
"We will now show you how the powerful masculine mind handles the problem of dishes," proclaimed Phil.
"Do those dishes worry us? Not at all," added Bert as the boys lifted the table bodily and put it in a comer of the room.
"Now you see 'em," said Joe, helping to unfold two screens borrowed for the occasion, "and now you don't."
"Yes, but they're there all the same," argued Dorothy unconvinced.
"Mrs. Flinn will change all that, little sister," answered her brother condescendingly. "We have bribed her to spend to-morrow morning cleaning the club room, and she thinks we are 'blissed young gintlemen.'"
"Get over on the piano stool, Art, and give us that new music you were playing last night," begged Joe.
"No, don't play new things," implored Dorothy. "Play some college songs."
And so Arthur played and they all sang; some on the pitch and some off, but all happy, and each one deeply satisfied with his own share of the performance. At last, swinging around on the piano stool, Arthur looked at Ruth and said mysteriously, "You may as well tell them your news now, Ruth."
Every one turned to look at Ruth with such sudden interest that the color flashed into her face.
"It isn't enough to make you all look so curious," she laughed. "It's only that I can't have many more parties with you, because my father has sent for me, and I am to sail on the 'Utopia' a month from to-day."
There was a moment of mournful and incredulous silence; then Dorothy said indignantly, "I call that a mean shame; you were promised to us for a year, and that would make it next October."
"I know. But you see father will be ready for me sooner than he thought, and much as I should love to spend the summer here, I do want to be with him."
"Strange," murmured Joe.
"And—and there's more news," continued Ruth. "Uncle Jerry and Miss Burton are going to be married a week before I sail, and go over with me for a wedding trip,"
"Tell us all about it," pleaded Betty, throwing herself on the floor at Ruth's feet.
"I have; just about. You see Miss Burton's father and mother are dead, and she hasn't any near relations except a sister who lives way out in Seattle. So Mrs. Hamilton has invited her to be married at her house, and it's going to be a very private wedding."
Distinct disappointment was visible in the girlish faces as Ruth finished.