Two big old-fashioned drawing-rooms thrown into one made the study hall at Miss Harding's school. It was not a bit like an ordinary schoolroom, for a fireplace filled one corner of it, books and pictures covered the walls, and in every window flowers nodded. Only the rows of double desks bespoke study.
On the Monday after Janet's arrival there was a suppressed current of excitement in the air. At the slightest sound from the hall every eye turned expectantly toward the door.
Phyllis was sitting in her old seat beside Muriel Grey; but the old feeling of friendship that had always existed between the two was missing, and it was to Sally Ladd that Phyllis turned for sympathy.
Sally was sitting just behind her, and she took advantage of every glance that Miss Baxter, who was on duty at the desk, cast in any other direction.
"Aunt Jane's poll parrot," she whispered excitedly, "if she doesn't come soon I shall expire." Phyllis nodded and looked again at the door.
Janet was with Miss Harding in her office upstairs. The principal was deciding the grade she had better enter, and to Phyllis the decision was all important. Although she would never have admitted it to any one, the thought of Janet in any class but her own made her miserable.
As for the rest of the girls, they were all eager and curious to see the new twin, as Sally insisted upon calling Janet. Eleanor and Rosamond had already met her. Sally had been in bed with a cold when Phyllis had called up to ask her to luncheon, and she was still waiting for her first glimpse of her.
At last the door opened and Janet came into the room. It was an entirely new Janet from the one who had arrived at the Grand Central Station a few days before; that is, to all outward appearance. She had on a dark blue serge dress with white collar and cuffs, and her hair was tied loosely in the nape of her neck with a black ribbon. The curls, that Martha had tried so hard to keep tidy, were blowing about her face, her cheeks were pale from nervousness, and her eyes shone brighter than ever.
Miss Harding nodded to Miss Baxter, and then turned to the girls.
"I think we have all been more than usually interested in Phyllis's twin sister," she said, smiling. "I want to introduce her to you; this is Janet Page. You had better all look at her very hard for I think it is going to be almost impossible to tell her from Phyllis unless we are very careful. Perhaps I'll have to ask one of them to wear a pink string tied to her finger and the other a green."
The girls, including Janet, laughed heartily. Whispers of "she's the very image," "what a dear," and "won't it be funny," ran around the room.
"I must find you a seat, my dear," Miss Harding continued. "Let me see. It would never do to put you beside Phyllis, for we'd all be sure then that we were seeing double. I think—Sally, are you alone?" she asked.
Sally stood up. "Yes, Miss Harding," she replied so quickly that the girls laughed.
"Well, then I think Janet will sit beside you. And now you must all get back to work for there are only a few minutes left of study period. But this has been an occasion, hasn't it?" Miss Harding smiled, nodded, said a few words in an undertone to Miss Baxter, and left the room, leaving behind her a joy and charm that were always hers to give.
Janet walked down between the rows of desks to the beckoning Sally, but her eyes were looking into Phyllis's. As she passed her desk Phyllis caught her hand and whispered, "What class?"
"Yours," Janet whispered back. She did not think it necessary to add that Miss Harding had found her ready for the grade higher but that she had chosen to stay with Phyllis.
Sally almost hugged her as she took her place beside her, and under cover of supplying her with books and showing her the lessons, she managed to talk until the bell rang. There was a ten-minute recess before lessons began. The girls made the most of it and crowded around Janet's desk.
"Oh, Aunt Jane's poll parrot, was there ever such luck?" Sally demanded. "I think I hypnotized Miss Harding, I really do. I thought so hard about your sitting beside me that she simply had to let you."
"Did you want me to sit beside you?" Janet asked with genuine surprise.
"But of course I did,"—Sally was equally surprised.
"It was rank favoritism," laughed Eleanor. "I thought too, good and hard. Why I even pointed to the forlorn and empty chair beside me and it didn't do a bit of good."
"Introduce us, introduce us," several voices demanded, and Phyllis was kept busy. Even the seniors came and laughed and envied. It was quite a reception.
"What a lucky girl you are," one of them, a tall girl with copper-colored hair named Madge Cannan, exclaimed, "I've wanted a twin all my life andInever found one."
"Poor Madge, I'll be your twin," some one offered.
"Can't do it," Phyllis laughed. "There's only one twin in the world and I've got her."
"I'm sorry,"—Janet looked at the older girl and spoke quite seriously. "It would be very nice to have twoyous."
Madge flushed, and the girls laughed.
"Of all the precious things to say," she exclaimed. "Phyllis, I can't speak for the rest, but as far as I am concerned your nose is completely out of joint."
Just then the bell rang, and the day's lessons began.
The next recess was at eleven-thirty, when hot chocolate and crackers were served. School did not let out until one-thirty, and Miss Harding thought the girls needed something to eat before that time.
"Now, Sally, leave Phyllis's twin alone," Rosamond insisted, as she handed Janet her cup and prepared to sit down beside her. "You've had her all day long and now it's some one else's turn."
Janet looked from one girl to the other in mystified amazement. She had never been made a fuss over except by Phyllis in all her life and she couldn't understand it. For one terrible moment she thought they were making fun of her, but a glance at their smiling faces reassured her on that point but came no nearer helping her solve their reason.
She had never been made a fuss over except by Phyllis in all her life and she couldn't understand itShe had never been made a fuss over except by Phyllis in all her life and she couldn't understand it
She had never been made a fuss over except by Phyllis in all her life and she couldn't understand itShe had never been made a fuss over except by Phyllis in all her life and she couldn't understand it
"Thank you," she said quietly. It was fortunate that the girls did not expect her to do much talking and were content with her shy answers. Perhaps the interest in her brown eyes made up for her lack in that direction.
"Do you play basket ball?" Eleanor was asking.
"No." Janet shook her head.
"Well, then I'll teach you. We play this year, and you simply must love it."
"Do you like to swim?" Rosamond demanded, and again Janet shook her head.
What must these girls think of her! Why, she couldn't do anything.
"Skate?" some one else asked.
"No, I don't." Janet looked imploringly at Phyllis, but for once she was looking at some one else. Only Sally noticed the look and she gave no sign—then—
"What can you do?" It was Muriel who spoke and in spite of the angry eyes that were turned toward her she managed to smile, but it wasn't a pretty smile.
For a minute Janet's face flamed to a deep red, then as suddenly her cheeks grew very white. There was a pathetic silence. She knew that it would end soon, but before it ended she must answer or Phyllis would be ashamed of her.
"I'm afraid I can't play any games," she said slowly; "you see, I never went with girls and I never went to school."
"Did you go with boys then?" Muriel still smiled. She felt quite sure that the answer would be "no."
"Why, yes, I did," Janet confessed, "and, you see, they liked to play ball and to go sailing or canoeing,"—she thought of Peter Gibbs, and the thought of him made the color come back to her cheeks—natural color this time.
"We coasted a lot in the winter and then of course there was always fishing," she finished lamely. How could she explain the hundred and one things that went to make up her days in Old Chester?
"Oh, well, I suppose you will find it very strange here." It was a chastened Muriel that spoke.
"Now, my Aunt Jane's poll parrot, I ask you, why under the sun should she?" Sally broke the silence that followed angrily.
Eleanor laughed at Janet.
"Have you been properly introduced to Sally's Aunt Jane's poll parrot?" she asked to change the subject.
"He's a very wise bird, and we all consult him when our own reason fails,"—Rosamond took up the explanation.
"Sally consults him oftener than any of the rest of us, because you see, Sally's reason fails her oftener. Excuse my breaking into the conversation, but no one has had the manners to introduce me. My name is Daphne Hillis, but no one ever calls me anything but Taffy on account of my hair." It was a long speech, but the speaker took twice as long as was necessary to say it; her slow drawl held a hint of laughter, and her voice sounded warm and furry.
Janet looked at her and laughed without meaning to.
"How do you do," she said. "I'm awfully glad to know about the poll parrot," she added with a smile.
Phyllis, who had been talking, very much against her will, to one of the teachers, joined them and nodded to Taffy. Janet noticed that she looked surprised and pleased.
Daphne smiled lazily.
"I like your twin, Phyllis," she drawled and then left them.
"Now isn't that just like Taffy?" Sally demanded.
"Not a bit," Eleanor protested. "Taffy likes very few people."
"Well, you know what I mean," Sally insisted. "It's like her to say a thing like that and then leave."
It was not until Janet and Phyllis were alone in the living-room that Phyllis explained.
"Daphne Hillis is the most popular girl in school," she said, "but I think she has fewer friends than any other girl, and that's what makes it strange."
"But if she's so popular?" Janet queried.
"Oh, she could have dozens of friends, but she doesn't seem to want them. She's queer and different somehow; none of us understand her, but we all love her."
Janet looked out of the window and smiled softly to herself. If being different from other girls meant being like Daphne, why, being different was not so bad after all.
She didn't even bother to turn her head when Phyllis exclaimed angrily,
"I think I hate Muriel Grey."
"Tommy, I call it just plain mean, for you to go away." Phyllis was perched on the arm of her brother's chair, and she gave him a little shake to emphasize her words.
Tom, by a deft twist of a wrist and a long reach with his other arm, laid her very gently on the floor at his feet and held her so that she could not move.
"Mustn't call your big brother names," he chided. "See what happens to little girls when they do?"
"Oh, Tommy, let me up, you wretch!" Phyllis struggled, but she was quite powerless.
"Janet, come and help me," she called. "Tom is killing me."
"What good do you think Janet can do?" Tom inquired calmly, as Janet could be heard running down the stairs.
"I don't know," Phyllis confessed, "but she will do something. Oh, Janet, save me! Look what Tommy is doing to me."
Janet stood in the doorway and laughed, then she made a dive for her brother, but instead of trying to use strength she tickled him.
"Here, stop; that's no fair," he protested, but Janet only renewed her efforts, and Phyllis, taking advantage of his helplessness, jumped up. After that it was only a matter of seconds before Tommy was on the sofa completely muffled by cushions.
"Pax, pax, I'll be good," he panted. "What do you want me to do?"
"Say you are never going home," Phyllis commanded.
"I'm never going home," Tom repeated meekly.
They let him up, and he tried to smooth his hair and straighten his tie.
"Thank goodness that's settled!" Phyllis exclaimed. "And now what do you propose doing to amuse us?"
"It's Saturday, you know," Janet reminded him.
"Auntie Mogs, I appeal to you," Tom said, as Miss Carter entered the room. "Is this fair? These two Comanche Indians hold me helpless on the sofa, extract a promise that I will never go home, and now they want me to amuse them besides."
"All day," Phyllis said.
"All day long," echoed Janet.
Miss Carter laughed. "I'm afraid I can't help you out, Tom; you brought it upon yourself, but of course you know that a promise made in self-defense is not binding."
"Isn't it, though?" Phyllis demanded, and Janet started to tickle again.
"Say it is binding," she commanded.
"Oh, anything, anything, only stop!" Tom begged. "I am at your mercy, what do you want me to do?"
"Well, we might take a walk in the park this morning," Phyllis suggested. "Janet hasn't seen my pet lion yet, and I'm crazy to show him to her."
"And we have to go to the station this afternoon to meet Boru," Janet added happily. Miss Carter, true to her promise, had written to Mrs. Page, with the result that Janet's dog was expected that day.
"And after that—" Phyllis cupped her chin in her hand and appeared to give the matter serious consideration.
"Don't you think after that you might rest awhile?" Auntie Mogs inquired.
"Saturday comes but once a year; I mean, week," Phyllis chanted, "and it's foolish to rest."
"I have an idea," Tom said suddenly; "if you promise not to tickle me in the station when I go to buy my ticket and behave yourselves generally, I will give you a surprise party. No, I won't tell you what it's to be, that's my affair, but I promise it will be something nice."
"Something to do?" Phyllis inquired.
Tom nodded.
"Will you promise?"
"Shall we?" Phyllis looked at Janet.
"Yes, let's, I love surprises," Janet agreed.
"We promise," they said together.
"Well, then, go get your things on, and we will go over and interview this lion friend of Phyllis's." Tom sighed his relief when the girls had gone.
"We'll miss you, Tom," Miss Carter said gently; "must you really go to-morrow?"
"Indeed, I must. I should have gone weeks ago," Tom replied, "but I couldn't leave those two youngsters. Tell you what it is, Auntie Mogs, it isn't every man that finds two such sisters. I wish you were all going back with me," he added wistfully.
"Dear Tom, the summer isn't very far away." Miss Carter patted his shoulder affectionately.
"Then you'll really come?"
"Of course we will. The girls are making plans already. The only thing that worries me is that Mrs. Page may want Janet with her this summer."
"Oh, I fixed all that," Tom assured her. "Grandmother knows you are coming to me, but I think she expects you all at Old Chester for Christmas."
"Oh, that would be delightful," Miss Carter said warmly. "A change would do the girls so much good. It's just the time when school gets a little monotonous and then, too, if Janet has a visit to look forward to it may keep her from growing homesick."
"Homesick! Why you haven't seen any symptoms of that, have you?" Tom demanded, sitting up straight and looking at his aunt.
Miss Carter laughed at his concern.
"Nothing very alarming," she said, "but I don't think she quite understands school yet. She doesn't seem to want to talk about it, for one thing."
"But Phyllis says the girls all like her?"
"I am sure they do, but perhaps she doesn't realize it quite yet. Girls are very strange sometimes, Tom, but I can see Phyllis is worried."
Tom had only time to nod, for the girls came back with their hats and coats on and the subject had to be dropped.
"It's a glorious day," Phyllis enthused as they entered the park and headed toward the zoo. "I wonder if Akbar will remember me."
"Oh, undoubtedly," Tom teased. "Lions are noted for their wonderful memories."
"Have you known him long?" Janet inquired mischievously.
"I have. Akbar and I have been friends for over two years, and you can laugh if you want to but he does know me," Phyllis retorted.
And indeed it almost seemed as though he did. They entered the lion house to find a number of people around the cage, for Akbar was a mighty beast, and people were apt to linger, fascinated, before him.
This morning he was lying with his huge paws over his nose, the picture of disgust.
"Oh, my beauty, isn't he a love?" Phyllis demanded, forgetting that her voice carried far in its eagerness.
The people around the cage laughed and turned to look at her, but only Tom and Janet felt embarrassed. Phyllis was gazing at Akbar.
"Come over here and talk to me," she urged. "I want you to stand up and roar."
Akbar opened one sleepy eye and then the other, lifted his splendid head and finally after a little more coaxing stood up and stretched.
"You see he does remember me," Phyllis said triumphantly. "I knew he would."
Tom and Janet looked at each other and winked solemnly.
Phyllis refused to leave until, with the aid of the keeper, who seemed to be an old friend of hers, she had made Akbar roar for a large piece of meat.
"That's the way he says please, bless his darling heart," she explained, and the keeper nodded assent.
"The little lady has a great way with him, sir," he said to Tom. "It do seem as though he knows her, for he'll get up and come to the front of his cage when he won't for another living soul, but I do be always saying that lions be rare intelligent beasts."
"My sentiments exactly," Tom agreed affably, but he hurried the girls out into the sunshine.
"I didn't want him to tell me that Phyllis ought to have been brought up as a lion tamer,"—he laughed—"and I could see that he was going to with the slightest encouragement."
Phyllis was silent most of the way home, Akbar always filled her with odd hopes, too vague to be put into words but strong enough to make her restless. He had the same effect on her that some of the statues in the museum had.
After luncheon they went down to meet the train that carried at least one very excited passenger. All the way from Old Chester Boru had done his doggish best to tell all the brakemen in the train that he was going to his mistress at last.
He very nearly ate Janet up when he spied her down the length of the baggage platform. As for Janet, she sat down on the floor and hugged him until Tom bribed her to get up by offering to buy Boru some ice cream.
It was a merry party that came back to Auntie Mogs's in a taxicab and Boru, in his excitement, insisted upon licking even the chauffeur's ear.
Janet sat with him in her lap for the rest of the happy afternoon.
Tom's surprise party was a great success. At a little after six, he told the girls to be ready to go out, and Auntie Mogs suggested that they wear their prettiest frocks.
"Of course you can do as you like," she said with a twinkle in her eye, "but I am going to wear my black lace."
"Auntie Mogs, you know what the surprise is," Phyllis accused. "Tell us, please do."
But Auntie Mogs went off to her own room, singing softly to herself.
The girls dressed as quickly as they could, and discussed the possibilities.
"I think we are going to dinner at one of those huge hotels," Janet said. "I know it will be thrilling."
"Yes, I think that's part of it too," Phyllis agreed.
"Only part?" Janet inquired.
"Hum, well, maybe that will be all." Phyllis did not wish to voice the thought that was making her smile.
"And quite enough too," Janet replied.
But dinner at a hotel was not all. A theater followed, and Janet, who had never seen a play before, was so excited and thrilled that people around her who had come expecting to be bored went home chuckling over the memory of her shining eyes.
They reached home tired and sleepy but very happy.
"It would have been a perfect day if I hadn't kept thinking that Tommy was going away to-morrow," Phyllis sighed and yawned. "Why do we always have to have some little thing to spoil perfect fun, I wonder."
"There is a reason," Janet answered dreamily. "It has something to do with roses and thorns, but I'm too sleepy to remember, only I do wish, Tommy, you wouldn't go."
"To bed with you," Tom laughed, as he kissed them both, "and happy dreams."
They were asleep in a very short time, but curiously enough they did not dream of dancing and music as they had expected, for Phyllis dreamed of Akbar and Janet of Boru.
Tom left for the West the next day, and Janet and Phyllis returned from the station with Auntie Mogs. They were very quiet for the rest of the evening, for they were busy with their own thoughts.
Janet faced another week of school and she dreaded it. If she could only stay at home with Phyllis and Auntie Mogs and Boru, instead of having to face all those girls again. She had tried at first to find her place among them, but the old dread of being "different" made her shy and self-conscious; even with Daphne before her as an example of the charms of originality she had failed, failed utterly.
It was partly the girls' fault. They had made a tremendous fuss about her the first few days and then, as the novelty had worn off, they had settled back into their own ways, and Janet had not understood the change. Her shyness made her morbid, and by the end of the first week she had made up her mind that she had failed in some way, and she construed the girls' thoughtless indifference to mean dislike.
It is no wonder that she dreaded the thought of returning; it meant hard work to keep a stiff upper lip and to smile in spite of her heartache. Only one thought was clear, and that was that Phyllis must not know.
But Phyllis did know. There was something wrong, she felt sure, but she could not understand what it was. She had been delighted with the way her friends had welcomed her twin, but when Janet had seemed to refuse their offers of friendship she could only conclude that she did not like them. But Phyllis would not accept any such explanation meekly. Janet was not happy, therefore something must be done, and she decided to talk the matter over with Sally.
She chose the noon recess, when Janet remained in the study hall to finish a composition she was writing.
Sally listened gravely.
"WhatshallI do about it?" Phyllis finished dolefully.
"Well, something," Sally replied decidedly. "I don't know just what, but something's wrong, and we will have to ferret it out. She's strange, of course, and she doesn't understand us very well. I've seen her look at me as if she thought I were crazy sometimes. She acts as though she didn't like us, but I think she does really. Time's the thing, of course, but it won't do to wait until the girls begin to resent her standoffishness."
"Oh, Sally, don't," pleaded Phyllis. "Hello, Taffy," she added, as Daphne passed slowly behind her chair.
"'Lo," Daphne drawled.
In another part of the room another group of girls were discussing Janet.
"She's really not a bit like Phyllis," Eleanor said with a frown. "I can't make her out."
"Neither can any one else," replied Rosamond. "She's queer."
"I've never been able to get anything but yes or no out of her," another girl complained. "I call her just plain slow."
"She's always fearfully polite," some one else objected. "I never heard her use a single slang word."
"Oh, well, Sally will cure her of that,"—Rosamond laughed.
Eleanor sighed. It was so easy to be goodnatured that she couldn't understand anybody taking the trouble to sulk.
"We must be nice to her anyway," she said decidedly. "She's Phyllis's twin, and she's in our class."
"Suppose so," the others agreed, as the bell rang.
When Sally and Phyllis returned to the study hall, Janet was still at her desk. She looked up and smiled as Phyllis spoke to her, but she went on with her work.
Sally watched her critically and sighed. She was awfully sorry for her but she was angry too. She wanted to shake her, to make her laugh or cry or do something besides just sitting there with that forced smile and her brown eyes ready to flood with tears any minute.
"I wish she would bawl and have it over with," she thought to herself.
Janet lifted the lid of her desk to put away her papers, and Sally lifted hers at the same time and bent her head so that she could speak without being seen from the desk.
"Phyllis is coming over to my house this afternoon," she whispered; "will you come too?"
"Oh, thanks, I'd like to," Janet replied eagerly.
Sally sighed with relief. So far so good. Once in her own home, with a box of candy between them, they could surely straighten everything out.
As for Janet, she had hardly accepted the invitation before she regretted it. Sally only wanted her because she knew Phyllis would not come without her, or so she argued.
"I won't be a bother to them," she declared vehemently. "I won't."
So when Sally and Phyllis hurried to the study hall after being detained by Miss Baxter at the close of school, Janet was nowhere to be found.
"But she said she'd come," Sally exclaimed angrily. "Oh, she's left a note on my desk, listen—
"Dear Sally—" (she read)
"I am sorry that I won't be able to come to your house with Phyllis this afternoon, but I have just remembered something that I must hurry home to do.
"Thank you very much for bothering to ask me.
"JANET."
"My Aunt Jane's poll parrot!" was all poor Sally could say.
"But she didn't have anything to do at home," Phyllis protested. "Oh, Sally, what is the matter with her, and what shall I do?"
"You'll come home with me first of all," Sally replied with determination; "then later in the afternoon we will go over to your house, as though nothing had happened, and perhaps we can persuade her to come out for a walk."
"All right, if you think that's best,"—Phyllis agreed to the plan, dismally. "But I warn you I won't be very good fun."
"If she would only come to her senses," Sally exclaimed.
In the meantime, Janet had hurried away from school. She did not want Phyllis to see her for, with that lump in her throat, she knew an explanation would mean tears, and Janet hated tears.
Her steps lagged before she had gone very far, and she walked on slowly, deep in an unhappy revery, too miserable to notice the quick footsteps that were rapidly gaining on her.
"Hello, Phyllis's twin!" The soft, half-laughing drawl was unmistakable, and Janet turned quickly, to see Daphne beside her.
"Hello," she answered slowly. No need to force a smile for her; she wouldn't be deceived by it.
Daphne did not appear to notice anything amiss. She looked lazily down at the wet and muddy sidewalks and shrugged her shoulders.
"Park's better than this," she suggested. "Let's cut over to it."
They walked in silence until they gained the path that ran around the reservoir.
"Looks wintry, doesn't it?" she asked idly. They stopped and looked over the iron railing into the dull green water.
It was a somber autumn day. The sky was banked with dark gray clouds, and a high wind swept through the trees, tearing away the last leaves and whirling them to the ground.
"I suppose so," Janet replied indifferently. "I like it," she added listlessly.
"Of course, but it's silly of you," Daphne agreed with her odd little laugh. "Awfully silly."
"What do you mean?" Janet looked up at her suddenly.
"It's silly to like dreary things, even days, and it's most awfully silly to be dreary yourself. Not fair, you know, when every body's doing their best to be nice."
"But they're not," Janet said quickly. "They were the first day and then—"
Daphne turned slowly and looked at her. For once her drooping lids fully uncovered the sea green eyes that they were usually at such pains to hide. A strand of her taffy-colored hair blew across her face, and she tucked it carefully under her hat before she answered.
"So that's it, is it?" There was a hint of something besides laughter in her velvety voice. "I didn't understand; what happened?"
"I don't know," Janet answered dully; "perhaps I did something they didn't like or perhaps they just stopped bothering with me; I don't know."
"But I know,"—Daphne laughed. "You expected too much. When the girls stopped making a fuss about you, you thought they stopped liking you, so here you are going off in corners and looking sadder than a wet chicken, and you think you are doing the best you can, eh?"
"Go on," Janet said quietly.
"Ever have a pet rabbit?" Daphne inquired with mild interest.
"Yes, but what—" Janet stammered.
"Remember the first day you had him, the fuss you made about him and then how you got sort of tired of him?"
"Why, yes, I suppose—"
Daphne laughed and yawned, showing all her pretty white teeth.
"Little simpleton, you're the rabbit," she said. "The girls still like you, but they're used to you and they rather expect you to do something now. It's your turn to do tricks, like the bunny."
"And I—" Janet began.
"Oh, you sit in the corner and sulk and say, 'Yes, thank you,' and 'no, thank you,' and the girls are discouraged. Can't blame them, you know. You're Phyllis's sister, and they have a right to expect more from you." She said it all in her soft furry voice, and it was impossible to resent it. Janet watched her fasten her coat collar up closer about her neck, but she could not speak.
Daphne apparently did not expect her to.
"It's your turn now," she repeated and without another word turned and walked away.
Janet did not follow her except with her eyes. She seemed rivetted to the spot on which she stood. When Daphne was out of sight she turned once more to the reservoir, but this time she saw more than the clouds reflected in the dull water. She saw her own mistake.
"Hello, you two, where are you bound for?" Eleanor joined Sally and Phyllis as they were on their way to Sally's house and took them each by an arm.
"Home," Sally replied, "home to muse with wonder and sorrow over the sickening cruelty of Ducky Lucky."
"I know," Eleanor nodded sympathetically; "isn't to-morrow's math. simply terrible. I'm not going to try to do it."
"Well, I am," Sally announced emphatically. "Catch me staying in for an hour and listening to a long and weary lecture on my many sins; no thanks. If the worse comes to the worst, I will make Daddy do it for me."
"Where's Rosey-posey?" inquired Phyllis. "You're not going to walk all the way home to your house, are you?" Eleanor lived across the city on Riverside Drive.
"Walk, well, I guess not, but I had to make a start to get Rosey away from the piano. She's playing while Madge teaches some of the other seniors how to dance the latest step. I wish she'd hurry, I hate loosing my special bus." She glanced behind her and then stopped. "Here she comes now."
Rosamond joined them. She was out of breath but she was laughing.
"Oh, my hat!" she exclaimed. "Muriel will kill me yet. I met her in the cloakroom and we went out together. I thought she looked worried, but I didn't catch on until she began making excuses to get rid of me, then I looked ahead and down the street, busily tying his shoe,HEwas waiting."
"Well, I hope you had the manners to leave at once?"—Eleanor laughed. "Or did you wait and make her miserable!"
Rosamond winked one eye mischievously.
"I behaved with perfect decorum," she replied. "I said I really must run for my bus as the conductor was a cousin of my sister-in-law's aunt and he let me ride for nothing. I said it loud too, so that He could hear, and Muriel was wild."
"Oh, Rosey, how could you, you wretch; poor Muriel!" Phyllis tried not to laugh, but gave up and joined the rest.
Rosamond turned them down one of the side streets abruptly.
"Where are you going?" Eleanor demanded. "I want to go home; I'm hungry."
"Now don't be absurd," Rosamond admonished. "You can eat any old time, but it isn't often that you can see what I am going to show you."
"Oh, now what are you up to?" Eleanor protested, but Rosamond only pointed to the corner of the next avenue and told them to watch.
"Aunt Jane's poll parrot, Muriel!" Sally was the first to see that the girl and boy approaching them was their classmate and her friend. They would soon meet.
"I'll giggle, I know I will," Eleanor warned them. "Rosey, it's all your fault. Let's turn around."
"Never," Rosamond protested. "Just walk like little ladies and bow politely when they pass," she said with a ridiculous primness that was exactly like the art teacher at school.
They walked; there was nothing else to do; and Muriel and the boy beside her came toward them, deep in conversation. It was noticeable that Muriel was doing most of the talking.
When they were even with them, Rosamond bowed formally and in a high and very affected voice she exclaimed,
"Why, Muriel, howdoyou do?"'
Sally called a careless hello, and Eleanor, too full of laughter to dare speech, only nodded. It was Phyllis that gave a little gasp of astonishment that was repeated in turn by the boy. He recovered himself and pulled off his cap in response to her quick smile.
They were hardly out of earshot before the girls turned to her.
"Phyllis Page, you've known him all the time, you wretch," Rosamond accused.
"I have not," Phyllis denied. "I was never so surprised in my life."
"What's his name?" Sally demanded, but Phyllis shook her head.
"I don't know," she protested, "honestly I don't. I have only seen him once before and then I wasn't really introduced, his first name, or rather his nickname, is Chuck, and that's all I know, except,"—she added provokingly, "that he doesn't believe in brownies." And that was all she would say on the subject, though the girls did their best to make her explain.
"Well, we have to go or Eleanor will faint from hunger," Rosamond said regretfully as they reached the avenue again and waited for the bus. "But I'll find out some more about this, if I have to ask Muriel," she added laughingly.
Sally and Phyllis hurried home. Now that the girls had left them, they forgot everything but Janet and their plans. They were late in reaching Sally's home, but they found a dainty luncheon waiting for them and Sally's mother was delighted to see Phyllis.
"But where's the twin?" she demanded. "I do want to see her so much. Sally says she is the very image of you and a darling too."
Phyllis looked uncomfortable and tried to smile. It was Sally who explained.
"She was coming, but at the last minute she had to go home. Phyl and I are going over for her a little later and, darling mother of mine, we will bring her over here to call on youifyou promise us hot cinnamon toast and cake to go with tea."
Mrs. Ladd laughed and pinched Sally's cheek. She was a tall and strikingly handsome woman with flashing black eyes and the jolliest laugh in the world. All Sally's friends loved her almost as much as they loved Sally, and she was always in demand with Auntie Mogs to act as chaperone to the various skating and theater parties.
"You are getting very grown up," she answered now, her eyes twinkling. "Last year it was hot chocolate you wanted and the year before that ice cream and now it's tea."
"And we really hate it," Phyllis laughed. "We'd lots rather have chocolate."
"Oh, well, give us chocolate then," Sally exclaimed. "Only be sure there's plenty of toast."
"For Phyllis's twin, I suppose," Mrs. Ladd laughed. "Very well, I'll remember," she promised, as she left them to go out.
The girls ate hurriedly and then talked up in Sally's room until they thought it was time to go back.
"What shall we do if she won't come?" Sally said seriously.
"Oh, there's no fear of that," Phyllis replied hastily. "She'll come if we are there to make her and she will love your mother, I know she will. I do hope she hasn't gone out anywhere with Auntie Mogs."
"Let's hurry," Sally said, the idea making her feel the need for immediate action. "If she's out we can wait for her."
But Janet was not out. She was sitting in the library window-seat with Boru in her lap. She saw the girls coming up the street and she knocked on the window to them and waved.
"I hoped you'd bring Sally back with you," she called as they ran up the steps. "Auntie Mogs is out and Boru is too sleepy to be very good company. I almost went over to get Sir Galahad, but I thought they might know I wasn't you and refuse to give him to me."
Sally had never heard Janet say so much at one time, and she looked at her with a new interest. Perhaps she was going to be human after all and without their aid. She devoutly hoped so.
"We came back especially to get you," she replied as she patted Boru. "Mother wants you to come to tea with her and incidentally us."
"Oh, that will be bully," Janet said, and Phyllis had hard work to believe her ears.
"What are you reading?" she inquired as a book dropped from Janet's lap.
Janet picked it up and laughed.
"Elsie Dinsmore," she answered, blushing a little. "I found it behind a shelf in the corner and I have been laughing myself sick over it."
"Laughing?" Phyllis was more surprised than ever. As she remembered the Elsie Books they were more calculated to make you weep than laugh.
"Yes, Elsie was always going off into corners to cry. I've just finished the part where her father made her play a hymn on Sunday and she had to be carried fainting to her room and I don't know just why but I began to think I was like Elsie and, well, I think I'm cured," she ended in confusion.
"Oh, Janet, of all the silly notions!" Phyllis exclaimed. "Since when have you been going off into corners to weep?"
"Or fainted at hearing music on Sunday?" added Sally.
"Well, I haven't exactly," Janet admitted, "but I have done a lot of silly sulking, but honestly I didn't realize how silly I was being."
"You never sulked in your whole entire life, Janet Page," Phyllis protested warmly. "I won't have you saying such a thing."
"Of course not," Sally agreed, no less warmly; "do chuck that silly old book out of the window and come out for a walk. Bring Boru, too; mother will adore him."
Janet went upstairs, still laughing, and Sally and Phyllis were left staring at each other.
"What has come over her?" Sally inquired.
"I don't know and I don't much care," Phyllis answered happily.
Janet was humming as she put on her berry cap and pulled it over at a rakish angle. She had spent a very profitable afternoon laughing at herself. At first the laughter had been a little too grim, but before long the grimness had disappeared and only a good-natured ridicule was left. It is good to be able to laugh at yourself once in a while, but Janet was glad that the time was over.
She had made up her mind not to tell them about Daphne, that was to be her secret.