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diff --git a/42840-0.txt b/42840-0.txt index e427fb6..ad5b4e0 100644 --- a/42840-0.txt +++ b/42840-0.txt @@ -1,34 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sisters, by Grace May North - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sisters - -Author: Grace May North - -Release Date: May 29, 2013 [EBook #42840] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42840 *** “Will you do me the favor to stand in front of this long mirror with me?” (Page 305) @@ -7620,361 +7590,4 @@ my own dear sister, Jeanette.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sisters, by Grace May North -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - -***** This file should be named 42840-0.txt or 42840-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/8/4/42840/ - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sisters - -Author: Grace May North - -Release Date: May 29, 2013 [EBook #42840] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -"Will you do me the favor to stand in front of this long mirror with me?" - (Page 305) - - - - - SISTERS - - - _By_ GRACE MAY NORTH - - - THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY - Akron, Ohio New York - - - Copyright MCMXXVIII - THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY - _Made in the United States of America_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. How It Began 3 - II. Jenny 15 - III. Forlorn Etta 21 - IV. A Pitiful Plight 28 - V. Friends in Need 39 - VI. Wanted, a Waitress 45 - VII. Jenny's Teacher 59 - VIII. An Adventure Filled Day 75 - IX. An Old Friend Appears 88 - X. Brother and Sister 94 - XI. Views and Reviews 99 - XII. Plots and Plays 105 - XIII. Ferns and Friends 108 - XIV. Dearest Desires 116 - XV. Peers or Pigs 125 - XVI. Good News 133 - XVII. Pride Meets Pride 138 - XVIII. A New Experience 145 - XIX. A Welcome Guest 151 - XX. Ingratitude Personified 168 - XXI. A Second Meeting 178 - XXII. Revelations and Regrets 186 - XXIII. Mother and Son 194 - XXIV. Harold and Charles 201 - XXV. A Jolly Plan 207 - XXVI. A Rustic Cabin 217 - XXVII. Fun as Farmers 222 - XXVIII. A Difficult Promise 232 - XXIX. The Haughty Gwynette 238 - XXX. Gwyn's Awakening 249 - XXXI. Conflicting Emotions 257 - XXXII. Three Girls 266 - XXXIII Gwynette's Choice 279 - XXXIV An Agreeable Surprise 289 - XXXV A Birthday Cake 293 - XXXVI Sisters 302 - - - - - SISTERS - - - - - CHAPTER I. - HOW IT BEGAN - - -Gold and blue were the colors that predominated on one glorious April -day. Gold were the fields of poppies that carpeted the foothills -stretching down to the very edge of Rocky Point, against which the -jewel-blue Pacific lapped quietly. It was at that hour of the tides when -the surf is stilled. - -A very old adobe house surrounded on three sides by wide verandas, the -pillars of which were eucalyptus logs, stood about two hundred feet back -from the point. Rose vines, clambering at will over the picturesque old -dwelling, were a riot of colors. There was the exquisite pink Cecil -Brunner in delicate, long-stemmed clusters; Gold of Ophir blossoms in a -mass glowing in the sunshine, while intertwined were the vines of the -star-like white Cherokee and Romona, the red. - -Mingled with their fragrance was the breath of heliotrope which grew, -bushwise, at one corner so luxuriantly that often it had to be cut away -lest it cover the gravel path which led around the house to the orchard. -There, under fruit trees that were each a lovely bouquet of pearly bloom, -stood row after row of square white hives, while bees, busy at honey -gathering, buzzed everywhere. - -Now and then, clear and sweet, rose the joyous song of mating birds. - -A little old woman, seated in a rustic rocker on the western side porch, -dropped her sewing on her lap and smiled on the scene with blissful -content. What a wonderful world it was and how happy she and Silas had -been since Jenny came. She glanced across the near gardens, aglow with -early bloom, to a patch of ploughed brown earth where an old man was -cultivating between rows of green shoots, some of them destined to -produce field corn for the cow and chickens, and the rest sweet corn for -the sumptuous table of Mrs. Poindexter-Jones. - -Then the gaze of the little old woman continued a quarter of a mile along -the rocky shore to a grove of sycamore trees, where stood the castle-like -home of the richest woman in Santa Barbara township. Only the topmost -turrets could be seen above the towering treetops. The vast grounds were -surrounded by a high cypress hedge, and, not until he reached the wrought -iron gates could a passer-by obtain a view of the magnificence that lay -within. But the little old woman knew it all in detail, as she had been -housekeeper there for many years, until, in middle-age, she had married -Silas Warner, who managed the farm for Mrs. Algernon Poindexter-Jones. - -For the past fifteen years the happy couple had lived in the old adobe -house at Rocky Point, while at Poindexter Arms, as the beautiful estate -was named, there had been a succession of housekeepers and servants, for -their mistress was domineering and hard to please. - -Of late years the grand dame had seldom been seen by the kindly old -farmer, Si Warner and his wife, for Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had preferred -to live in her equally palatial home in San Francisco overlooking the -Golden Gate. - -She visited Santa Barabra periodically, merely to assure herself that her -orders were being carried out by the servants left in charge of -Poindexter Arms and Rocky Point farm. Often Mrs. Si Warner did not catch -a glimpse of their employer on these fleeting visits, and yet she well -knew that the imperious mistress of millions was linked more closely than -she liked to remember to the old couple at Rocky Point. - -As she resumed her sewing, memory recalled to her that long ago incident -which, by the merest chance, had made the proud woman and the humble, -sharers of a secret which neither had cared to divulge. - -It had been another spring day such as this, only they had all been -younger by fourteen years. - -While ploughing in the lot nearest the highway, Farmer Si had noticed a -strange equipage drawn to one side of the road. He thought little of it -at first, believing it to be a traveling tinsmith, as the canopied wagon -was evidently furnished with household utensils, but, when an hour later, -he again reached that side of the field and saw the patient horse still -standing there with drooping head and no one in sight, his curiosity was -aroused, and, leaping over the rail fence, he went to investigate. - -Under that weather-stained canopy a sad tragedy had been enacted. On the -driver's seat a young man, clothed in a garb of a clergyman, seemed to be -sleeping, but a closer scrutiny revealed to the farmer that the Angel of -Death had visited the little home on wheels. For a home it evidently had -been. In the roomier part of the wagon a beautiful little girl of three -sat on a stack of folded bedding, while in a crude box-like crib a sickly -looking infant lay sleeping. - -Whenever Mrs. Silas Warner recalled that long ago day, she again -experienced the varying emotions which had come to her following each -other in rapid succession. She had been ironing when she had seen a queer -canopied equipage coming up the lane which led from the highway. -Believing it to be a peddlar, who now and then visited their farm, she -had gone to the side porch, there to have her curiosity greatly aroused -by the fact that it was her husband Si who was on the seat of the driver. -Then her surprise had been changed to alarm when she learned of the three -who were under the canopy. Awe, because she was in the presence of death, -and tender sympathy for the little ones, who had evidently been orphaned, -mingled in the heart of the woman as she held the scrawny, crying infant -that her husband had given to her. Even with all these crowding emotions -there had yet been room for admiration, when the little three-year-old -girl was lifted down. The child stood apart, quiet and aloof. She had -heard them say that her father was dead. She was too young to understand -and so she just waited. A rarely beautiful child, with a tangled mass of -light brown, sun-glinted hair hanging far below her shoulders, and wide, -wondering brown eyes that were shaded with long curling lashes. - -But still another emotion had been stirred in the heart of Susan Warner, -for a most unexpected and unusual visitor had at that moment arrived. A -coach, bearing the Poindexter Arms, turned into the lane, and when the -liveried footman threw open the door, there sat no less a personage than -the grand dame, Mrs. Algernon Poindexter-Jones, on one of her very -infrequent visits to the farm which belonged to her estate. She had been -charmed with the little girl, and after having heard the story, she -announced that she would keep the child until relatives were found. Then -she was driven away, without having stated her errand, and accompanying -her, still quietly aloof, rode the three-year-old girl. A doctor and -coroner soon arrived, having been summoned by Mrs. Poindexter-Jones. The -latter had searched the effects of the dead man and had found an -unfinished letter addressed to a bishop in the Middle West. In it the man -had told of his wife's death, and that he was endeavoring to keep on with -his traveling missionary work in outlying mountain districts, but that -his heart attacks were becoming threateningly more frequent. "There is no -relative in all the world with whom to leave Gwynette, who is now three, -and little Jeanette, who is completing her first year." No more had been -written. - -After the funeral Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had announced that she would -adopt the older child and that, if they wished, the farmer and his wife -might keep the scrawny baby on one condition, and that was that the girls -should never be told that they were sisters. To this the childless couple -had rejoicingly agreed. The doctor and coroner had also been sworn to -secrecy. The dead man's effects were stored in the garret above the old -adobe and the incident was closed. - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones left almost at once for Europe, where she had -remained for several years. - -Tenderly loved, and nourished with the best that the farm could produce, -the scrawny, ill-looking infant had gradually changed to a veritable -fairy of sunshine. "Jenny," as they called her, feeling that Jeanette was -a bit too grand, walked with a little skipping step from the time that -she was first sure that she would not tumble, and looked up, with -laughter in her lovely eyes, that were the same liquid brown as were her -sister's, and tossed back her long curls that were also light brown with -threads of sunlight in them. And ever after, there were little skipping -steps to her walk, and, when she talked, it seemed as though at any -moment she might break into song. - -Jenny had never questioned her origin. She had always been with Granny -Sue and Granddad Si, and so, of course, that proved that she belonged to -them. She was too happy, just being alive, to create problems for herself -to solve, and too busy. - -There had been too few children on the neighboring ranches to maintain a -country school, and Jenny had been too young to send on a bus to Santa -Barbara each day, but her education had not been neglected, for a -charming and cultured young woman living not far away had taught her -through the years, and she had learned much that other girls of her age -did not know. - -When the weather was pleasant Jenny, her school books under her arm, -walked to the hill-top home of her teacher, Miss Dearborn, but during the -rainy season her grandfather hitched their faithful Dobbin to the -old-fashioned, topped buggy and drove her to her destination in the -morning, calling for her in the late afternoon. - -But on one wild March day when Jenny had been thirteen, an unexpected -storm had overtaken her as she was walking home along the coast highway. - -Luckily she had worn her mackintosh, but as she was passing between wide, -treeless meadows that reached to the sea on one side and a briary hill on -the other, there had been no shelter in sight. - -However, a low gray car had soon appeared around a bend and the driver, a -youth whose face was hidden by cap, collar and goggles, had offered her a -ride. Gladly she had accepted and had been taken to her home, where, to -her surprise, Grandmother Sue had welcomed the lad with sincerest -pleasure. That had been the first time Jenny Warner had met Harold, the -only son of their employer, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones. - -His visit had brought consternation to the little family at Rocky Point, -for, inadvertently, he had told the old man that his mother planned -selling the farm when she could find a suitable buyer. - -The old woman sitting on the side porch dropped her sewing to her lap as -she recalled that long-ago scene in the kitchen. - -The farmer had been for the moment almost stunned by the news, then -looking up at the boy with a pitiful attempt at a smile, he had said -waveringly: - -"I reckon you see how 'tis, Harry-boy. We've been livin' here at Rocky -Point so long, it's sort o' got to feelin' like home to us, but you tell -your ma that the Warners'll be ready to move when she says the word." - -The boy had been much affected, and, after assuring them that perhaps a -buyer would not be found, he had taken his departure. - -When he had gone, Jenny had cuddled in her grandfather's arms and he had -held her close. Susan Warner remembered that the expression on his face -had been as though he were thanking God that they had their "gal". With -her irrepressible enthusiasm the girl had exclaimed: - -"I have the most wonderful plan! Let's buy Rocky Point Farm, and then it -will be all our very own." - -"Lawsy, child," Susan Warner had remonstrated, "it'd cost a power o' -money, and it's but a few hundred that we've laid by." - -But Jenny had a notion that she wanted to try out. "Granny, granddad," -she turned from first one to the other and her voice was eager, earnest, -pleading: "Every Christmas since I can remember you've given me a -five-dollar gold piece to be saving for the time when I might be all -alone in the world. I want to spend them now." Then she unfolded her -plan. She wanted to buy hens and bees. "You were a wonderful beekeeper -when you were a boy, granddad," she insisted. "You have told me so time -and again, and I just know that I can sell eggs and honey to the rich -people over on the foothill estates, and then, when we have saved money -enough, we can buy the farm and have it for our very own home forever and -ever." - -The old couple knew that this would be impossible, but, since they had -not the heart to disappoint their darling, the scheme had been tried. -Every Saturday morning during the summer that she had been thirteen, -Jenny, high on the buckboard seat, had driven old Dobbin up and down the -long winding tree-hung lanes in the aristocratic foothill suburb of Santa -Barbara. At first her wares were only eggs from her flocks of white -Minorka hens, but, when she was fourteen, jars of golden strained honey -were added, and gradually, among her customers, she came to be known as -"The Honey Girl" from Rocky Point Farm. And now Jenny was fifteen. - -Susan Warner was startled from her day-dreams by the shrill whistle of -the rural mail carrier. Neatly folding her sewing (and Granny Sue would -neatly fold her sewing if she were running away from a fire), the old -woman went to the side porch nearest the lane where the elderly Mr. -Pickson was then stopping to leave the Rural Weekly for Mr. Silas Warner -and a note from Miss Isophene Granger for "The Honey Girl." - -"I reckon it's a fresh order for honey or eggs or such," the smiling old -woman told him. The mail carrier agreed with her. - -"I reckon 'tis! There's a parcel o' new girls over to the seminary," was -his comment as he turned his horse's head toward the gate, then with a -short nod he drove away. - -Susan Warner went back into the kitchen, and, feeling sure that the note -was not of a private nature, she unfolded the paper and read the message, -which was couched in the formal language habitually used by the principal -of the fashionable seminary. - -"Miss Isophene Granger desires six dozen eggs to be delivered this -afternoon not later than five." - -The old woman glanced at the clock. "Tut! Tut! And here it's close to -three. I reckon I'd better be gatherin' the eggs this once. Jenny says -it's her work, but it'll be all she can do to get there, with Dobbin to -hitch and what not." - -Taking her sunbonnet from its hook by the kitchen door, the old woman -went out to the barnyard where, in neat, wired-in spaces, there were -several flocks of white Minorka hens. After filling the large basket that -she carried with eggs, Susan Warner returned through the blossoming -orchard, and although she was unconscious of it, she smiled and nodded at -the bees that were so busily gathering honey; then she thought of her -girl. - -"Dear lovin' child that she is!" The faded blue eyes of the old woman -were tender. "Si and me never lets on that her plan can't come to -nothin'. 'Twould nigh break her heart. All told there's not more'n seven -hundred now in the bank, an' the farm, when they come to sell it, is like -to bring most that an acre, or leastwise so Pa reckons." - -But later, as Susan Warner was sorting the eggs and placing them in boxes -holding a dozen each, she took a more optimistic view of the matter. - -"It's well to be workin' and savin', how-some-ever," she concluded. "Our -darlin'll need it all an' more when her granddad an me are took." Then, -before the old woman could wipe away the tears that always came when she -thought of leaving Jenny, her eyes brightened, and, peering out of a -window near she exclaimed aloud (although there was only a canary to -hear), "Wall now, here comes Jenny this minute, singin' and skippin' up -the lane, like the world couldn't hold a trouble. Bless the happy heart -of her!" - - - - - CHAPTER II. - JENNY - - -Susan Warner turned to beam a welcome at the apparition standing in the -open door of the kitchen. With the sun back of her, shining through the -folds of her yellow muslin dress and glinting through her light, wavy -brown hair, the girl did indeed look like a sprite of the springtime, -and, to add to the picture, she held a branch, sweet with apricot -blossoms. - -"Greetings, Granny Sue!" she called gayly. "This is churning day, isn't -it?" - -"That's right, 'tis, Jenny darlin', or leastwise 'twould o' been 'ceptin' -for a message Mr. Pickson fetched over from Granger Place Seminary. -There's some new pupils come sudden like, I reckon, an' they need eggs a -day sooner than ordinary. I've got 'em all packed in the hamper, dearie. -You've nothin' to do but hitch Dobbin and start." - -"Righto, Granny Sue; but first I must put these poor blossoms into a jar. -I found the branch broken and just hanging by a shred of bark on that old -tree 'way down by the fence corner." - -Jenny took a brown jar from a cupboard as she talked and filled it with -water from the sink pump. - -"They'll be lonely for their home tree, like as not," she chattered on, -"but perhaps they'll be a bit glad when they find that they are to -brighten up our home for a few days. Don't you think maybe they will, -Granny Sue? Don't you think when we can't do the thing we most want to -do, we still can be happy if we are just alive and doing the most -beautiful thing that is left for us to do?" - -This last was called over her shoulder as she carried the jar and -blossoming branch toward the door of the living-room. Luckily she did not -pause for an answer, for the little old woman always felt confused when -her girl began such flights of fancy. Had she been obliged to reply, she -no doubt would have said: - -"Why, 'taint likely, Jenny, that branch of apricot flowers even knows -it's broken off, an' as for that, the ones that are left will make all -the better fruit with some of 'em gone." - -While the girl was placing the jar on the living-room center table, close -to the book that she had been reading, Granddad Si entered the kitchen -for a drink, and upon hearing of the message from Miss Granger, he -hurried to the barn to hitch old Dobbin to the cart, and so, when five -minutes later the girl skipped out, laughing over her shoulder at her -grandmother's admonition to go more slowly, lest she fall and break the -eggs, there was Granddad Si fastening the last buckles. He straightened -up, pushed his frayed straw hat to the back of his head and surveyed the -girl with pardonable pride. - -"Jenny, gal," he began, and from the expression in his eyes she knew just -how he would complete the sentence, and so, laughingly, she put her free -hand over his mouth. - -"Oh, granddad, 'tisn't so, not the least bit, and you mustn't say it -again. A stranger might hear you some time, and what if he should think -that I really believed it." - -But the old man finished his sentence, even though the words were mumbled -behind the slim white hand of his girl: - -"It's the Gospel truth, Jenny. I'm tellin' ye! Thar ain't a gal over to -that hifalutin seminary that's half as purty as yo' be. I reckon I know, -'cause I watch the whole lot of 'em when they go down the road on them -parade walks they take, with a teacher ahead and one behind like they was -a flock of geese and had to have a gooseherd along, which more'n like -they are. A silly parcel, allays gigglin'." - -The last half of this speech had been more clearly spoken, for Jenny, -having kissed him on the top of the nose from the wagon step, had climbed -into the cart. - -As she was driving away, she called back to him: "Wrong you are, -Granddad, for I am only an egg and honey vender, while they are all -aristocrats. Good-bye." - -Then, a second later, she turned again to sing out: - -"Tell Granny I'd like a chocolate pudding tonight, all hidden in -Brindle's yellowest cream." - -Long after the girl had driven away, the farmer stood gazing down the -lane. An old question had returned to trouble him: - -Was it honest not to tell her that she wasn't their own kin? - -He couldn't do it. It would break all of their hearts. She was their kin, -somehow. No own grandchild could be dearer. Then he thought of the other -girl, Jenny's sister. He had heard something that day about her, and he -had been mighty sorry to hear it. - -When his "gal" disappeared from sight, up one of the tree-shaded lanes -leading toward the foothill estates, Farmer Si turned and walked slowly -back to the kitchen. He delivered Jenny's message about the chocolate -pudding to his wife, who, even then, was preparing the vegetables for -supper. Crossing to the sink pump, the old man began working the handle -up and down. A rush of crystal clear water rewarded his effort and, after -having quaffed a long refreshing draught of it, he wiped his mouth with -the back of his hand. - -Then, after hanging his hat on its nail by the door, he sank down in his -favorite arm chair close to the stove and sighed deeply as though he were -very weary. His wife looked at him questioningly and he said in a voice -and manner which were evidently evasive: - -"Powerful poor weather for gettin' the crops started. Nothin' but -sunshine this fortnight past." - -Susan Warner was briskly beating the eggs needed for her darling's -favorite pudding. When the whirr had ceased she turned and smiled across -the room at the old man whose position showed that he was dejected. -"What's worryin' yo', Si?" The tone of the old woman's voice promised -sympathy if it were needed. "'Tisn't about the farm yo're really -cogitatin'. I can tell that easy. Thar's suthin' else troublin' yo', an' -yo' might as well speak out furst as last." - -"Wall, yo're close to right, Susan, as I reckon yo' most allays are. I -was mendin' the fence down by the highway when ol' Pickson drove up an' -stopped to pass the time o' day, like he generally does, an' he says, -says he, 'Si, have yo' heard the news?' I w'a'nt particular interested, -bein' as Pickson allays starts off that a-way, but what he said next -fetched me to an upstandin', I kin tell you." - -Susan Warner had stopped her work to listen. - -"What did Mr. Pickson tell you, Si? Suthin' that troubled you?" she -inquired anxiously. - -"Wall, sort o' that way. Mabbe it won't be nuthin' to worry about, and -mabbe agin it will. Pickson said as how Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had gone to -some waterin' place over in France for her nerves, an' not wishin' to -leave her daughter in the big city up north alone with the servants, -she'd sent her to stay in the seminary down here for the time bein', an', -what's more, a flock of her friends from San Francisco came along of her. -Them are the new pupils you was mentionin' a spell ago, as being the -reason extra eggs was needed." - -The old woman stared at her spouse as one spellbound. When she spoke her -voice sounded strained and unnatural. "Si Warner, do yo' mean to tell me -our Jenny has gone to fetch eggs for her very own sister an' her friends? -They're likely to meet up wi' each other now, arter all these years, an' -neither will know who the other really is. Oh, the pity of it, that one -of 'em should have all that money can buy, and the other of 'em ridin' -around peddlin' eggs and honey." - -But the old man took a different view of the matter. "Susan," he said, -"if our gal had the pick of the two places, I reckon she'd choose stayin' -with us. I reckon she would." - -Susan Warner's practical nature had again asserted itself. "Wall, there's -no need for us to be figurin' about that. Jenny shall never know that she -has a sister. Who is there to tell her? An' what's more, she'll never -have a chance to choose betwixt us and the Poindexter-Joneses." Then, as -a tender expression crept into the faded blue eyes, the old woman added, -"Jenny wouldn't leave us, Si. No, not for anyone. I'm sartin as to that, -but I'm hopin' she'll never know as she isn't our own. I'm sure hopin' -that she won't." - - - - - CHAPTER III. - FORLORN ETTA - - -Dobbin never could be induced to go faster than a gentle trot and this -pace was especially pleasing to his driver on a day when the world, all -the world that she knew, was at its loveliest. Having left the coast -highway, she turned up the Live-Oak Canon road and slowly began the -ascent toward the foothills. - -There was no one in sight for, indeed, one seldom met pedestrians along -the winding lanes in the aristocratic suburb of Santa Barbara. Now and -then a handsome limousine would pass and Dobbin, drawing to the far side -of the road, would put up his ears and stare at the usurper. He seemed to -consider all vehicles not horse-drawn with something of disdain. Then, -when it had passed, he again took the middle of the road, which he deemed -his rightful place. - -"Dobbin," the girl sang out to him, "what would you think, some day, if -you saw me riding in one of those fine cars?" Then, as memory recalled a -certain stormy day two years previous, Jenny continued, "I never told -you, Dobbin, but I did ride in one once. It was a little low gray car and -the boy who drove it called it a 'speeder.'" - -Then, as Dobbin seemed to consider this conversation not worth listening -to, the girl fell to musing. - -"I wonder what became of that boy. Harold P-J, he called himself, and he -said I mustn't forget the hyphen. He laughed when he said it. There must -have been something amusing about it. He was a nice boy with such -brotherly gray eyes. He hasn't been back since, I am sure, for he told -granddad he would come to the farm the very next time his mother -permitted him to visit Santa Barbara." Then Jenny recalled the one and -only time that she had seen Harold's mother. It was when she had been -ten. She had been out in the garden gathering Shasta daisies to give to -Miss Dearborn, her teacher. She had on a yellow dress that day, she -recalled; yellow had always been her favorite color and she had been -standing knee deep among the flowers with her arms almost full when the -grand coach turned into the lane. Jenny had often heard Granny Sue tell -about the coach, on the door of which was emblazoned the Poindexter-Arms, -and the small girl, filled with a natural curiosity, had glanced up as -the equipage was about to pass. But it had not passed, for the only -occupant, a haughty-mannered, handsomely-gowned woman had pulled on a -silken cord which evidently communicated with the driver's seat, for, -almost at once, the coach had stopped and the woman had beckoned to the -child. - -"Are you Jeanette Warner?" she had asked abruptly. The child, making a -curtsy, as Miss Dearborn had said all well-mannered little girls should, -had replied that her name was Jenny. Never would the girl forget the -expression on the handsome face as the eyebrows were lifted. The grand -dame's next remark, which was quite unintelligible to the child, had been -uttered in a cold voice as though the speaker were much vexed about -something. "I am indeed sorry to find that you are so alike." - -The haughty woman had then jerked on the silken cord in a most imperious -manner and the coach had moved toward the farmhouse. - -Jenny had never told anyone of this meeting, but her sensitive nature had -been deeply hurt by the cold, disdainful expression in the woman's eyes. -She had sincerely hoped she never again would encounter the owner of -Rocky Point, nor had she done so. Time, even, had erased from her memory -just what Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had said, since, at the time, the words -had conveyed no real meaning to the child. All that was left in her heart -was a dread of the woman, and she had been glad, glad that she lived far -away to the north instead of next door. - -Suddenly the impulsive girl drew rein. "Dobbin," she exclaimed joyfully, -"stand still a moment. I want you to look at that wonderful stone wall -around the Bixby estate. Isn't it the most beautiful thing that you ever -saw with the pink and white cherokee roses, star-like, all over it?" Then -she waved her hand toward an acacia tree beyond the wall that was golden -with bloom, and called out to an invisible mocking bird that was -imitating one lilting song after another, "I don't wonder that you shout -hosannas of praise. It's such a wonderful world to live in. Trot along, -Dobbin! We must get the eggs to the seminary before five." - -The tree-shaded, lane-like road they were following had many a bend in it -as it ascended higher and higher into the foothills, and, as they turned -at one of them, Jenny again addressed her four-footed companion. - -"Dobbin, do hurry! There's that poor forlorn Etta Somebody who pares -potatoes at the seminary. I see her all crouched down over a pan of -vegetables every time I go into that kitchen to deliver eggs and honey, -but not once has she looked up at me. I know she's terribly unhappy about -something. I don't believe she even knows that she's living in a -wonderful world where everything is so beautiful that a person just has -to sing. Please do hurry, Dobbin. I may never get another chance to speak -to her and I want to ask her if she wouldn't like to ride." - -Jenny slapped the reins on the back of the old dusty-white horse, and, -although he at first cast a glance of indignation over his right -shoulder, he decided to humor his young mistress, and did increase his -speed sufficiently to overtake the tall angular girl who shuffled as she -walked and drooped her shoulders as though the burden upon them was more -than she could bear. She wore an almost threadbare brown woolen dress, -though the day was warm, and a queer little hat which suggested to Jenny -pictures she had seen of children in foreign lands. She had one day heard -the cook address the girl as Etta in a voice that had expressed -impatience, and so, pulling on the rein, Jenny called cheerily, "Etta, -are you going up to the seminary? Won't you ride with me? I'm taking the -eggs a day early." - -The girl, whose plain, colorless face was dully expressionless, climbed -up on the seat at Jenny's side. "You look awfully fagged and dusty. Have -you been walking far?" the young driver ventured. - -The strange girl's tone was complaining--"Far? Well, I should say I have. -All the way to Santa Barbara railway station and back. Folks enough -passed me goin' and comin', but you're the first that offered me a lift." - -"Eight miles is a long walk," the young driver put in, "on a day as warm -as this" Etta's china blue eyes stared dully ahead. She made no response -and so Jenny again started Dobbin on the upward way. - -From time to time she glanced furtively at her companion, wondering why -she was so evidently miserable. - -At last she said, "I suppose everyone was in a hurry. I mean the folks -who passed you." - -But her companion, with a bitter hatred in her voice, replied, "Don't you -believe it. Most of 'em don't have nothin' to do that has to be done. -Rich folks ridin' around in their swell cars, but do you s'pose they'd -give me a lift. Not them! They'd think as how I'd poison the air they -breathed if I sat too close. I hate 'em! I hate 'em all!" - -Hate was a new word to Jenny and she did not like it. "I suppose some -rich folks are that way, but I don't believe they all are." Then she -laughed, her happy rippling laugh which always expressed real mirth. -"Hear me talking as though I knew them, when I don't. I never spoke to -but one rich person in all my life, and just a minute ago I was wishing -that I never would have to speak to her again." Jenny wondered why Etta -had walked to the railway station. As they turned the last bend before -their destination was to be reached, she impulsively put her free hand on -the arm of her companion and said, "Etta, would it help any if you told -me why you are so dreadfully unhappy? I don't suppose I could do -anything, but sometimes just talking things over with someone who wishes -she could help, makes it easier." - -The china blue eyes of the rebellious girl at her side were slowly turned -toward the speaker and in them was mingled amazement and doubt. Then she -remarked cynically, "There ain't nobody cares what's making me -miserable." But when Jenny succeeded in convincing the forlorn girl that -she, at least, really did care, the story of her unhappiness was -revealed. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - A PITIFUL PLIGHT - - -"There ain't much to tell," Etta said bitterly, "but I haven't always -been miserable. I was happy up to the time I was ten. I lived with my -grandfolks over in Belgium. My mother left me there while she came to -America. She'd heard how money was easy to get, and, after my father died -in the war and the soldiers had robbed my grandfolks of all they had on -the farm, we had to get money somewheres. That's why she came, takin' all -that she'd saved for her passage. How my mother got away out here to -Californy, I don't know, but anyway she did. She was a cook up in Frisco. -Every month she sent money to my grandfolks. My mother kept writing how -lonesome she was for me and how she was savin' to send for me. The next -year I came over with a priest takin' charge of me, but when I got here -they told me my mother had died and they put me in an orphanage. My -grandfolks tried to save money to send for me to go back to Belgium, but -what with sickness and they bein' too old to work the farm, it's seven -years now, an' the money ain't saved. Last year, me bein' sixteen, I got -turned out o' the orphanage and sent here to work parin' vegetables. I -don't get but three dollars a week and board, and I've been savin' all I -can of it. But 'tain't no use. That's why I walked to the railway station -over to Santa Barbara to ask how much money I'd have to save to take me -home to my grandfolks." The girl paused as though too discouraged to go -on. - -Jenny had been so interested that she had not even noticed that Dobbin -had stopped to rest at one side of the steep road. - -"Oh, you poor girl, I'm so sorry for you!" she said with a break in her -voice. "I suppose it takes a lot of money for the ticket to New York and -then the passage across the Atlantic in one of those big steamers." - -The tone in which her companion answered was dull and hopeless. "'Tain't -no use tryin'. I never can make it. Never! It'd take two hundred dollars. -An' I've only got a hundred with what my grandfolks have sent dribble by -dribble." The dull, despairing expression had again settled in the -putty-pale face. "'Tain't no use," she went on apathetically. "I can't -save the whole three dollars a week. I've got to get shoes an' things. -Cook said yesterday how she'd have to turn me out if I didn't get some -decent work dresses; a fashionable seminary like that couldn't have no -slatterns in the kitchen." Then, after a hard, dry sob that cut deep into -the heart of the listener. Etta ended with "I don't know what I'm goin' -to do, but it's got to be done soon, whatever 'tis." - -Jenny felt alarmed, she hardly knew why. "Oh, Etta, you don't mean you -might take----" She could not finish her sentence. Her active imagination -pictured the unhappy girl going alone to the coast at night and ending -her life in the surf, but to her surprise Etta looked around as though -she feared she might be overheard; then she said, "Yes, I am. I'm going -to take one hundred dollars out of the school safe, and after I've got -over to Belgium I'm going to work my fingers to the bone and send it -back. That's what I'm goin' to do. I've told 'em at the station to keep -me a ticket for the train that goes out tomorrow morning." Then, when she -felt, rather than saw, that her companion was shocked, she said bitterly, -"I was a fool to tell you. Of course you'll go and blab on me." To the -unhappy girl's surprise she heard her companion protesting, "Oh, no, no! -I won't tell, Etta. Never, never! But you _mustn't_ steal. They'd put you -in prison. But, most of all, it would be very, very wrong. You can't gain -happiness by doing something wicked. I just _know_ that you can't." - -Then, after a thoughtful moment, Jenny amazed her companion by saying, "I -have some money that is all my very own. If Granny and Granddad will let -me, I'll loan you a hundred dollars, because I _know_ you'll pay it -back." - -Radiant joy made Etta's plain face beautiful, but it lasted only a moment -and was replaced by the usual dull apathy. "They won't let you, an' they -shouldn't. I just told you as how I was plannin' to steal, and if I'd do -that, how do you know I'd ever send back your hundred dollars?" - -"I know that you would," was the confident reply. Jenny then urged Dobbin -to his topmost speed, and since he had rested quite a while, he did spurt -ahead and around a bend to the very crest of the low foothill where stood -the beautiful buildings of the seminary in a grove of tall pine trees. -The majestic view of the encircling mountain range usually caused Jenny -to pause and catch her breath, amazed anew each time at the grandeur of -the scene, but her thoughts were so busy planning what she could do to -help this poor girl that she was unconscious of aught else. - -They turned into the drive, which, after circling among well-kept gardens -and lawns, led back of the main building to the kitchen door. - -"I'm awful late and I'll get a good tongue lashin' from the cook but what -do I care. This'll be the last night she'll ever see me." Jenny glancing -at her companion, saw again the hard expression in the face that had been -so radiant with joy a few moments before. - -"She doesn't believe that I'm going to loan her my money," Jenny thought. -"And maybe she's right. Maybe Granny and Granddad will think I ought -not." But what she said aloud was: "Etta, let me go in ahead and I'll fix -things up if you're late and going to be scolded." And so, when they -climbed from the wagon, it was the girl from Rocky Point Farm who first -entered the kitchen. "Good afternoon, Miss O'Hara," she called cheerily -to the middle-aged Irish woman who was taking a roast from the huge oven -of the built-in range. - -"Huh," was the ungracious reply, "so _you_ had that lazy good-for-nothing -out ridin', did you?" The roast having been replaced, the cook turned and -glared at Etta, her arms akimbo. "Here 'tis, five o'clock to the minute -and not a potato pared. How do you suppose I'm going to serve a dinner -for the young ladies at six-thirty and all that pan of peas to shell -besides." - -Etta was about to reply sullenly when Jenny, who had placed her basket of -eggs on one end of a long white table, turned to say: "Miss O'Hara, I -want to ask you a favor. If I stay and help Etta get the vegetables -ready, will you let her come over to my house to supper? Won't you -please, Miss O'Hara?" - -Jenny smiled wheedlingly at the middle-aged Irish woman who had always -had a soft spot in her heart for "the honey girl," and so she said -reluctantly, "Wall, if it's what you're wishin', though the Saints alone -know what _you_ see in Etta Heldt to be wantin' of her company." - -Ignoring the uncomplimentary part of the speech, Jenny cried joyfully: -"Oh, thank you, thank you, Miss O'Hara! Now give me a big allover apron, -please, for I mustn't soil my fresh yellow muslin." - -Miss O'Hara's anger had died away, confident that the peas would be -shelled and the potatoes pared on time. She went about her work humming -one of the Irish tunes that always fascinated Jenny. - -Etta, without having spoken a word, took her customary place and began to -pare potatoes, jabbing out the spots as though she were venting upon them -the wrath which she felt toward the world in general, but even in her -heart there was dawning a faint hope that somehow, some way, she had come -to a gate on the other side of which, if only she could pass through, a -new life awaited her. - -She looked up and out of the window by which they were seated, when -Jenny, pausing a moment in the pea-shelling, exclaimed: "Oh, Etta, do see -those pretty girls. Aren't they the loveliest? Just like a flock of -butterflies dancing out there on the lawn. There are eight, ten, twelve! -Oh, my, more than I can count! How many girls are there now at the -seminary, Miss O'Hara?" - -"With the three that came in today, there's thirty-one," the cook -answered as she broke a dozen eggs into a pudding which she was stirring. - -"Did three new pupils come today? Isn't it late in the year to start in -school? Only two months more and the long vacation will begin," Jenny -turned to inquire. - -"It is late," Miss O'Hara replied, then suddenly she stopped stirring the -batter and stared at Jenny with a puzzled expression in her Irish blue -eyes. "When I saw one of 'em, a haughty, silly minx, I thought to myself -as I'd seen her before somewhere's though I knew I hadn't. Now I know why -I thought that. There's something about you, Jenny Warner, as looks like -her. Folks do look sort of like other folks once in a while, and be no -way related." - -Jenny agreed brightly. "Yes, Miss O'Hara, that's absolutely true. My -teacher has often said that the reason she has kept on tutoring me is -because I look like a sister she once had. That makes two folks I -resemble, and I suppose likely there are lots more. What is the new -pupil's name. Miss O'Hara?" - -Then it was that the cook recalled something. "Begorrah, and maybe you -know her being as her ma owns the farm you're living on." - -Jenny looked up with eager interest. "Oh, no, I didn't even know Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones had a daughter. But I do know the son Harold. That is, I -met him for a few moments once two years ago, and now I do recall that he -mentioned having a sister." Then, returning to the shelling of the peas, -she concluded with: "You know they have not lived in Santa Barbara -lately. I never saw the mother, that is, only once." - -"Well, you're not likely to do more than see the daughter. She wouldn't -speak civil to a farmer's granddaughter." Jenny's bright smile seemed to -reply that it troubled her not at all. - -For another ten minutes the girls worked silently, swiftly; then Jenny -sprang up, removed her apron and, as she donned her hat, she exclaimed: -"Miss O'Hara, you just don't know how grateful I am to you for having -said that Etta might go home to supper with me." - -Although the cook regretted having given the permission, she merely -mumbled a rather ungracious reply. - -Etta went up to her room to put on her "'tother dress," as she told -Jenny, but on reaching there she bundled all her belongings into an -ancient carpet bag, stole out of a side door and was waiting in the buggy -when Jenny reached it. - -"Well, I sure certain don't see how 'twas the ol' dragon let me go along -with you," Etta Heldt declared, seeming to breathe for the first time -when, high on the buckboard seat at Jenny's side, old Dobbin was actually -turning out of the seminary gates that had for many months been as the -iron-barred doors of a prison to the poor motherless, fatherless and -homeless girl. And yet not really homeless, for, far across the sea on a -small farm in Belgium there was a home awaiting her, and a dear old -couple (Jenny was sure that they were as dear and loving and lovable as -were her own grandparents) yearning for the return of their only -grandchild. - -Jenny, who always pictured in detail anything and everything of which she -had but the meagerest real knowledge, was seeing the old couple going -about, day by day, planning and striving to save enough to send for their -girl, but failing because of the privation that had been left blightingly -in the trail of the cruel world war. Then her fancy leaped ahead to the -day when Etta would arrive at that far-away farm. - -Jenny's musings were interrupted by a querulous voice at her side. - -"Don't you hear nothing I am saying? What do you see out there between -your horse's ears that you're starin' at so steady?" - -Jenny turned a pretty face bright with laughter. "I didn't see the ears," -she confessed, "and do forgive me for not listening to what you were -saying. Oh, yes, I recall now. You wondered what the old dragon would say -when she found you were really gone." - -Then, more seriously: "Truly, Etta, Miss O'Hara isn't dragony; not the -least mite. I have sold eggs and honey to her for two years, long before -you came to be her helper, and she always seemed as glad to see me as the -dry old earth is to see the first rains." - -Then, hesitating and slowly thinking ahead that her words might not hurt -her companion, she continued: "Maybe you didn't always try to please Miss -O'Hara. Weren't you sometimes so unhappy that you let it show in your -manner? Don't you think perhaps that may have been it, Etta?" - -"Oh, I s'posen like's not. How could I help showin' it when I was so -miserable?" - -Then, before Jenny could reply, Etta continued cynically: - -"Well, I'm not goin' to let myself to be any too cheerful even now. -'Tisn't likely your grandfolks'll let you loan me a hundred dollars. -How'll they know but maybe I'd never return it. How do you know?" - -Jenny turned and looked full into the china blue eyes of her companion. -The gaze was unflinchingly returned. Impulsively Jenny reached out a -slender white hand and placed it on the rough red one near her. - -"Etta Heldt," she said solemnly, "I know you will return my money if it -lies within your power to do it. I also know that when it came to it, you -would not have stolen money from the Granger place safe. There's -something in your eyes makes me know it, though I can't put it into -words." - -As the other girl did not reply, Jenny continued: "I'm _not_ sure certain -that I _can_ loan you my money, of course. I have been saving and saving -it for two years so that I could add it to the money grandpa had if we -needed it to buy Rocky Point Farm, but the farm hasn't been put on the -market, granddad says, and so I guess we can spare it for awhile." - -Suddenly and most unexpectedly the girl at her side burst into tears. -"Oh, oh, how sweet and good you are to me. Nobody, nowhere has ever been -so kind, not since I came to this country looking for mother. When they -told me she was dead and had been buried two days before I got here, and -all her belongings sold to pay for the funeral, nobody was kind. They -just tagged me with a number and sent me with a crowd of other children -out to an orphan asylum. And there it was just the same: no one knew me -from any of the rest of the crowd." - -There were also tears in her listener's eyes. - -"Poor, poor Etta, and here I've been brought up on love. It doesn't seem -fair, someway." Then slipping an arm comfortingly about her companion, -Jenny said brightly: "Let's keep hoping that you can borrow my money. -Look, Etta, we're coming to the highway now, and that long, long lane -beyond the barred gate leads right up to my home. Don't cry any more, -dearie. I just _know_ that my grandfolks will help you, somehow. You'll -see that they will." - -Thus encouraged, the forlorn Etta took heart and, after wiping away the -tears which had brought infinite relief to her long pent-up emotions, she -turned a wavering smile toward Jenny. - -"I'll never forget what all you're trying to do for me. Never. Never," -she ended vehemently. "And I'm hoping I'll have the chance some day to -make up for it." - -"All the reward that I want is to have you get home to your grandfolks -and be as happy with them as I am with mine," Jenny called brightly as -she leaped out of the wagon to open up the barred gate. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - FRIENDS IN NEED - - -Grandma Sue had been often to the side porch nearest the lane and had -gazed toward the highway wondering why her girl did not return. The -supper had been ready for some time and the specially ordered chocolate -pudding was done to perfection. At last the old woman hurried back into -the kitchen to exclaim: "Wall, I declare to it, if Jenny ain't fetchin' -someone home to supper. I reckon its Mis' Dearborn, her teacher, as she -sets sech a store by." - -But, as Dobbin approached at his best speed (for, was he not nearing his -own supper?) the old woman, peering from behind the white muslin curtains -at a kitchen window, uttered an ejaculation of surprise. "Silas Warner," -she turned wide-eyed toward the old man, who, in carpet slippers, had -made himself comfortable in his tipped back arm chair to read the _Rural -News_. - -"Yeap, Susan?" his tone was one of indifferent inquiry. He presumed that -his spouse was merely going to affirm what she had already suspected. -Well, even if that were true, all he would have to put on was the house -coat Jenny had made for him. It never would do to go to the table in -shirt sleeves if teacher--he rose to carry out this indolently formed -decision when he saw his wife tip-toeing across the room toward him, her -finger on her lips. "Shh! Don't say nothin', Si!" she whispered. "Jenny's -left the horse hitched and she's comin' right in and trailin' arter her -is a gal totin' a hand satchel. Who do you cal'late it can be?" - -The old man hastily slipped on the plaid house coat and stood waiting, -trying not to look too curious when their girl burst in with, "Oh, -Granny, Granddad, this is my friend Etta Heldt. You know I told you about -the girl who pares vegetables up at the seminary and who always looked -so--so unhappy." Jenny did not want to say discontented as she had that -other time. "Well, I've found out what makes her unhappy and I've fetched -her over to supper. Etta, this is my Grandmother Sue and my Granddaddy -Si." - -The strange girl sent a half appealing, half frightened glance at each of -the old people and then burst into tears. - -Jenny slipped a protecting arm about her new friend, as she said by way -of explanation: "Etta's all upset about something. I'll take her into my -room to rest a bit, and then I'll come back and tell you about it." - -Left alone, the elderly couple looked at each other in amazement. - -"I reckon that poor girl is like the stray kittens and forlorn dogs our -Jenny fetches home so often," the old woman said softly. "I never saw -such a hungerin' sort of look in human eyes afore." - -The old man dropped back into his armed chair and shook his head as much -as to say that their "gal's" ways were beyond his comprehension. A moment -later that same "gal" reappeared and, going at once to her grandfather, -she knelt at his side and held his knotted work-hardened hand in a -clinging clasp. - -"Tut! Tut! Jenny, you're all a-tremble." The old man always felt deeply -moved when the girl he loved seemed to be troubled. He placed his free -hand on her curls. - -"I reckon you'd better start at the beginnin'. Me'n your grandma here is -powerful curious." - -The girl sprang up. "Granny dear," she pleaded, "you sit here in your -rocker and I'll be close between you on this stool. Now I'll tell you all -and please, please, please say yes." - -The two old people looked lovingly into the eager, uplifted face of their -darling and wondered what the request was to be. They never had denied -their "gal" anything she had asked for in the past, but they had always -been such simple desires and so easily fulfilled. However, there was an -expression in the girl's lovely face that made them both believe that -this was to be no ordinary request. - -Jenny glanced from one to another of her grandparents anxiously, eagerly. -Then, taking a hand of each, she fairly clung to them as her words rushed -and tumbled out, sometimes incoherently, but the picture was clearly -depicted for all that. The two old people could see the forlorn little -Belgian girl coming alone to America to join the mother who had died and -been buried only two days before the child reached San Francisco. Then -the long dreary years in a crowded city orphanage where no one really -cared. - -Grandma Sue began to wipe her eyes with one corner of her apron at that -part of the story. She was thinking that their own darling might have -been brought up in just such a place had not Grandpa Si happened to see -the canopied wagon on that long ago day. The girl felt the soft wrinkled -hand quivering in her clasp, and she looked up almost joyfully, for she -believed she had an ally. Then she told of the time when Etta had reached -an age where she could no longer be kept in the institution and how work -had been procured for her paring vegetables at Granger Place Seminary. -Food and a place to sleep were about all that orphan girls were given, -and so, although she had tried and tried to save the little money she -earned, she could not, for she had to buy shoes and clothes. - -The old woman nodded understandingly. "What was she savin' for, dearie? -Anything special?" - -"Oh, yes, Grandma Sue, something very special." Then Jenny told about the -feeble old grandparents far across the sea whose little farm had been -laid waste by the war and how they longed for their granddaughter to be a -comfort in their last days. At this point Grandpa Si took out his big red -bandana handkerchief and blew his nose hard. He was thinking what it -would mean to them if their Jenny was far away and couldn't get back. -Then, looking at their "gal" shrewdly, he asked, "Jenny, darlin', what be -yo' aimin' at? Yo' ain't jest tellin' this story sort of random-like, be -yo'?" - -The girl shook her head. "No! No!" Her tear-brimmed eyes implored first -one and then the other. Then she explained that it would take one hundred -dollars to pay for Etta's transportation in the steerage. - -How the girl pleaded, her sensitive lips quivering. "Think of it, Grandma -Sue, Granddad, only one hundred dollars to take that poor girl to her old -grandparents who love her so. Won't you let me loan her that much from -the money I've made selling eggs and honey? Please, please say that you -will. You've always told me that it is mine and oh, I do so want to help -Etta." Then, as her surprised listeners hesitated, she hurried on: -"She'll pay it back, every cent, and only the other day, Granddad, you -said you didn't think the farm was going to be sold, because nothing more -had been heard about it." - -The old man's eyes questioned his spouse. Still tearful, Grandma Sue -nodded. Then drawing the girl to her, she held her close as she said, -"Silas, I reckon we owe it to the good Lord to help one of His poor -little children." - -"O, Granny! O, Grandpa! However can I thank you?" The flushed, happy girl -sprang up, kissed each of them and ran toward the bedroom to tell the -wonderful news to the waiting Etta. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - WANTED, A WAITRESS - - -Such a supper as that had been. Etta's expression had so completely -changed that Grandma Sue decided that she was almost pretty with her -corn-colored hair and china blue eyes. It was the first time that Jenny -had seen her smile and she found herself wishing that Miss O'Hara could -see it also. They made their plans. Etta was to remain with them all -night. Then early in the morning Granddad would drive both of the girls -to Santa Barbara and take the money from the bank, then they would go to -the railway station and buy a ticket, both for the train and the steamer. -Jenny was sure that there were such tickets because she had heard her -teacher, Miss Dearborn, tell about one that she purchased all the way -through to Liverpool. Then there would be no fear that Etta would lose -the money. When she reached Belgium, Etta promised, oh, so faithfully, -that each month she would send back part of the hundred. She was so -strong. She would work the farm again. The women over there all worked in -the fields. She knew she would have money to send. Every time she thought -of the great joy in store for the old couple, she began to cry and laugh -at the same time. But once she had a thought which brought only -frightened tears. What if this voyage should be like the other? What if -her loved ones would be dead? - -But Jenny had said that she must not think of that, though they all knew -that she would, poor girl, till the very moment that she reached the farm -and saw her grandparents. - -"You'll write us all about it, won't you, dearie?" Grandma Sue said. - -The chocolate pudding was eaten, but no one seemed conscious of it. They -were all thinking the same thing and yet with wide variations. Grandma -and Grandpa were being so thankful because they had Jenny, and that -little maid was deciding how she would tell Miss O'Hara when Etta was -gone. - -Everything happened just as they had planned. The next day dawned in the -silvery mist that so often veils the seaside mornings in California, but -later it burst into a glory of sunshine, as golden as the oranges, and -sweetly, spicily fragrant with the breath of the lemon groves they passed -as they drove to Santa Barbara. The money was drawn from the bank, the -ticket, a very long ticket, was procured. Etta, hardly able to believe -that she was really awake, had expressed her thanks in all the ways that -she knew, and the train at last bore her away. - -It was not until Jenny was back in her own farm home that she told what -she planned doing next. "I must drive right over to the seminary and tell -Miss O'Hara what has become of Etta. Of course she hasn't worried yet, -because she knew that Etta was with us over here, but she'll be getting -impatient if there's no one to pare the vegetables and help her get -lunch." - -Grandmother Sue's eyes were opened wide. "But, dearie, this is your very -own Saturday. The one that's for you to do with as you please. I thought -you and Miss Dearborn were goin' to drive way up into the foothills. -Wasn't that what you'd planned?" - -The girl nodded brightly. "Yes, it was," she said, "and maybe there'll be -time for that later, but first, I must tell Miss O'Hara about Etta's -having gone back to Belgium. I suppose she'll send up to the orphanage -for another helper, but that will take a day or two, maybe more." - -Granny Sue said no more and as Dobbin was not needed on the farm, Jenny -again drove up the winding tree-shaded lane to the crest of the low hill -on the broad top of which stood the picturesque buildings and grounds of -the fashionable school for girls. This time Jenny drew rein before she -entered the gate and gazed far across the valley to the range of circling -mountains, gray and rugged near the peaks, but green and tree-clad lower -down. Jenny always felt, when she gazed at those majestic mountains, the -same awe that others do in a great cathedral, as though she were in the -real presence of the Creator. "Father, God," she whispered, "I thank Thee -that at last Etta is really going home." Then she turned in at the gate. - -As Jenny had feared, Miss O'Hara was becoming very wrathful because of -the delayed return of her helper, and when the kitchen door opened, she -whirled about, a carving knife in her hand and a most threatening -expression on her plain Irish face. When she saw who had entered, the -expression changed, but her sharp blue eyes were gazing back of the girl -as though to find one whom she believed was purposely lingering outside -until a just wrath were somewhat appeased. But when Jenny turned and -closed the door, Miss O'Hara demanded: "Where's that wench? Are you -tryin' to shield her? You can't do it! She'd ought to've been here two -hours back. Me with all the silver to clean and the vegetables to pare." -Then, noting a happiness like a morning glow in the face of the girl, the -woman concluded: "Well, say it out, whatever 'tis! But first let me tell -you, I'm _through_ with that ne'er-do-well. I set myself down right in -the middle of the mornin' and wrote to that orphanage place tellin' 'em -they'd have to find work elsewhere for Etta Heldt, and I'd be obliged to -'em if they'd send me another girl as soon as they could. An' what's -more, I made it plain that I didn't want any sour face this time. I want -someone who's willin' and agreeable, that's what! So, if that minx is -waitin' to hear what I'm sayin', you might as well fetch her in and let's -have it out." - -To the amazement of the irate woman, Jenny clapped her hands girlishly -and then, skipping forward, gave Miss O'Hara an impulsive hug as she -cried: "Oh, oh, I'm so glad you feel that way about it! Then you won't -mind so terribly because Etta Heldt is gone--gone for good, I mean?" - -Miss O'Hara stared blankly. "Gone?" she repeated. "Where's she gone to?" - -Jenny glanced at the clock. It was nearing noon and she knew that the -cook had little time for idle visiting, and so she said briskly: "I've -come over to help. I'll put on Etta's apron and do anything you want -done, and while we're working, I'll tell you the whole sad story, -because, Miss O'Hara, it is awfully sad, and I do believe if you had -known it, you would have been sorrier for Etta, and maybe, a little more -patient." Then, fearing that this might offend her listener, the tactful -girl hurried on with: "I know how kind you can be. No one knows better." - -The cook, who had turned back to the slicing of cold meat, which had been -the reason for the carving knife, merely grunted at this. She was not -sure but that a little of her own native blarney was being applied to -her. But she answered in a pleasanter voice to the girl's repeated -inquiry: "What shall I do to help?" - -"Well, you might be fixin' the salad. You'll find the mixin's for it all -in the icebox up top." - -"Oh, goodie!" Jenny skipped to the box as she spoke: "I adore making -things pretty, and salads give one a chance more than most anything else, -don't you think so, Miss O'Hara?" She had lifted the cover and was -peering in where, close to the ice, lay the cheesecloth bag of crisped -lettuce and a bowl of tiny cooked beets. These she carried to the long -white table as she asked: "May I prepare it just as I want to, Miss -O'Hara, or have you some special way of doing it?" - -"Fix it to suit yourself," was the ungrudgingly given response. "You'll -find all sort of bowls for it in the pantry, you'll need four, there -being four tables." - -Jenny chose pretty glass bowls and set about making as artistic a salad -as she could, and, while she worked, she told the whole story to a -listener who at first was merely curious, but who gradually became -interested and finally sympathetic. "Well, I sure certain wish I'd known -about her comin' to this country and findin' her mother dead. Like as not -I'd have tried some to cheer her up. As I look back on it now, I wasn't -any too patient with her. It'll be a lesson to me, that's what it will. -When the next orphan comes to this kitchen, I'll try to make it as -home-like for her as I can." Then the cook recalled her own troubles. -"How-some-ever, I wish Etta Heldt had given me notice. Here I'll be -without a helper for no one knows how long, a week maybe." - -Jenny, having heaped a glass bowl with a most appetizing salad, stepped -back to admire it. Then she revealed her plan. "Miss O'Hara, if you'll -let me, I'll come right over after school every day and do Etta's work -until you can get another helper." - -Miss O'Hara again turned, another knife in her hand, as she had been -cutting bread. "Jenny Warner, are you meaning that? Will you help out for -a few days? Well, the Saints bless the purty face of you as they've done -already. I only wish I could have a helper all the time as cheery as you -are. I could get on with after-school help. I'm thinkin', on a scratch." - -Then, glancing at the clock, she continued: "Well, if 'tisn't -eleven-thirty all ready. Here, cut the bread, will you, Jenny, while I go -upstairs and see if one of the maids won't help with the servin' today? I -can't be in the kitchen dishin' up, an' in the dinin' room at the same -time." - -Jenny, glad to assist in any way, finished the task, and then wandered to -a window near to await further orders. She heard a gong ringing somewhere -in the big school. Then a side door opened and a bevy of girls, about her -own age, trooped out on the lawn for a half hour of recreation before -lunch. How pretty they were, nearly all of them, the watcher thought. By -their care-free, laughing faces she concluded that they had none of them -known a sorrow or felt a feather weight of responsibility. They had come -from homes of wealth, Jenny knew, where they had had every pleasure and -luxury their hearts could desire. But she did not envy them. Where in all -the wide world was there a home more picturesque than her very own old -adobe farmhouse, overgrown with blossoming vines, with the ever-changing -ocean and the rocky point in front, and at the back the orchard, which, -all the year round, was such a delight. And who could they have in their -rich homes more lovable than Granny Sue and Grandpa Si? There couldn't be -any one more lovable in all the land. Then the watcher wondered which one -of the girls was Harold P-J's sister. "Proud and domineering," Miss -O'Hara had said that she was. Maybe she was that tall girl who had drawn -apart from the rest with two companions. She carried herself haughtily -and there was a smile on her face that Jenny did not like. It was as -though she were accompanying it with sarcastic comment about the other -girls. The two who were with her glanced in the direction which their -leader had indicated. Jenny did also and saw a shy-looking girl dressed -far simpler than the others, whose light brown hair hung straight down, -fastened at her neck by a plain brown ribbon. "She must be a new pupil, -too," Jenny decided, "for she doesn't seem to be acquainted with any of -the girls." - -At that moment Miss O'Hara returned, more flustered than she had been an -hour earlier, if that were possible. "The de'il himself is tryin' to fret -me, I'm thinkin'," she announced. "That silly Peg Hanson's had a letter -and there's somethin' in it that upset her so, she took a fit of cryin' -and now she's got one of her blind headaches and can't stand. The other -maid's in the middle of the upstairs cleanin', being as she had to do -Peg's work and her own. Now, I'd like to know _who_ is to wait on that -parcel of gigglin' girls this noon? That's what!" - -"O, Miss O'Hara, won't you let me? I'm just wild to have a chance to be -near enough to them to hear what they say. It would be awfully -interesting to me. Please say that I may?" - -The cook stared her amazement. "Well, now, what do _you_ know about -waitin'?" she inquired. - -"Nothing at all," was the merry reply, "but my teacher has often said -that I have a good intelligence, and I do believe, if you'd tell me what -ought to be done, I could remember enough to get through." - -The cook's troubled face broke into a pleased smile. "Jenny Warner," she -commented, "you're as good as a pinch of soda in sour milk. Somehow -mountain-sized troubles dwindle down to less'n nothin' when you take a -hand in them." She glanced at the clock. - -"Lunch is served at twelve-thirty," she continued. "We'll have to both -pitch in and get things on the table, and, while we're doin' it, I'll -tell you what you'll have to know about servin'." - - * * * * * * * * - -Jenny was in a flutter of excitement half an hour later as she donned the -white cap and apron of the waitress uniform. They were really very -becoming, and soft brown ringlets peeped out from under the dainty -band-like cap which was tied about her head. - -"There's very little waitin'-on to be done at noon, thanks for that," -Miss O'Hara said. "Most things are on the table, but you'll have to go -around and pour the chocolate and do the things as I told you. There now! -The bell's ringing and I hear those silly girls laughing, so they're all -in the dining room. Here's the chocolate pot. I haven't filled it full, -fearin' it might be too heavy. You'll have to come back and get more when -that's gone." - -With cheeks flushed and eyes shining, as though she were about to do -something which pleased her extremely, Jenny entered the dining room, -where four tables, surrounded by girls, stood along the walls. Few there -were who even noticed her as she went from place to place filling the -dainty cups with steaming liquid. - -At the first table the girls were chattering about a theatre party to -which they were going with Miss Granger, and not one of them gave the -waitress more than a fleeting glance. But at the second table Jenny found -the girl she sought. The sister of Harold P-J, and the daughter of the -proud owner of Rocky Point Farm. - -The little waitress knew at once which she was, for a companion spoke her -name. Jenny was disappointed when she heard her speak. There was a -fretful, discontented note in her voice. And why should there be, she -wondered, as she slowly approached the end of the table where Gwynette -Poindexter-Jones sat with an intimate friend from San Francisco at each -side. - -Surely she had everything her heart could desire. But evidently this was -not true, for, as Jenny drew nearer, she could hear what was being said. - -"Patricia Sullivan, you make me weary! You certainly do!" she addressed -the girl on her right. "How can you say that this is a pleasant place? -When I think of my mother in France luxuriating in the sort of life I -most enjoy, it makes me rebellious. Sometimes I feel that I just can't -forgive her. What right has a mother to send her daughter to an -out-of-the-way country boarding school if the girl prefers to be educated -abroad?" - -The friend who had been called "Patricia" now put in, almost -apologetically: "But I merely said that it is a beautiful country, and I -repeat that it is. I think that it is wonderful to be so high up on a -foothill and have a sweeping view of the ocean from one side of the -school and a view of the mountains from the other side." - -A shrug, accompanied by an utterance of bored impatience, then Gwynette's -reply: "Scenery isn't what I want, and if I did, I prefer it in France." - -After glancing critically from one table to another, she continued: - -"There isn't a single girl in this room who belongs to our class, really. -They are all our social inferiors." - -But Beulah Hollingsworth, the friend on Gwynette's left, leaned forward -to say in a low voice, which was audible to Jenny merely because she had -reached the trio and was filling Patricia's cup: - -"I've heard that there is a girl in this school whose father is a younger -son of some titled English family. She ought to be in our class, don't -you think?" - -Patricia, whose back was toward the room, could not turn to look at the -other pupils, but suddenly she recalled one of them, and so, leaning -forward, she also said in a low voice: - -"Look at Clare Tasselwood. She's stiff enough at least to be a somebody." -Gwynette and Beulah agreed. - -They both glanced at a tall blonde girl at the table across the room, -whose manner was neither disagreeable nor pleasant, expressing merely -bored endurance of her present existence. Gwynette's face brightened. "I -believe you are right. Let's cultivate her!" - -Jenny could hear no more of their conversation as she had to go back to -the kitchen to refill the silver pot, and when she returned she began to -fill cups at a third table, the one at which sat the supposed daughter of -a "younger son." Clare Tasselwood was so deeply engrossed in her own -thoughts that she seemed scarce aware that the timid girl at her left was -offering her a platter of cold meat. She took it finally with a brief -nod; absently helped herself to a slice and passed it to the neighbor on -her right. - -Jenny found herself feeling sorry for the little girl whom she had -noticed at the recreation hour; the one so simply dressed in brown with -whom no one had been talking, and about whom Gwynette and her friends had -evidently been making uncomplimentary comment. When the new waitress -poured that girl's cup full of chocolate, the little maid smiled up at -her and said, "Thank you." - -More than ever Jenny's heart warmed toward her. "Poor thing! I'd like to -be friends with her if she were not a pupil of this fashionable school. -She looks more like real folks than some of them do." - -Then, having completed the round with the chocolate pot, the waitress -went out to the kitchen to get the tray on which were to be heaped the -plates after the first course had been finished. Jenny really dreaded -this task, fearing that she would break something, and was relieved to -find that the upstairs maid who had been cleaning had come down and was -ready to assist. - -"Here, Jenny," Miss O'Hara said, "you follow and give each girl her -dessert. Then you come out and eat your own lunch. After that you can go. -Tomorrow, being Sunday, I can get along alone, and probably by Monday the -new helper'll be here." - -An hour later Jenny drove away, laughing to herself over her amusing -adventure and eager to tell Grandma Sue and Granddad Si all about it. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - JENNY'S TEACHER - - -It was two o'clock when Jenny skipped to the side porch of the Rocky -Point farmhouse. Her grandmother, who was sitting there with her mending -basket at her side, looked up with the welcoming smile that she always -had for the girl. Dropping down on the wooden bench, back of which hung a -blossom-laden garland of Cecil Brunner rose vine, Jenny took off her -wide, flower-wreathed straw hat and began fanning her flushed face. The -sparkle in her soft brown eyes told the watcher at once that something of -an unusual nature had occurred. The old woman dropped her sewing on her -lap, pushed her spectacles up under her lavender-ribboned cap and then -said with a rising inflection: "Well, Jenny dearie, what have you been up -to?" - -A peal of amused laughter was the girl's first answer, followed by a -series of little chuckles that tried to form themselves into words but -couldn't. Mirth is contagious and the old woman laughingly said: "Tut! -Tut! Jenny, don't keep all the fun of it to yourself. What happened over -to the seminary that was so amusing? I reckoned you'd have sort of a hard -tune making things straight with Miss O'Hara, if she's as snappy as poor -Etta Heldt said she was." - -Jenny became serious at once, and, leaning forward, she began earnestly: -"Miss O'Hara is kindhearted, Granny Sue, but she does seem to have a -powerful lot to worry her. Etta didn't try to be real helpful, I know -that, although I was so sorry for her, and when I told Miss O'Hara all -about the poor orphan, there were tears in her eyes, honestly there were, -Granny, and she said that when the next orphan came, she'd try to make -that kitchen more homelike." - -Her listener was pleased and nodded many times, as she commented: "Well, -well, that's somethin' now that my Jenny gal has brought to pass, but it -wasn't about that you were having such a spell of laughin', I reckon." - -Again there were twinkles in the brown eyes as the girl confessed: "No, -Granny Sue, it wasn't, and in as many years as Rip Van Winkle slept, you -couldn't guess what it was." - -The old woman looked puzzled, as she always did when Jenny quoted from -some of her "readin' books." "Wall, I reckon I couldn't, bein' as I don't -know how long the lazy fellow slept, so I reckon you'd better tell me -what you've been up to over to the seminary." - -She had replaced her glasses and was again sewing a patch on an old shirt -of Grandpa Si's, but she looked up when the girl said: "You'll be -astonished as can be, because you never even guessed that your -granddaughter knew how to wait on table, stylish-like, with all the -flourishes." - -Down went the sewing, up went the glasses, and an expression of shocked -displeasure was in the sweet blue eyes of the old woman. - -"Jenny Warner, am I hearin' right? Are yo' tellin' me that my gal waited -on table over to the seminary?" - -The girl looked puzzled. Grandma Sue was taking almost tragically what -Jenny had considered in the light of a merry adventure. - -"Why, yes, Granny, I did. You don't mind, do you? You have always wanted -me to help where help was needed, and surely poor Miss O'Hara needed a -waitress. If we hadn't spirited Etta away, she would have been there. You -see, don't you, Grandma, that I just had to help?" - -"Yes, yes, I reckon like as not you did, but don't do it again, Jenny, -don't! Promise, just to please your old Grandma Sue." - -The girl placed her hat on the bench and went to her grandmother's side -and knelt, her head nestled lovingly against the old woman's shoulder. -"Why, Granny, dearie," she said contritely, "I didn't suppose you'd mind. -Why is it that you do?" She was plainly perplexed. - -But the old woman had no intention of telling the girl she so loved that -she could not bear the thought of having her act as a servant to her own -sister, Gwynette. And so she replied with an assumed cheeriness: "Just a -notion, dearie, like as not. I feel that our gal is as good, and heaps -better'n a lot of them seminary pupils, and I guess I sort of don't like -the idea of you waitin' on 'em." Then anxiously: "It won't happen again, -will it, Jenny?" - -The girl kissed her grandmother lovingly. Then rising, she put her hat on -her sun-glinted head as she replied: "It won't be necessary, because Peg, -the real waitress, will be well again tomorrow. She had one of her blind -headaches today, but I did promise to go over Monday after school and do -Etta's work, preparing vegetables. You don't mind that, do you, Granny -dear. The new orphan will be there by Tuesday surely." - -"Well, well, you do whatever you think right. That heart o' yourn won't -take you far wrong. You're goin' over to your school-teacher's now, -aren't you, dearie? She'll be expectin' you." - -The girl nodded, skipped into the house to get a book, returned, saying -as she went down the path: "This is our mythology lesson day. Good-bye, -Granny dear. I'll be home in time to get supper." - -As Jenny drove Dobbin along the coast highway, she wondered why her -grandmother had objected so seriously to the act of kindness that she had -done. Her teacher, Miss Dearborn, had so often said: "Jeanette, it isn't -what we do that counts, it is what we are." Surely Jenny had been no -different from what she really was when she had been filling cups with -steaming golden brown chocolate. Moreover, Granny Sue hadn't minded in -the least that time, last year, when Jenny had gone over to the cabin -home of the poor forlorn squatter family in the sycamore woods and had -cleaned it out thoroughly. - -She had found the mother sick in bed and the three children almost -spoiling for a bath. Jenny smiled as she recalled how she had taken them, -one after another, down to the creek in the canon below the cabin, and -had washed them, showing the oldest, Rosa, who was eight, how to give -future baths to Sara, aged five, and Elmer, aged two. And after that she -had driven, at Miss Dearborn's suggestion, into Santa Barbara to tell the -Visiting Nurse's Association about the poor squatter family. Grandma Sue -had been pleased, then, to have Jenny serve others. Why did she object to -a similar service for Miss O'Hara? This being unanswerable, the girl -decided to drive through the Sycamore Canon Road, as it was really but a -little out of her way, and see how the squatter's family was progressing. - -It became very cool as she turned out of the sunshine of the broad -highway, and the deeper she drove into the canon, the damper and more -earth fragrant the air. Great old sycamore trees that had grown in most -picturesque angles were on either side of the narrow dirt road, and -crossing and recrossing, under little rustic bridges, rambled the brook -which in the spring time danced along as though it also were brimming -over with the joy of living. The cabin in which the Pascoli family lived -had been long abandoned when they had taken possession. It stood in a -more open spot, where, for a few hours each day, the sunlight came. It -was partly adobe (from which its former white-washed crust had broken -away in slabs) and partly logs. A rose vine, which Jenny had given to the -older girl, was bravely trying to climb up about the door, and along the -front of the cabin were ferns transplanted from the brookside. - -When Jenny hallooed, there was a joyful answering cry from within, and -three children, far cleaner than when they had first been found, raced -out, their truly beautiful Italian faces beaming their pleasure. They -climbed up on the sides of the wagon shouting, in child-like fashion, "O, -Miss Jenny, did you fetch us any honey?" - -"No, dearies. I didn't! And I don't believe you've eaten all that I -brought you last week, have they, Mrs. Pascoli?" the girl looked over -Sara's head to the dark-eyed woman who appeared in the open door carrying -a wee baby wrapped in a shawl. She replied: "No, ma'am! The beggars they -are!" Then came a rebuking flow of Italian which had the effect desired, -for the three youngsters climbed down and said in a subdued chorus, -"No'm, we ain't et it, and thanks for it till it's gone." the latter part -of the sentence being added by Sara alone. Jenny smiled at them, then -said to the woman: - -"You're quite well again, Mrs. Pascoli. I'm so glad! Grandpa tells me -that your husband is working steadily now. Next week I'll bring some more -honey and eggs. Good-bye." - -The girl soon turned out of the canon on to a foothill road and after a -short climb came suddenly upon a low built white house that had a -wonderful view of the ocean and islands. - -She turned in at the drive, the gate posts of which were pepper trees, -and at once she saw her beloved teacher, Miss Dearborn, working in her -garden. - -The woman, who was about thirty-five, looked up with a welcoming smile -which she reserved for this her only pupil. "Jenny Warner, you're an hour -late," she merrily rebuked. "Hitch Dobbin and come in. I have some news -to tell you." - -"O, Miss Dearborn, is it good news? I'm always so dreading the bad news -that, some day, I just know you are going to tell me. It isn't that, -yet?" - -The woman, whose strong, kind, intelligent face was shaded with a -wide-brimmed garden hat, smiled at the girl, then more seriously she -said: "Shall you mind so very much when the call comes for me to go back -East?" - -Jenny nodded, unexpected tears in her eyes. "East is so far, so very far -away, and you've been here for--well--for as many years as I have been -going to school." - -"Ten, to be exact," was the reply. "But that isn't my news today. It is -something about you, and you'll be ever so excited when you hear it." - -Miss Dearborn led the way into a long, cool living room which extended -entirely across the front of the house. In one end of it was a large -stone fireplace, on either side of which were glassed-in book shelves. -There were Navajo rugs on the hardwood floor, a piano at the opposite -end, deep, cozily cushioned seats under the wide plate-glass windows that -framed such wonderful views of sea, rocky promontory and islands, -mist-hung. - -In the middle was a long library table and everywhere were chairs -inviting ease. Great bowls of glowing yellow poppies stood in many places -about the long room. This had been Jenny Warner's second home, and Miss -Dearborn a most beneficial influence in her development. - -Having removed her garden hat, a mass of soft, light brown hair was -revealed. Seating herself at one end of the table, the older woman -motioned the girl to a chair at her side. - -For a long moment she looked at her earnestly. "Jenny," she said at last, -"I believe you are old enough to be told something about me, but since it -is not nearly as important as the something about you, I will begin with -that." - -Jenny, not in the least understanding why, felt strangely excited. "Oh, -Miss Dearborn, if only it hasn't anything to do with your going back -East." - -A strong white hand was placed over the smaller one that was lying on the -table, and for a searching moment the gray eyes met the brown. "I -believe, after all, I will have to tell you the part about myself first -in order that you may more clearly understand the part about you," Miss -Dearborn said. "I never told you why I came West ten years ago. It was -this way. When I was fifteen, I went to a boarding school in Boston and -met there a girl, Beatrice Malcolm, who became, through the four years -that followed, as dear to me as an own sister would have been. She was -not strong and she never had been able to bear disappointment. I always -gave in to her and tried to shield her whenever I could. She clung to me, -depended on me and loved me, if not quite as devotedly as I loved her, at -least very dearly. When we left boarding school we visited each other for -weeks at a time. She came to my Cape Cod home in the summer, and I went -to her New York home in the winter, and so we shared the same friends and -were glad to do so, until Eric Austin came into our lives. Eric and I -were unusually companionable. He loved books and nature and especially -the sea. He had come to Cape Cod to write a group of poems and I met him -at our Literary Club. He came often to my home and we read together day -after day. Then Beatrice came for her annual summer visit, and, after -that there were three of us at the readings. Eric's voice was deep, -musical and stirringly expressive. I began to notice that Beatrice hung -on every word that he uttered as though he were a young god. There was -something poetically beautiful about his fine face. Then, one day, she -confessed to me that if she could not win Eric Austin's love, she would -not care to live. This was cruelly hard for me, because I also loved Eric -and he had told me that my love was returned. Indeed, I had not allowed -myself to really care, until I knew that he cared, but I had told him -that I wanted to wait until we had known each other at least through one -summer." - -Miss Dearborn paused and gazed out of the window at the blue sea -shimmering in the distance, then turned and smiled into the sensitive, -responsive face of the girl at her side. Almost tearfully, Jenny said: -"Oh, Miss Dearborn, I know what you did. You gave up the man you loved -for that selfish girl." - -The woman shook her head. "Not selfish! Just spoiled, and I had helped, -for I had always given up to her, and that is what I did. I pretended not -to care. I left them much alone, and then, when the summer was over, I -closed my Cape Cod home and came West. Eric was deeply hurt, and wrote me -that, although he never could care for anyone as he did for me, he was -going to marry Beatrice and would try to make her as happy as he had -hoped to make me. That was all. They were married while I was settling in -this new home. Year after year Beatrice has written that some day she -wants me to come and visit them, and she has named her oldest girl after -me. Little Catherine is now eight. That is all about me. Now I will tell -the something about you." - -Jenny, deeply affected by what she had heard, said with a little half -sob: "Oh, Miss Dearborn, it makes my heart ache to think that you have -lived all these years so alone when you might have had the companionship -of that man who really loved you. I just know he never could have loved -your friend Beatrice. She must have known you cared and she let you make -that cruel sacrifice." - -Before answering the older woman took the girl's hand and held it in a -close clasp as she said earnestly: "Jenny, dear, I gave up much, very -much, but think what I won. You, for instance. I had thought that I might -have a daughter, as I suppose all girls, growing into young womanhood, -dream that, some day, they will marry and have children, and that -daughter, I now believe, would have been like you. So you see I gained -something very precious." There were tears in Jenny's tender brown eyes -as she replied: "Oh. Miss Dearborn, I am the one who has gained. I just -can't picture life without you. I remember so well when you first came. -You heard that our little schoolhouse down on the coast highway was to be -closed because the board of education was not allowed to pay a teacher's -salary unless there were eight pupils to attend the school. There were -only five of us, the four from the Anderson Bean Ranch and me. You -offered to teach us for nothing, saying that you wanted to do something -for children. I didn't know that until long afterwards, then Grandma told -me how it had all come about. We were too little to go on the bus to the -big schools in Santa Barbara." - -"I'm glad indeed that I did it," Miss Dearborn put in, "but, of course, -when the Andersons moved back to their Iowa farm and you were the only -pupil we closed that coast highway school and had our lessons here, and -such an inspiration as they have been to me, Jenny Warner! I just know -that you are leading up to an expression of gratitude. I've heard it time -and again and I do appreciate it, dear girl, but now that you know the -great loneliness that was in my heart when I came West, you will readily -understand that having you to teach filled a void, filled it beautifully, -and so, I also have a deep sense of gratitude toward you." - -"And two years ago," Jenny continued retrospectively, "when we completed -the work of the sixth grade, you can't think how unhappy I was, for I -supposed that at last I would have to leave you and go by bus each day to -the Santa Barbara Junior High, and I never shall forget that wonderful -day when you told me you had received permission to teach me through the -eighth grade." - -Miss Dearborn laughed happily. "What I never told you, Jenny, was that -the board of education insisted that I take an examination at their State -Normal to prove to them that I knew enough to teach one lone pupil the -higher grade work. I brushed up evenings and passed creditably." - -Impulsively the girl pressed the woman's hand to her cheek. "Oh, Miss -Dearborn," she exclaimed tremulously, "to _think_ that you did _all_ that -_just_ for me." - -"Wrong you are, Jenny girl!" the woman sang out. "I did it first of all -for Catherine Dearborn. I felt a panic in my heart I had not dreamed -possible when I thought that I was to be left all alone, day in and day -out, with only memory for company. I wanted to keep you, to teach you, to -love you, and I did keep you, but now along comes a letter from the same -board of education. If we thought they had forgotten us, we are mistaken. -That's my news about you." - -Opening a small drawer in the end of the table, Miss Dearborn took out a -letter and read: - -"Miss Jenny Warner will be required to take the entrance examination in -all the subjects at the High School of Santa Barbara during the week of -June 10th. The results of these tests will determine where she is to -continue her studies." - -The girl's lovely face was the picture of dismay. "Oh, Miss Dearborn, I -can't! I can't! I'd be simply frightened to death to even enter the door -of that imposing building, and if any of the pupils as much as spoke to -me, I'd simply expire." Her teacher laughed. "Nonsense!" she declared. -"Not only must my pupil enter the door but she must pass the tests with -high grades if I am to be permitted to teach her another year." - -Then to change the girl's thought, Miss Dearborn continued brightly: -"Saturday is our mythology day, isn't it? But since you came late and we -have spent so much time visiting, we will not go up into the hills as we -usually do for this lesson. Let me see. Weren't you to write something -about Apollo, Diana and Echo that I might know if you fully understand -just what each stands for in poetry and art?" - -"Oh, Miss Dearborn," Jenny laughed as she drew a paper from her book, "I -don't know what you will say about the composition I tried to write. It -isn't good, I know, but I ever so much wanted to write it in verse. Shall -you mind my trying?" The girl's manner was inquiring and apologetic at -the same time. - -"Of course not," was the encouraging reply. "We all reach an age when we -want to write our thoughts in rhyme. Read it to me." - -And so timidly Jenny began: - - - At Sunrise - - Gray mists veil the dawn of day, - Silver winged they speed away, - - When across a road of gold - In his shining chariot rolled - - Young Apollo. Day's fair King - Bids the birds awake and sing! - - Robin, skylark, linnet, thrush - From each glen and flower-glad bush - - Burst their throats with warbles gay - To welcome back the King of Day. - - Diana, huntress, Apollo's twin, - Standing in a forest dim, - - A quiver on one shoulder fair - Filled with arrows. (In her hair - - A moonlike crescent.) Calls her hounds - To new adventures with them bounds, - - While lovely Echo in the hill, - Though grieving for Narcissus still, - - Must need call back their song or bay, - And so is dawned a glad new day. - -Miss Dearborn smiled as she commented: "Dear girl, there is no need to -blush about this, your first effort at verse. I am going to suggest that -you write all of your compositions on this poetical subject in rhyme. -Keep them and let us see how much better the last will be than the -first." Then after a thoughtful moment: "Dawn is a subject much loved by -the poets." - -Then she quoted from Byron: - - "The morn is up again, the dewy morn, - With breath all incense and with cheek all bloom; - Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn - (Living as if earth contained no tomb) - And glowing into day." - -"Oh, Miss Dearborn," was Jenny's enthusiastic comment, "how happy I will -be when my memory holds as many poems as you know. It will add to the -loveliness of every scene to know what some poet has thought about one -that was similar." - -"You are right, dear, it does." Then rising, Miss Dearborn said: "Come -with me to the porch dining room. I hear the kettle calling us to -afternoon tea." - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - AN ADVENTURE FILLED DAY - - -It was late afternoon when Jenny returned from Miss Dearborn's home high -in the foothills. As she drove up the long lane leading to the farmhouse, -she saw three young ladies from Granger Place Seminary on horseback -cantering along the highway toward the mansion-like home of Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones. She was too far away, however, to be sure that among -them was the girl whom she believed to be the daughter of the rich woman -who owned the farm. - -Going to the barn, Jenny unhitched Dobbin, patting him lovingly and -chatting in a most intimate friendly manner as though she were sure that -he understood. - -"We've had a red letter day, haven't we, Dob? First, early this morning -we drove that poor Etta Heldt to the station and loaned her money to help -her buy a ticket to Belgium." Then, in silent meditation, the girl -thought: "How I wish I had a magic carpet like that of The Little Lame -Prince. I would love to be over on that quaint Belgian farm when the old -people first see their granddaughter arriving." - -Then as she led the faithful horse out to the watering trough under a -blossoming peach tree, another thought presented itself. "Dobbin." she -again addressed her companion, "now that we have loaned part of the honey -and egg money, wouldn't it be dreadful if Mrs. Poindexter-Jones should -decide to sell this farm?" She sighed. "Though I suppose that hundred -dollars wouldn't go very far toward buying it." For a contemplative -moment the girl gazed across the meadow where a pale green of early grain -was beginning to show, and then at the picturesque old adobe partly -hidden by the blossoming orchard. It was all the home she had ever known -and it was hard to even think of moving to another. "Don't climb over a -stile till you get to it," Grandpa Si had often told her. Remembering -this, she turned her attention to her companion, who had lifted his -dripping head. "My, but you were thirsty, weren't you, Dob? Come on now -into your nice cool stall. I'm eager to tell Grandma about that dreadful -examination I am to take." - -Later, as she walked along the path which led past the rows of beehives -where there was ever a cheerful humming, through the orchard and to the -side porch, her thoughts were varied. "How I wish I could tell Grandma -Sue about Miss Dearborn's romance, but _that_ was meant just for me. -Maybe it's wrong, but I can't help wishing that something will happen -_some day_ which will make it possible for that romance to end happily, -as stories always should, whether they are real or in books." - -At the corner of the porch she stopped to breathe in the fragrance of the -heliotrope blossoms that grew on a riotous bush which seemed to be -trying, vine-fashion, to reach the roof. - -"Home again, after a day crowded full of unusual happenings," her -thoughts hummed along. "I don't suppose that anything more _can_ happen -in it." - -But Jenny Warner was mistaken, for something of vital importance to her -(though she little guessed it) was yet to happen on that day. - -Skipping into the kitchen, the girl beheld her grandmother busy at the -ironing board. Self rebukingly she cried: "Oh, Grandma Sue, why did you -iron today? You promised me faithfully, since I had to go over to the -seminary, and then to my teacher's, that you wouldn't iron until next -week, when I could help. Now you look all hot and tired, and as thirsty -as Dobbin was. Please stop and rest while I make us some lemonade." - -The flushed face of the old woman was smiling contentedly as she -protested: "I like to iron, dearie. I'm not doing much, just pressin' out -our church-goin' things. Grandpa Si needed a fresh shirt and I reckoned -as how, mabbe, you'd like to wear that white muslin o' yourn with the -pink flowers on the bands, so I fetched it out an' washed it an' ironed -it, an' there 'tis, lookin' as purty again this year as it did when it -was furst made. Shouldn't you think so. Jenny?" This a little -anxiously--"or do you reckon we'd better buy you a new Sunday dress for -this comin' summer?" - -Jenny whirled toward the clothes-horse where hung the pink sprigged -muslin which had been "church goin'" dress for the past three summers. -The hem had twice been let down, but, except that the pink had somewhat -faded, it was as pretty as it ever had been. "Oh, it's a love of a -dress." The girl was sincere. "I hope I never will have to give it up. -I've been so happy in it, and then it matches that sweet parasol Miss -Dearborn gave me and the wreath on my white leghorn hat. I'm glad I may -begin wearing it tomorrow, Grandma Sue, and it was mighty nice of you to -iron it for me, but now, as soon as we've had our drink, I'm going to -iron your Sunday go-to-meeting lavender dress. Please say that I may. -I'll do the ruffles just beautifully. You will be so vain!" - -"Tut! Tut! dearie." Susan Warner sank down in Grandpa's armed chair to -wipe her warm face and rest while her beloved Jenny made lemonade. "It -wouldn't do to wear that dress to meetin' if it's goin' to make me vain." - -How the girl laughed as she squeezed the juicy lemons that grew on the -big tree close to the back porch. Nearly all the year round that tree was -laden with blossoms, green and ripe fruit at the same time. "The most -obliging kind of tree," Jenny had often said. "It provides a perfume, -delicious lemon pies and a refreshing drink whenever its owners wish." - -"There now, Granny Sue, if only we had ice to clink in it as Miss -Dearborn has we'd think that we were rich folks, but it's real nice as it -is." The girl drank her share with a relish. - -"That was mighty good tastin'," Susan Warner commented. "I wish your -Grandpa could have a drink of it. He's cultivatin' close to the high -hedge. That's a hot place when the sun is beatin' down the way it has -been all day. Couldn't you carry a little pailful over to him, dearie?" - -"Of course I can and will, Mrs. Susan Warner, if you will promise me one -thing." The girl gazed down into the smiling face of the old woman. "I -have my suspicions that you're trying to get rid of me so that you may -iron the lavender dress. Is that the truth?" - -"Maybe 'tis," was the smilingly given confession, "but if you'll let me -iron that one while you're gone, you can do Grandpa's best shirt when you -come back." - -Filling a quart pail with the lemonade, Jenny snatched her garden hat -from its nail by the door and skipped away, although she had to walk more -carefully when the ploughed ground was reached. "It makes me think of -Robert Burns, and how, in far-away Scotland, his plough turned over the -home nest of a poor little old field mouse," she thought. "Oh, how glad, -glad I am that Miss Dearborn is teaching me to love poetry. I can just -see that tender-hearted young poet leaning over, ever so sorry because he -had destroyed the little creature's home and telling it not to be -frightened. - - "'Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, - O, what a panic's in thy breastie! - Thou needna start awa' sae hasty - Wi' bick'ring brattle. - I wad be laith to rin and chase thee - Wi' murd'ring prattle.'" - -"Jenny gal, what air yo' sayin', talkin' to yourself that a-way?" The -girl suddenly looked up, realizing that she had neared the high hedge -that separated the farm from the mansion-like home and its grounds. -Laughing happily, she replied: "What you'd call up to my old tricks, -Granddad, reciting poetry that Miss Dearborn has had me learn. See, here -is a pail brimming full of cool lemonade, if it hasn't warmed while I -crossed the field. I'm sure you must be as thirsty as Grandma and Dobbin -and I were." For answer the old man pushed his wide brimmed straw hat to -the back of his head, lifted the pail to his lips and drank it all -without stopping. Then said gratefully: "I reckon I kin keep on now fer a -spell longer. I was most petered out an' I do want to finish this field -afore I quit." - -The girl left at once, as she wished to hurry home to help with the -ironing. She followed the hedge, as the walking was easier, but suddenly -she paused and her hand went to her heart. She had heard the voices of -girls talking on the other side of the evergreens and what one of them -was saying greatly startled the listener. - -"Oh, yes, indeed," a proud voice was saying, "we own about one hundred -acres, Ma Mere, brother Harold and I. Our property extends along the -seacoast to the highwater mark, then back across the highway up into -Laurel Canon, and includes the farm just beyond the hedge." - -Another voice commented, "If your mother should die, you and your brother -would be very rich." - -"Oh, yes, fairly," this with a fine show of indifference. "But if I had -my way, all of our country property would be turned into money, then we -could live abroad ever after. Mother promised that when she comes in July -she will consider selling the farm and the canon property at least. She -would have sold the farm two years ago had it not been for my brother -Harold. For some reason, which Ma Mere and I cannot in the least -understand, he pleaded to have the farm kept. He even offered to take it -as part of his share, that and the canon acreage, and let me have the -home and estate." - -"What did your mother say to that?" a third voice inquired. - -"Too utterly ridiculous to consider, and that, since she wishes to turn -something into cash, if we are to live abroad, she will sell one or the -other, and, of course, there will be a more ready market for the farm. -It's a most picturesque old place. That is, from a distance. I have never -really been there. You see, we have practically lived away from our -country home ever since I was born. I have always supposed that, because -of our father's long lingering illness here, Ma Mere has dreaded -returning to stay, so imagine my surprise when she wrote that we were all -three to spend this summer at the old place." - -Jenny, who had stood transfixed, listening, though against her will, for -she scorned eavesdropping, started to run across the ploughed field, -stumbling and almost falling in her haste. Oh, what should she do? Should -she tell Grandma and Grandpa the terrible possibility that, after all, -Rocky Point Farm might be sold, and that very summer? No! No! She -couldn't do that. Oh, if only she had not loaned Etta Heldt part of the -honey and egg money, and yet, with a crushing sense of depression, Jenny -realized that it did not in the least matter about that paltry sum. If -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones wished to sell part of her land, all that her -grandfather had saved or could procure would be no inducement to her. - -When the orchard was reached, she stood very still for a moment, her hand -again on her heart, as though to quiet its anxious beating that was -almost a pain. "Jenny Warner," she said to herself, "you _must_ not let -Grandma suspect that anything is wrong because, perhaps, nothing really -is. If Harold does not want the farm sold, his mother may heed his -wishes." - -Two moments later a smiling girl entered the kitchen, hung her hat on its -nail by the door as she said, "Well, Granny Sue, I was longer than I -expected to be and you have started on the shirt. Let me have the iron. -I'll promise not to scorch it, the way I did that towel you let me iron -when I was just head above the ironing board. Do you remember it? You -were so sweet about it when I cried. I recall, even now, how you -comforted me by saying that the two ends of the towel would make such -nice wash cloths, hemmed up, and that it was lucky the scorch was in the -middle of the towel because that would make the wash cloths just the -right size." The old woman had relinquished the iron, and, sitting near -in Grandpa's armed chair, she smiled lovingly at the girl, who continued: -"That's just the way you've overlooked all the mistakes I ever made. I do -wish that every girl in all the world had a grandmother like you." Jenny -was purposely chattering to keep from telling what was uppermost in her -mind. - -"What a proud, vain girl that Gwynette Poindexter-Jones must be!" Jenny's -thoughts were very different from her spoken words. "How cold and -superior the tone of her voice when she informed her friends that she had -never visited the farm, but that it looked very picturesque from a -distance." Jenny's cheeks flushed as she indignantly told herself that -she certainly hoped that the farm never would be visited by----. Her -thought was interrupted by her exclamation of dismay. "Grandmother Sue. -_Here_ they come!" - -The old woman rose hastily from the armed wooden chair. "Who, dearie? Who -is it you see?" No wonder she asked, for the girl with the iron safely -upheld, that it might not scorch the shirt front, was staring with a -startled expression out of the window toward the long lane. - -Susan Warner had not seen the missionary's older daughter in many years, -and so she did not recognize her as being the young lady in the lead -mounted on a nervous, high-stepping black horse. Following were two other -girls in fashionable riding habits on small brown horses. But the old -woman did not need to be told who the visitor was, for at once she knew. -There was indeed a resemblance to her own Jenny in the face and the very -build of the girl in the lead. However, a stranger who did not know the -relationship would think little of it because of the difference in the -expressions. One face indicated a selfish, proud, haughty nature, the -other was far more sensitive, joyous and loving. Jenny was again ironing -when the old woman turned from the window to ask, "Do yo' know who they -be?" - -"Why, yes, Granny; the one ahead is Gwynette Poindexter-Jones, and the -two others are her best friends, the ones who came to Granger Place with -her from San Francisco. You know I saw them all close up this noon when I -waited on table over at the seminary." - -Susan Warner had stepped out on the side porch when the young lady in the -lead drew rein. She wanted to close the door, shutting Jenny in, but -since the door stood open from dawn until sunset each day, she knew that -such an act would arouse suspicion. But _how_ she did wish she could -prevent Jenny's meeting her very own sister and being treated as an -inferior. - -The girl at the ironing board listened intently, strainingly, that she -might hear if the selling of the farm was mentioned. - -Gwynette was saying, "My mother told me to ride over to our farm some day -and ask you to see that the big house is put in readiness for occupancy -by the first of July. Ma Mere said that you could hire day labor to have -the cleaning done, but that she prefers to engage our permanent servants -after she arrives." - -How unlike her dear grandmother's voice was the one that was coldly -replying: "I reckon your ma'll write any orders she has for me. She -allays does." - -If Gwynette recognized a rebelliousness in the remark and manner of the -farmer's wife, she put it down to ill-breeding and ignorance, and so said -in her grandest air, "Kindly bring us each a drink of milk." Then, -turning to her friends, she added, "All of the produce of the farm is for -our use, but since we are seldom here, it is, of course, sold in the -village. I suppose Ma Mere receives the profits." - -"Aren't you being unnecessarily rude?" Beulah Hollingsworth inquired. -Gwynette shrugged. "Oh, nobody heard," she said in a tone which implied -that she would not have cared if they had. But she was mistaken, for -Jenny had heard and her cheeks flamed with unaccustomed anger. - -"Are the bees yours also?" Patricia Sullivan inquired, glancing back at -the orchard where a constant humming told that swarms of tiny winged -creatures were gathering sweets. - -"Why, of course," was the languidly given reply. "We'll take some of the -honey back with us. These people have to do as I say. They are just our -servants." To the amazement of the three, a flashing-eyed girl darted out -on the porch as she cried, "You shall _not_ call my grandmother and my -grandfather your servants. And those bees _do not_ belong to you. I -bought them, and the white hens, with my _very own_ Christmas and -birthday money." - -Susan Warner, coming from the cooling cellar with three goblets of milk, -was amazed, for very seldom had she seen a flash of temper in the sweet -brown eyes of her girl. - -"Never mind, dearie, whatever 'twas they said," she murmured in a low -voice. "Go back to your ironin', Jenny; do, to please your ol' granny." - -Obediently the girl returned to the kitchen, but she felt sure, from the -fleeting glance she gave the companions of Gwynette, that _they_ were not -in sympathy with her rudeness. - -After drinking the milk, the three rode away, and from the indignant -tones of one of them the listeners knew that the proud daughter of Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones had been angered by the attitude of her mother's -servants. - -Jenny's heart was indeed heavy as she contemplated the dreary possibility -that her angry words might hasten the day when her loved ones would lose -their home. - -Sadly she finished her task and put away the ironing board. Then she -recalled that an hour before she had assured herself that nothing else of -an unusual nature was apt to happen in that day already crowded with -events, but she had been mistaken. She had met Harold's sister and had -quarreled with her. Then, and for the first time, she realized that she -had half hoped that the daughter of their next door neighbor and she -might become friends. Jenny had never had a close girl friend, and like -all other girls she had yearned for one. - -"Dearie," her grandmother was making an evident effort at cheeriness, "if -you'll be settin' the table, I'll start the pertatoes to fryin'. Here -comes your grandpa. He looks all petered out, and he'll want his supper -early." - -Jenny smiled her brightest as she began the task of consoling herself -with the thought that Harold Poindexter-Jones was their true friend, and -how she did wish that she might see _him_ and ask him if the farm was to -be sold. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS - - -The next morning, while Jenny was standing in front of her mirror in her -sun-flooded bedroom nearest the sea, she reviewed in memory the events of -the day previous. She found it hard to understand her own anger or why it -had flared so uncontrollably. After all Grandpa Si _was_ the farmer in -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones' employ and, what was more, Grandma Sue _had_ been -housekeeper over at the big house for years before Jenny had been born, -and there was no disgrace in that. The girl challenged the thought that -had recalled this almost forgotten fact. Didn't Miss Dearborn say that it -is not your occupation but what you are that really counts? - -Determinedly she put from her the troubling memory and centered her -attention for the first time on the reflection before her. She did indeed -look pretty in the ruffled white muslin with the pink sprig embroidery, -and tender brown eyes looked out from under a wide white hat, pink -wreathed. There was no complaining thought in her heart because both -dress and hat were many summers old. - -Opening a drawer in her old-fashioned bureau, Jenny took out her prized -pink silk parasol and removed its soft paper wrappings. - -A mocking bird just outside her open window poured one joyous song after -another into the peaceful sunlit air. For a thoughtful moment the girl -gazed out at the shimmering blue sea. "I'm sorry I flared up at Harold's -sister," she said aloud. Then hearing her grandmother calling from the -side porch, she sang out: "Coming, Granny Sue." - -Jenny could not have told why everything and everyone revolved around -Harold P-J. She thought of the proud woman, whom she had once seen in the -long ago, as "Harold's mother," and of the girl whom she had defied as -"Harold's sister," yet she had not seen the boy since that stormy day two -years before. - -Skipping to the side porch, she found Grandma Sue looking very sweet in -her lavender muslin, and tiny black bonnet with lavender ribbons, already -up on the wide seat of the buggy. Breaking a few blossoms from the -heliotrope at the corner of the house, Jenny handed them up to her. "Put -them on, somewhere," she called merrily, "and I shall have a cluster of -pink Cecile Brunner roses for my belt. Granddad, how dressed up you look -in the shirt that I ironed. Do you want a buttonhole bouquet?" - -"Me?" the old man's horrified expression amused the girl. Standing on -tiptoe, she kissed his brown, wrinkled cheek, then clambered up beside -her grandmother. - -Silas Warner climbed over the wheel and took up the loose rein. Dobbin -was indeed a remarkable horse. He seemed to know that on Sunday he was to -turn toward the village, and yet he stopped after having cantered about -two miles and turned down a pine-edged lane that led to St. -Martin's-by-the-Sea. It was the only church in all that part of the -country, and so was attended by rich and poor alike. The seminary girls -attended the service all together and filled one side of the small -church. Jenny, near the aisle, close to the back, was kneeling in prayer -when a late arrival entered and knelt in front of her. It was a young man -dressed in a military school uniform. - -Grandpa Si was the first to recognize the stranger and he whispered to -his companion: "Ma ain't that little Harry?" - -Discreetly the good woman nodded, her eyes never leaving the face of the -preacher who was beginning his sermon. Jenny's heart was in a flutter of -excitement. Surely it was her friend Harold P-J, and yet, two years -before he had been just a boy. Now he was much taller with such broad -shoulders and how straight he stood when they rose to sing a hymn. She -had not seen his face as she was directly behind him. Perhaps, after all, -she was mistaken, she thought, for she had plainly heard his sister tell -her friends that Harold was not expected until the mother returned from -France in July and it was only the first week in May. But she had not -been wrong, as she discovered as soon as the benediction had been said, -for the young man turned with such a pleased expression on his good -looking face, and, holding out his hand to the older woman, he said with -ringing sincerity in his voice. "It's great, Mrs. Warner, to see you -looking so well." Then, after giving a hearty handshake, and receiving -two from the farmer, the boy turned smilingly toward Jenny. "You aren't, -you _can't_ be that little, rubber-hooded girl whom I picked up two years -ago in the storm!" - -"I am though." Jenny's rose-tinted cheeks were of a deeper hue, "But you -also have grown." - -Standing very straight and tall, the boy looked down beamingly upon all -three. "I'll say I have," he agreed, "but honestly I do hope I'm not -going up any higher." Then after a quick glance across the aisle, where -the Granger Place Young Ladies were filing out, he said hastily. "Mrs. -Warner, won't you invite a stranded youth to take dinner with you today? -I've got to see sister this afternoon, and return to the big city -tonight, but I'm pining to have a real visit with you." Then to Jenny, by -way of explanation. "Perhaps you never heard about it, but your Grandma -Sue took care of me the first three years of my life and so I shall -always consider her a grandmother of mine." Susan Warner's mind had flown -hastily back to the home larder. What did she have cooked that was fine -enough for company. But the youth seemed to understand. "Just anything -that you have ready is what I want. No fuss and feathers, remember that. -I'll be there in one hour. Will that be time enough?" - -Grandpa Si spoke up heartily. "I reckon you'll find a dinner waitin' -whenever you get there, Harry-boy." - -Gwynette received her brother with a sneering curve to her mouth that -might have been pretty. "Well, didn't you know that everyone in the -church was watching you and criticizing you for making such a fuss over -our mother's servants," was her ungracious greeting. A dull red appeared -in the boy's cheeks, but he checked the angry words before they were -uttered. Instead he said: "Gwynette, may I call at the seminary this -afternoon? I have had a letter from Mother and I want to talk it over -with you." - -"This afternoon?" a rising inflection of inquiry. "Aren't you going to -take me to The Palms to dine? I'm just starved for a real course dinner -and the minute I saw you I made up my mind that was what we would do." - -The boy hesitated. His conscience rebuked him. He knew that their mother -would expect him to be chivalrous to his sister. He also knew that a -vision in pink and white, a pair of appealing liquid brown eyes had, for -the moment caused him to forget his duty. "All right, sis," he said, -trying not to let the reluctance in his heart show in his voice. "Ask -your chaperone if you may go with me now." - -As soon as he was alone, Harold hurried around the vine-covered church to -the sheds where he hoped to find the Warner family. They were just -driving out of the lane, but the old man drew rein when he saw the lad -hurrying toward them. - -"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Warner," he began with a ring of sincerity in -his voice, which carried conviction to the listeners. "Gwynette wants me -to take her to The Palms for dinner, and, of course, _that_ is what our -mother would wish me to do." - -"Wall, wall, that's all right, Harry," Grandpa Si put in consolingly. -"'Taint as though you can't come again. You're welcome over to the farm -whenever you're down this way." - -Harold's last glance was directed at the girl as also was his parting -remark. "I'm going to run down from the city real soon. Good-bye." - -Jenny was truly disappointed as she had hoped to have an opportunity to -ask the lad if it were true that his mother planned selling the farm -during the summer. - -She consoled herself by recalling his promise to come back soon. And then -as Dobbin trotted briskly homeward, the girl fell to dreaming of the -various things that might happen during the summer. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - BROTHER AND SISTER - - -"The Palms," architecturally a Mission Inn, was gorgeously furnished and -catered only to the ultra-rich. It was located picturesquely on a cliff -with a circling palm-edged drive leading to it. - -Santa Barbara was both a winter and summer resort and its hostelries were -famed the world over. - -Gwynette led her brother to the table of her choice in the luxurious -dining room, the windows of which, crystal clear, overlooked the ocean. -She was fretful and pouting. Harold, after having drawn out her chair, -seated himself and looked almost pensively at the shimmering blue -expanse, so close to them, just below the cliff. - -"You aren't paying the least bit of attention to me," Gwynette -complained. "I just asked if you weren't pining to be over in Paris this -spring." - -The lad turned and looked directly at the girl, candor in his clear grey -eyes. - -"Why no, sister, I do not wish anything of the sort," he replied -sincerely. "What I _do_ hope is that our mother will be well enough to -return to us, and that the quiet of our country home will completely -restore her health." - -Gwynette shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing, until their orders had -been given; then she remarked: - -"I don't see why our mother needs to rusticate for three months in this -stupid place. If _we_ could have a house party, of course, that would -help to make it endurable for _me_, but in her last letter Ma Mere -distinctly said that we were to invite no one, as her nerves were in need -of absolute quiet." - -The boy, who had folded his arms looked at his sister penetratingly, -almost critically. Suddenly he blurted out: - -"Do you know, Gwynette, sometimes I think you do not care, really care, -deep in your heart for our mother as much as I do. In fact, I sometimes -wonder if you care for anyone except yourself." - -The girl flushed angrily. "Your dinner conversation is most ungracious, I -am sure," she flung at him, but paused and looked at a young man also in -uniform, who was hurrying toward their table with an undeniably pleased -expression on his tanned face. Harold rose and held out his hand, glad of -any interruption. - -"Well, Tod, where did you drop from?" Then to the girl he said: "Sister -Gwynette, this is a chap from the same San Francisco prison in which I am -incarcerated--Lieutenant James Creery by name." - -The girl held up a slim, white hand over which the youth bent with an -ardor which had won for him the heart of many a young lady in the past -and probably would in the future, but in the present he was welcomed as a -much-needed diversion from a most upsetting family quarrel. Having -accepted their invitation to make a third at the small table, apart from -the others, the young man seated himself, saying to the girl: "Don't let -me interrupt any confidences you two were having. I know you don't see -each other often, since we poor chaps have but one free Sunday a month." - -Gwynette smiled her prettiest and even her brother conceded that if Gwyn -would only take the trouble to smile now and then she might be called -handsome. - -"Our conversation was neither deep nor interesting to anyone but me. I -was wishing that we were to spend the summer--well, anywhere rather than -in our country home four miles out of this stupid town." - -"Stupid?" the young man, nicknamed Tod, glanced about at the charmingly -gowned young women at the small tables near them. "This crowd ought to -keep things stirring." - -Gwynette shook her head. "Nothing but weekend guests motored up from Los -Angeles or down from San Francisco. From Monday to Friday the place is -dead." - -And so the inconsequential talk flowed on, until at last James Creery -excused himself, as he had an engagement. Again bowing low over -Gwynette's hand, he departed. The smiling expression in the girl's eyes -changed at once to a hard glint. - -"Well, you said that you came down especially to talk over a letter from -our mother. You might as well tell me the worst and be done with it." - -The lad made no attempt to hide his displeasure. "There was no worst to -it, Gwynette. I merely hoped that you would wish to plan with me some -pleasant surprise as a welcome to our mother's homecoming. I find that I -was mistaken. Shall we go now?" - -The girl rose with an almost imperceptible fling of defiance to her -shapely head. "As you prefer," she said coldly. "I really cannot say -honestly that I feel any great enthusiasm about we three settling down in -humdrum fashion in our country place, but, if it is my duty, as you seem -to infer, to _pretend_ that I am overjoyed, you may plan whatever you -wish and I will endeavor to _seem_ enthusiastic." - -They were again in the small car before the lad replied: "Do not feel -that it is incumbent on you in any way to co-operate with me in welcoming -_my_ mother." There was an emphasis on the my which did not escape the -notice of the girl, and it but increased her anger. She was convinced -that her brother meant it as an implied rebuke, and she was right. - -Gwynette bit her lips and turned away to hide tears of self pity. When -the seminary was reached, the lad assisted the haughty girl from the car -with his never-failing courtesy, accompanied her to the door, ventured a -conciliating remark at parting, but was not even rewarded with a glance. - -Harold was unusually thoughtful as he rode along the highway. He passed -the gate to the lane leading to the farm, assuring himself that he was in -no mood for visiting even with friends. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - VIEWS AND REVIEWS - - -Monday morning dawned gloriously, but it was with great effort that Jenny -made her mood match the day. Often her grandparents glanced at her and -then at one another as they ate their simple breakfast. At last her -grandfather asked: "What be yo' studyin' on so hard, dearie? Is it -anything about yo're schoolin' that's frettin' you?" - -The girl, who had been gazing at the bowl of golden poppies on the middle -of the table with unconscious abstraction, looked up with a bright smile. -Luckily her grandfather's remark gave her a suggestion to enlarge upon. -Turning to the little old woman whose sweet blue eyes were watchfully -inquiring, the girl said: "Something has happened, or rather it is going -to happen." She paused a moment, but her grandfather urged: "Do go on, -Jenny. Don't let's stop for no guessin' contest this time. I've got to -get out early to the cultivatin'." - -Jenny told how the Board of Education had required Miss Dearborn to take -a teacher's examination before she had been permitted to continue -instructing her one lone pupil. - -"Tut! Tut! Wall now, yo' don' tell?" Grandma Sue was much impressed. "Did -Miss Dearborn go an' take them teachin' examinations jest so she could -keep on helpin' yo' wi' your studies?" - -The girl nodded. "She must set a power by you," the old woman concluded. -Grandpa Si spoke up. "Huh, how could she help it? I reckon every critter -as knows Jenny sets a power by her, but thar must be more to the yarn. I -don' see anything, so far, for you to fret about." - -"Yes, there is more," Jenny agreed, "Miss Dearborn has had a letter from -the Board of Education saying that I must take the high school -examinations next month. Think of it, Granny Sue! I've got to go to that -big new high school over in Santa Barbara where I don't know a single -soul, and take written examinations, when I never have had even one in -all my life." - -Again the grandfather's faith in his "gal" was expressed. "It's _my_ -notion when them examinations are tuk, _your's_ 'll be leadin' all the -rest. Thar ain't many gals as sober minded as _yo'_ be, Jenny, not by a -long ways." - -The girl's merry laughter pealed out and the twinkle in her liquid brown -eyes did not suggest sober-mindedness. Rising she skipped around the -table kissing affectionately her grandfather's bald spot. - -"Here's hoping that you won't be disappointed in your granddaughter. But -really she isn't half as wise as you think she is." Then turning toward -the smiling old woman, she concluded, "Is she, Mrs. Susan Warner?" - -The sweet blue eyes told much more than the reply. "Wall, I reckon yo' -won't come out tail-end." - -Again the girl laughed, then donning her hat and taking her books, she -merrily called "Good-bye." But her expression changed when she reached -the lane and started walking briskly toward the highway. - -The real cause of her anxiety returned to trouble her thoughts. "Oh, I -_must_ study so hard, so hard," she told herself. "Then I will be able to -be a teacher and make a home for my dear old grandparents. How I hope the -farm will not be sold until then." - -Jenny did not follow the highway, but took a short cut trail to Miss -Dearborn's hillside home. It led over a rugged upland where gnarled live -oaks twisted their rough barked branches into fantastic shapes. Jenny -loved low-growing oaks and she never climbed through this particular -grove of them, however occupied her thoughts might be as they were on -this troubled morning, without giving them a greeting. "I'm glad that -Miss Dearborn is teaching me mythology, for otherwise I wouldn't know -that each of these trees is really the home of a dryad, beautiful, -slender graceful sprites, born when the tree is born and dying when the -tree dies. How I would love to come here some moon-lit night in the -spring and watch them dance to the piping of Pan. They would have wide -fluttering sleeves in their garments woven of mist and moonbeams and they -would be crowned with oak leaves, but how sad it would be if a -woodchopper came and chopped down one of the trees, for that night there -would be one less dryad at the dance on the hill." - -Beyond the trees there was a long sweep of meadowland down the hill side -to the highway, and beyond to the rocky edge of the sea. On this bright, -spring morning it was a glittering, gleaming carpet of waving poppy cups -of gold. - -Joyfully the girl cried, pausing on the edge of it, "O, I know the poem -Miss Dearborn would quote. I thought of it right away." Then she recited -aloud, though there was no one to hear. - - "I wandered lonely as a cloud - That floats on high o'er vales and hills, - When all at once I saw a crowd, - A host of shining daffodils - Beside the lake, beneath the trees - Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. - - Continuous as the stars that shine, - And twinkle on the milky way, - They stretched in never ending line, - Along the margin of the bay. - Ten thousand saw I at a glance - Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. - - The waves beside them danced, but they - Outdid the sparkling waves in glee. - A poet could not but be gay - In such a jocund company. - I gazed and gazed, but little thought - What wealth to me the show had brought. - - For oft when on my couch I lie - In vacant or in pensive mood, - They flash upon that inward eye - Which is the bliss of solitude. - And then my heart with rapture fills - And dances with the daffodils. - -"If only Wordsworth had lived in California," she thought as she -continued on her way, "he would have written just such a poem about these -fields of golden poppies." - -Ten minutes later, the girl, feeling an inward glow from so close a -communion with Nature, the greatest of artist-poets, skipped between the -two graceful pepper trees that were the gate posts of Miss Dearborn's -attractive hillside home. - -"Well, dearie, how bright you are this morning," was the greeting the -woman, digging about in her garden, sang out. Then, standing her hoe -against a rustic bench, she began taking off her gloves, as together they -walked toward the house. "I am indeed glad," she concluded, "for you are -to have a hard testing today." - -Instantly the morning glow faded from the girl's face and a troubled -expression clouded her eyes. "Miss Dearborn, what now?" - -The older woman laughed. "No need of high tragedy," she said. "It's only -that I have paid a visit to the principal of the high school, and have -obtained from him the questions used on examinations for several years -past, and today I am going to give you your first written test. We have -nearly a month for review, and each week I shall ask you one complete set -of questions of previous years and then, at least, you will be familiar -with written examinations." - -"Oh, Miss Dearborn, how kind, how wonderfully kind you are to me. It -would be most ungrateful of me to fail." - -"Fail? There is no such word for the earnest student who has worked -faithfully day by day all through the term as my pupil has. There will be -no need of that nerve-racking system called cramming for you." Then, as -they ascended the steps to the wide veranda, Miss Dearborn exclaimed, -"See, I've put a table in the glassed-in corner. I'm going to shut you in -there until noon with the questions, and I shall expect your average to -be 90 at least." - -Jenny felt a little thrill of excitement course over her, and she started -at her new task with a determination to try her best to be worthy of the -faith placed in her by the three who loved her so dearly. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - PLOTS AND PLAYS - - -Meanwhile a very different scene was being enacted in the Granger Place -Seminary. - -Gwynette Poindexter-Jones occupied the largest and most attractively -furnished room on the second floor of the dormitory building, and her two -best friends shared the one adjoining. There was a bath between with -doors opening upon a narrow private corridor. - -Gwynette had not liked the room when she first arrived, as it was, she -declared, too "barnlike" in its barrenness. Miss Granger regretted this, -as she assured the daughter of her richest patron, but she really could -not furnish the rooms to please the young ladies, and there was no other -apartment available at that late period of the term. - -The haughty Gwynette had then requested that the furniture in the room be -removed. After this had been done, she brought from her mother's home by -the sea handsome mahogany pieces upholstered in rich blue. There were -portieres and window hangings to match and priceless pictures adorned the -walls. The furnishing in the room of her friends had remained unchanged -and was far more appropriate, in that it suggested studiousness rather -than indolence and luxury. - -Gwynette, in a velvet dressing robe of the same rich blue embroidered -with gold in chrysanthemum design, was lying at full length on a -many-cushioned lounge, a blue and gold slipper dangling from the toe of -one foot. She was reading a forbidden novel, and eating chocolate creams, -when there came a soft tap on the door leading into the main corridor. -Gwynette always kept it locked that she need not be surprised by the -appearance of Madam Vandeheuton, monitor of the dormitory, or by one of -the infrequent visits of Miss Granger herself. Sitting erect, the girl's -eyes narrowed as she pondered. - -Should she keep very still and pretend that she was out, or---- - -Her thought was interrupted by a low voice calling: "Gwyn, let us in, -can't you!" Languidly the girl rose and, after unlocking the door, she -inquired of the two who entered: "What's the idea? You know the door -between our rooms is always unlocked. Couldn't you come in that way?" - -Beulah Hollingsworth reached down to the little blue velvet stool near -the couch and helped herself to a chocolate. "Of course we could have -come the usual way, only we were passing through the corridor and so this -door was nearer." - -"Well, don't do it again. I implore." Gwynette once more stretched at -full length and ease as she remarked indolently, "It's easier for you to -go around than for me to get up. Well?" - -She looked inquiringly at Patricia Sullivan. "Did you call on the sphynx -and get at her secret? Sit down, do! It makes me tired to see you -standing so stiffly as though you had ramrods for backbones." - -Both of the girls sat down, one on a Louis XVI chair and the other on one -of recent and more comfortable design. Beulah began-- - -"Yes, we called and found Clare Tasselwood as uncommunicative as she was -when we met her in the garden and tried to draw her out." - -Patricia continued-- - -"But I am more than ever convinced that the secretive Clare is the -daughter of a younger son of a noble English family. My theory is that -she is going to keep quiet about it until the older son dies, and then -those who befriended her when she was unknown will be honored as her -guests when she takes her rightful place." - -"Well, I for one shall cultivate her. An invitation to visit the castle -home of Lord Tasselwood would be most welcome to me. You girls may do as -you please about it." Gwynette was again in a sitting posture and she -glanced inquiringly at her companions. They both declared that they -wished to be included. "Then, firstly, we must obtain permission to give -a spread worthy of her presence, at The Palms, no less, even if it costs -our combined allowances for a month." - -Then they planned together what they would wear and whom they would -invite. "We'll ask my brother to bring down as many cadets as we have -girls," was Gwyn's final decision. - -When Clare Tasselwood received the gilt-edged invitation, there was a -little twist to one corner of her month which was her way of smiling when -she was amused, and cynical. She had overheard a conversation the day -they had met in the garden. "The Lady Clara of Tasselwood Manor accepts -with pleasure," she told her reflection in the mirror. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - FERNS AND FRIENDS - - -True to her promise, Jenny Warner went to the seminary on Monday, after -her lessons were over, to see if she could be of assistance to Miss -O'Hara. - -The kindly Irish woman saw the girl coming and met her at the open -kitchen door with so beaming a face that the newcomer was convinced that -something of a pleasant nature had occurred, nor was she wrong. - -"Colleen, it's true blue you are, keepin' your word so handsome, but -there's no need for you to be stayin'. Another of them orphans blew in -along about noon-time, and it did me heart good to set eyes on the bright -face of her. She went to work with a will, not wishin' to rest even. Her -name's Nora O'Flynn, and her forebears came from the same part of old -Ireland which gave birth to mesilf. 'Twon't be hard to be makin' the -kitchen homelike for _this_ orphan," she concluded. - -Jenny went away joyfully. Things had turned out wonderfully for them all. -Miss O'Hara could never have been happy with Etta Heldt, who was of a -race she could not understand, but now that she was to have with her one -of her own people, her long days of drudgery would be lightened and -brightened. - -As Jenny tripped down the box-bordered path leading from the seminary to -a canyon trail that would be a short-cut to the farm, she passed the -tennis courts, where several games were in progress. She glanced at the -players, wondering if any of them might be the haughty sister of Harold -P-J. But tennis was altogether too strenuous a pastime for the ever -indolent Gwynette. - -The back trail led along the Sycamore Canyon creek, where ferns of many -varieties were growing; some were as tall as the girl who was passing -them, while, among the moss-covered rocks, close to the brook, were the -more feathery and delicate maiden hair ferns. It had been very warm in -the sun, but there was a most welcome damp coolness in the canyon. For a -moment Jenny stood still at the top of the trail gazing down, listening -to the quietness, broken only by the constant gurgling rush of the water. -Then she started walking slowly along the trail, picking her way -carefully, as it was rough and rocky, and at places very narrow. It -amused her to note the different sounds of the brook. At one spot there -was a whirling little eddy, then a sudden fall over a steep rock, then a -hurried rushing till a broad pool-like place was reached. There the -waters were deeper and quieter, as though pausing for a moment's rest -before taking a plunge of many feet to the lower part of the canyon. Just -above the Maiden-hair Falls, a rustic bridge crossed from one great -boulder to another, and, as Jenny came in sight of it, she stopped, -amazed, for there, sitting on one end of the bridge and leaning against -the bending trunk of a great old sycamore tree, was a girl of her own -age. Who could she be? Jenny had not heard of anyone new moving into the -neighborhood. In fact, there were no houses in the canyon except the one -occupied by the Pascoli family. - -A small stone, disturbed by Jenny's foot, rattled noisily down the trail, -struck the bridge and bounded away into the lower canyon. - -The stranger glanced up with an expression that was almost startled and -Jenny saw that it was the girl in brown whom she had twice noticed: once -in the yard of the seminary, when she had been left so alone, and again -in the dining hall when she had passed a dish, almost shyly, to the grand -appearing Clare Tasselwood. Jenny remembered that this girl had said -"Thank you," and had smiled pleasantly when her cup had been filled with -chocolate. She was smiling again, a bright welcoming smile, which assured -Jenny that the stranger wished to speak to her, nor was she wrong, for, -as soon as the bridge was reached, the girl in brown exclaimed: "Isn't -this a wonderful place that I've found? It's the first time since I came -to this school that I haven't been depressingly lonesome." - -Jenny's heart rejoiced. This girl must also love nature if she could feel -real companionship in an almost silent canyon. Impulsively, she said, -"Shall you mind if I sit here with you for a time?" - -"Mind?" The other girl's brown eyes gladdened. "I was hoping that you -would." - -Jenny seated herself on the rustic bridge directly over the rushing -falls. "Oh, hadn't you better move over near this end?" her companion -asked anxiously. "Won't the hurrying whirl of the water underneath make -you dizzy?" - -Jenny shook her head. "We're old friends," she explained. "I am -acquainted with Sycamore Canyon brook from its very beginning way up in -the foothills, and it flows into the sea not far from the farm where I -live." - -"Oh, good!" Again the bright upward glance. "I'm so glad you live on a -farm, for I do also, when I'm at home in Dakota. My father is a farmer. I -haven't told it before, fearing the seminary girls might snub me if they -knew. Not that I would care much. All I ask of them is to let me alone, -and they certainly do that." Then in a burst of confidence, "I really -don't know what to say to girls, nor how to act with them. I have lived -so many years on an isolated farm and, would you believe it, I never, -actually never, had a flesh and blood girl friend. I've had steens and -steens of book-character friends, and I honestly believe, on the whole, I -like them best." Then with a shy side glance, "Do you think I am queer? -Tell me so truly if you do." - -Jenny moved closer to the girl in brown as she exclaimed, "Yes, I do -think you are queer, if queer means different from those other girls." -Then she laughingly confessed, "The truth is I never had a girl friend -either, not one, but I have lots of make-believe friends, so, you see, I -also am queer." - -The girl in brown beamed, "O, I am so glad, for maybe, do you think -possibly you and I might become friends, being both queer and all that?" - -Jenny nodded joyfully. "Why, of course we can be friends if you wish. -That is, if Miss Granger would want you to be friendly with any but the -gentry. Perhaps she doesn't allow the pupils of her school to make -acquaintances on the outside." - -This thought was not at all troubling to the strange girl. "You see," she -began seriously, "I am not subject to the rules governing the other -pupils." - -Then, noting the puzzled expression in the listener's eyes, she leaned -back against the tree as she laughingly continued: "Suppose I begin at -the beginning and then you will understand about me once for all." - -"We don't even know each other's names," Jenny put in. "Mine is Jeanette -Warner. I have always lived with my grandparents on Rocky Point farm, -which belongs to the estate of the Poindexter-Jones family." A shadow -passed over the speaker's face, which, a moment before, had been so -bright. "I want to be real honest before we begin a friendship. We are -not farmers in our own right. We are hired to run a farm, therefore we -are servants in the employ of the mother of one of your classmates. At -least that is what Gwynette Poindexter-Jones calls us." - -The observant listener saw the flush mounting to her new friend's cheeks, -and, impulsively, she reached out a hand and placed it on the one near -her. "What does _that_ matter? I mean so far as our friendship is -concerned," she asked. - -Jenny was relieved. "Doesn't it really? Well, then I'm glad. Now please -tell me all about yourself from the very beginning." - -Jenny noticed that her companion looked frail and so she was not -surprised to hear her say that she had been very ill. "Lenora Gale is my -name," she began, "and my family consists of an unequalled father, and of -a brother who is just as nice only younger. My dearest mother died of -lung trouble years ago, and every time since then when I have caught -cold, it has taken my vitality to an alarming extent, and last fall, when -the bitter winter weather set in, and oh, how cold our northern winters -are, father wanted me sent to California, but he could not come himself. -Brother Charles wished to attend an agricultural college near Berkeley -and so I was put in a boarding school up there, just as a place to stay -and be well cared for. I was not to attend classes unless I desired. But -the rainy season continued for so long that Brother thought best to bring -me farther south, and that is why I am now in the Granger Place -Seminary." - -Jenny rose and held out a hand. "Lenora Gale," she said seriously, "the -damp coolness of this canyon will not do at all for you. I'm going to -walk back with you to the top of the trail. I can see quite plainly that -you need a friend to look after you." And evidently Jenny was right, for -the rough upward climb was hard for the girl who had not been well, and -she scarcely spoke until they said good-bye at the side door of the -seminary. Then she turned and clung to the hand of her new friend as she -said imploringly, "You won't just disappear and forget me, will you? I do -so want to see you again." - -"Indeed not," Jenny assured her. "I'll come up and get you tomorrow, if I -may have Dobbin, and take you home to supper. I want you to meet Grandma -Sue and Grandpa Si." - -Lenora's pale face brightened. "Oh, how wonderful that will be. I wish -today were tomorrow." - -Again Jenny descended the Sycamore Canyon brook trail, but this time she -skipped along that she need not be late to help get supper. At the -bridge, though, she stopped for one moment as at a shrine. "Here," she -said aloud, "is where I met my first girl friend." A lizard on a stone -near lifted its gray head and looked at her with bright black eyes, but -Jenny, with a song of gladness, passed on down the trail, for once -without noticing the wild life about her. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - DEAREST DESIRES - - -On the day following the meeting of the two girls on the rustic bridge -over Maiden Hair Falls, Jenny, true to her promise, drove to the seminary -ostensibly to deliver an order of honey and eggs, but a girl in brown -rode with her on the high front seat when Dobbin turned out of the school -gates. Another girl was watching them from her wide, upper window. -Turning back into the room, she remarked to two others who were trying to -study: "That Lenora Gale must belong to the bourgeoise. She is actually -going for a ride with the granddaughter of my mother's servants." - -Patricia Sullivan turned a page in the book she was conning and remarked -without looking up: "Gwyn, how can you expect to win honors if you never -open your books?" - -The girl addressed sank languidly into a comfortable chair, picked up her -novel and replied, as she found her place: "_Me_, win honors? _Why should -I_, pray? Does it make one a more winsome debutante? You must know that -this is to be my last year of confinement within the walls of a seminary. -Ma Mere has promised to give me a coming-out party when I am eighteen -which will dazzle even blas San Francisco." - -Beulah arose, as she said rather impatiently: "Well, Gwyn, just because -_you_ do not wish to learn is no reason why Pat and I should follow in -your footsteps. I'm going to our own room where I can study -uninterrupted." - -"I'll go with you." Patricia arose to accompany her friend. "_Au -revoir!_" - -Gwynette, having found her place, was too absorbed in her story to reply. - -Meanwhile Jenny and Lenora were having the happiest kind of time riding -down the gently sloping hill, now in the sunlight and again in the shadow -of great overhanging trees. - -"Has anything pleasant happened since yesterday?" Lenora asked with a -side glance at the beaming face of the driver. - -"Yes, indeed," the other girl nodded gleefully. "I passed 100 per cent in -two subjects and over 90 per cent in all the others." - -The brown eyes of her companion were questioning. "Why, I didn't know you -were going to have examination. In fact, I didn't know anything about -your school. Is there one near or do you have to go to Santa Barbara?" - -Jenny told the story of her schooling from its beginning to a most -interested listener. "Oh, how I do envy you." Lenora exclaimed. "If I had -had a teacher like your Miss Dearborn, I would be wiser than I am. We -always lived too far away from a school for me to attend one. Dad has -tutored me when he had time and so has Brother during his vacations." -Then the girl's face brightened. "But my best teachers have been books -themselves. How I have enjoyed them! Dad ordered all of the books in a -graded reading course for me, and I have shelf after shelf filled with -them around the walls of my room. I especially like nature poetry." - -Jenny flashed a bright smile at her companion. "Oh, I am so glad!" she -cried. "Miss Dearborn is teaching me to love it. She wants me to be able -to quote some poem that will describe every beautiful thing in nature -that I see. Of course, I can't always think of one, but then I store the -scene away in my memory and ask Miss Dearborn what poem it would suggest -to her." - -"I would love to know your teacher," Lenora said. "I believe I could -learn rapidly if I had her to teach me." - -"It's almost the end of the school year," Jenny commented, as she looked -up and down the Coast Highway before crossing it, "and, anyway, I suppose -it would hardly do for a pupil of the seminary to be taught by someone -outside when they have special teachers there for all subjects." - -"No, of course not," her companion agreed. Then, as they started down the -long narrow lane leading to the farmhouse, the girl in brown exclaimed: -"Oh, Jenny, do you live in that picturesque old adobe house so near the -sea? I adore the ocean and I haven't been real close to it since I came. -It's so very warm today, don't you think we might go down to the very -edge of the water and sit on the sand?" - -Jenny nodded brightly: "We'll go out on Rocky Point," she said. "You'll -love it, I'm sure." Then impulsively, "Oh, Lenora Gale, you don't know -what it means to me to have a girl friend who likes the same things that -I like." - -"Yes, I do know," the other girl replied sincerely, "for it means the -same to me." - -Grandma Warner was delighted with Jenny's new friend, and, as for Lenora, -she was most enthusiastic about everything around the farm. She thought -the old adobe house with its heavy beams simply fascinating, and when she -saw Jenny's very own room with its windows opening out toward the point -of rocks and the sea, she declared that she knew, if only she could sleep -in a room like that, she would not be troubled with long hours of -wakefulness as she had been since her last illness. "The ocean sings a -lullabye to you all of the time, doesn't it?" she turned to say. - -Jenny, who was indeed pleased with her friend's phrase, nodded, then she -laughingly confessed that sometimes, when there was a high wind or a -storm, the song of the sea was a little too wild and loud to lull one to -slumber. But her listener's eyes glowed all the more. "How I would love -to hear it then. I would want to stay awake to listen to the crashing of -the waves." Then she said: "I suppose you think me foolishly enthusiastic -about it, but when one has lived for years and years on an inland -prairie, the sea is very strange and wonderful." - -Jenny nodded understandingly. "I don't believe I could live far away from -the coast," she commented. "I would feel as though a very important part -of my life had been taken from me. I have always lived within sound of -the sea, but come, I want to take you down to the Rocky Point." The girls -went again through the kitchen, and Jenny said to the dear little old -lady who was sitting on the vine-hung side porch, busy, as always, with -her sewing, "Grandma Sue, please let Lenora and me get the supper. We -won't be gone more than an hour and after that will be plenty of time." - -Lenora's face brightened. "Oh, Mrs. Warner, how I wish you would let us. -It would be such a treat to me. I love to cook, but it has been perfect -ages since I have been allowed in a kitchen, and yours is so homey and -different." - -Susan Warner nodded a pleased consent. "I reckon you may, if it's what -you're wantin' to do," she said. Then she dropped her sewing in her lap, -pushed her spectacles up among the lavender ribbons of her cap and gazed -after the two girls as they went hand in hand down the path that led -toward the Rocky Point. "It's a pleasant sight," the old woman thought, -"Jenny having a friend of her own kind at last, and her, being a farmer's -gal, makes our darlin' feel right at home wi' her. Not one of the -upstandin' sort like Gwynette Poindexter-Jones." There was seldom a hard -expression on the loving old face, but there was one at that moment. The -spectacles had been replaced and Susan Warner began to stab her needle -into the blue patch she was putting on a pair of overalls in a manner -that suggested that her thoughts were of no gentle nature. - -"What _right_ has _one_ of 'em to be puttin' on airs over the other of -'em? That's what I'd like to be told. They bein' flesh and blood sisters -even if one of 'em has been fetched up grand. But I reckon there's a -justice in this world, an' I can trust it to take keer o' things." - -Having reached this more satisfactory state of mind, the old woman again -glanced toward the point and saw the two girls climbing out on the -highest rock. Jenny was carefully holding her friend's hand and leading -her to a wide boulder against which the waves had crashed in many a storm -until they had cut out a hollow resembling a canopy-covered chair wide -enough for two to sit comfortably. - -It was low tide at that hour, and, when they were seated, Lenora -exclaimed joyfully: "Oh, isn't this the nicest place for confidences? -Let's tell each other a secret, shall we? That will make us intimate -friends." - -Jenny smiled happily. "I don't believe I have any secrets, that is, none -of my own that I could share." Miss Dearborn's secret was the only one -she knew. - -"Then let's tell our dearest desires," Lenora suggested, "and I will -begin." - -Then she laughingly confessed: "It will not take long to tell, however. I -want to grow strong and well that I may become father's housekeeper. It -is desperately lonely for him with both Mother and me away, and yet, -since his interests are all bound up in our Dakota farm, he cannot leave -it, and so, you see, I must get well as soon as ever I can." - -Jenny nodded understandingly. "My dearest desire is to find a way by -which I can help Grandpa Si buy Rocky Point farm. I have thought and -thought, but, of course, just thinking doesn't help much. There are ten -acres in it, from the sea back to the highway, and then to the tall hedge -you can see over there. That is where the Poindexter-Jones' grounds -begin, and in the other direction to where the canyon brook runs into the -ocean." - -"It is a beautiful little farm. I wish you could buy it. How much do you -suppose it will sell for?" Lenora asked, but Jenny did not know. Then she -sighed as she added that she supposed they would know soon, for the -daughter of Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had said that it was to be sold in the -summer when her mother returned from France. But, as it was not natural -for Jenny to be long depressed, she smilingly announced that she had two -other desires that were very dear. One was that she did so want her -wonderful teacher to remain in California another winter. "If she -doesn't, if Miss Dearborn goes back East, I will have to go to the Santa -Barbara High School next year, and no one knows how I would dread that. I -even dread going there for a few days next month to take the written -examinations." - -Jenny had one more desire, which she did not mention, but, as she glanced -across the green field and saw the turrets of the deserted -Poindexter-Jones home, she thought of Harold and wondered when he would -come again. He had said that he would run down some time soon and have -dinner with them. Then, surely, she would have an opportunity to be alone -with him long enough to ask about the farm. - -Arousing herself from her thoughts, Jenny glanced at her companion and -saw, on the sweet face, an expression of infinite sadness. Impulsively -she reached out a strong brown hand and placed it lovingly over the frail -one near her. - -"Lenora, aren't you happy, dear?" - -The brown eyes that were lifted were filled with tears. "There is -something sad about the ocean and Tennyson's poem makes me think of my -dear mother. No one can ever know how I miss her. We were more like two -sisters, even though I was so very young. Mother died when I was twelve." - -"What poem is it, dear? Shall you mind repeating it to me? I haven't had -any of Tennyson's poetry yet." Then Jenny added hastily, "but don't, if -you would rather not." - -"I would like to." In a voice that was almost tearful, Lenora began: - - "Break, break, break - On thy cold gray stones, O Sea. - And I would that my tongue could utter - The thoughts that arise in me. - - O well for the fisherman's boy - That he shouts with his sister at play! - O well for the sailor lad - That he sings in his boat on the bay! - - And the stately ships go on - To their haven under the hill! - But O for the touch of a vanished hand - And the sound of a voice that is still! - - Break, break, break - At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! - But the tender grace of a day that is dead - Will never come back to me." - -Then, before Jenny could comment on the poem, Lenora said, smiling -through her tears, "That is what the poets do for us: they express our -emotions better than we could ourselves." Not wishing to depress her -friend, she arose, held out a hand as she entreated: "Please help me down -to that shining white sand." - -Such a happy half hour as they spent and when at last they started back -toward the house, Jenny, in the shelter of the rocky point, impulsively -kissed her companion. "I love you," she whispered. "I have always wished -that I had a sister. I'd like to adopt you if you will let me." - -"Of course I will let you. I would rather have you for a sister than -anyone I ever knew." Then, mischievously, Lenora inquired, "Now, what -relation is my brother Charles to you?" "We'll let _him_ decide when he -comes," was Jenny's practical answer. "He may not want to be adopted." -Then, as the house had been reached, she added impulsively, "but Grandma -Sue and Grandpa Si would love to be, so I will let you share them. Now, -Sister Lenora, it's time for us to get supper." - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - PEERS OR PIGS - - -The day of the party to be given in honor of Clare Tasselwood arrived and -the three most interested were in Gwyn's room dressing for the occasion. -"There is something very queer about Clare," Beulah announced. "I just -passed her room a moment ago. The door was open and I saw her sitting in -front of the mirror brushing out that mass of long yellow hair of hers, -and I am positive that she was laughing. She saw my reflection, I -suppose, for the moment I had passed she got up and closed the door so -quickly that it sounded like a slam." - -Gwynette, bemoaning the fact that they were not permitted to have maids -assist them with their dressing, said impatiently: "Pat, you'll simply -_have_ to help me with these hooks." Then, to Beulah: "What are you -driving at? Why do you think it is queer that Clare Tasselwood should be -laughing? You laugh sometimes yourself, don't you?" - -"Why, of course I do, if I think of something funny," Beulah agreed, "but -what I can't understand is why Clare Tasselwood should laugh all alone by -herself when she is dressing to go to our party. Of course she can't have -any idea that we are giving it because we believe her to be the daughter -of a younger son of the English nobility, can she?" - -"Of course not!" Gwyn declared. "We three are the only ones who know that -and we have not told. I am more than ever convinced that it is true, for -yesterday, when Madame Vandeheuton asked me to take Clare's mail to her -room there was a letter with what appeared to be a crest on it." - -Patricia, having finished hooking up the blue satin gown of her friend, -remarked with energy: "Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that. I've had -'ma doots' lately about the whole thing, and now and then a faint idea -penetrates my brain that we're idiots whichever way it is. Here we are -squandering not only this month's spending money but next month's as -well, and what is to come of it?" - -Beulah sat on a low stool to put on her gilt slippers. "Oh, we'll have to -take a gambler's chance. Pat, be a sport. We know for a fact that there -is a pupil at this seminary who is the daughter of a younger son of a -noble English family. Miss Granger was only too glad to let _that_ much -be known. I've no doubt it brought her several pupils whose vain mothers -wished them to be associated with such a girl even if they could not know -which one she was." - -Pat agreed. "And didn't we study the qualities of every girl in this -establishment, beginning with Clare and ending with that timid, -sickly-looking creature who always wears brown?" - -"And who associates, by choice, with the granddaughter of my mother's -servants," Gwyn scoffed as she surveyed her beautiful party gown in the -long gilt-framed mirror. "Wasn't it adorable of Ma Mere to send me this -creation from Paris? She knows how hurt I am because she put me in this -detestable prison instead of permitting me to accompany her to France, -and so she sends me presents to sooth my wounded spirits, I suppose." - -"Your mother is mighty good to you," Pat remarked in rather a critical -tone, "better than I think you deserve. I have never yet heard you say -that you wish you could do something to add to _her_ pleasure." - -Gwynette crossed the room, watching the swing of the soft satin folds in -the mirror over one shoulder. Her lips were pressed together as though -she were trying to keep from retorting to her friend's speech, but her -mounting anger caused her to stop in front of Pat's chair and flare at -her. "I can't understand _why_ you continue to associate with me at all, -since you disapprove of me so entirely. If you feel that it is an idiotic -thing for us to try to do homage to the daughter of nobility, why didn't -you say so at first? It is too late now to make any changes in our plans, -but after tonight I shall no longer expect you to be one of my intimate -friends." - -Beulah said conciliatingly: "Gwyn, we aren't any of us perfect, and we -certainly don't want our friends to pretend they think we are, do we?" -Then, in an entirely different tone, she continued: "For myself, Gwyn, -since your brother and fifteen other cadets are coming to our party, I -shall consider my money well spent. I'm pining for a dance. And, as for -the Lady Clare Tasselwood, I don't care a fig whether she is or isn't. -Hark, what's the commotion without?" - -The palatial bus from The Palms was arriving and on the high seat with -the driver, resplendent in his gold-trimmed blue uniform, sat Cadet -Harold. - -Beulah, who had skipped to the front window, hurried back to don her -cloak and tie a becoming cherry colored scarf over her short light brown -curls. "Gwyn, I wish you would be the one to tell Lady Clare that the -hour of departure has arrived. Pat and I will round up the other twelve." -Gwynette lifted her eyebrows as she adjusted her swansdown-trimmed cloak -about her slim shoulders. "Sometimes, Beulah, from your choice of -English, I might think you a cowgirl." - -The rebuked maiden chuckled mischievously. "I ain't, though," she said -inelegantly, "but if ever there was a romance of the Wild West written -that I haven't read, I hope I'll hear of it soon. I'm daffy about the -life. Truth is, I'd heaps rather meet a cowgirl than I would a younger -daughter of----" - -But Gwynette, with a proud toss of her handsome head, had swept from the -room, leaving Beulah to mirthfully follow, accompanied by Pat, whose dark -looks boded no good. Beulah drew her friend back and closed the door. -"Child," she remonstrated, "don't take Gwyn's loftiness so much to heart. -I think she is just as superlatively selfish as you do, and I also think -she treats her invalid mother shamefully, but you know we can't go around -this world telling everyone _just_ what we think of them. It isn't done -in the best society. Gwyn has her good points, too, otherwise we wouldn't -have been chumming with her, would we?" - -"Well, take it from me. I've chummed my last. After tonight I'll choose -my friends, not have them chosen for me." - -"Meaning what?" - -"You know as well as I do that because our three mothers were in the same -set at home, we were all packed off here together, but come, I'll try to -get some pleasure out of this idiotic party." - -When they reached the lower hall, they found all of the girls who had -been invited waiting for Madame Vandeheuton, who was to be the evening's -chaperone. She was a timid little French woman who felt that the girls -were always making fun of her efforts at speaking English, and so she -usually kept quiet, except when she was teaching her dearly loved native -tongue. Gwynette had especially asked that Madame Vandeheuton be -permitted to accompany them, since they could not go without one of the -teachers. - -Clare Tasselwood was gorgeously arrayed in a brocaded gold velvet gown -with a crownlike arrangement of pearls bound about her mass of soft -yellow hair. She looked more than ever regal. Gwynette sat beside her in -the bus and was her constant companion throughout the evening. The -ballroom of The Palms had been reserved for this party and the fifteen -cadets were charmed with the pretty girls from the select seminary, but -handsome Clare was undeniably the belle. - -Each time that a dance was concluded, Gwyn asked her partner to take her -to that part of the salon to which Clare's partner had taken her. - -Harold Poindexter-Jones noticed this after a time and asked slangily: -"What's the big idea, Sis? Is the tall blonde a new crush?" - -Gwyn's haughty reply was: "Harold, I consider your language exceedingly -vulgar. If you wish to know, this party is being given in honor of Clare -Tasselwood, whose father is a younger son of English nobility." - -Her brother looked at her in wide-eyed amazement, then burst into a -laugh. Indignantly Gwyn drew him through an open door, out upon a -deserted porch. - -"What do you mean by such an ill-mannered explosion?" she inquired wrath -fully. - -Harold became very sober. "Sis," he said, "are you in dead earnest? Has -that girl been telling any such yarn about her family?" - -"Why no," Gwyn had to confess, "she didn't tell it, but----" - -Again the boy laughed: "That's too good to keep. I'll have to tell the -fellows. Old Hank Peters, the chap who has danced with her so much, comes -from her part of the globe--Chicago, to be accurate, and he said that her -father made his pile raising pigs--and they aren't English at all. They -are Swedes." - -Gwynette was angry with herself and everyone else. "Don't you dare to -tell; not a single soul!" she flared. "If you do, I'll get even with you -some time, some way." - -The boy, suddenly serious, took his sister's hand. "Gwyn," he said, "I -have no desire to make this a joking matter with the fellows. Of course -I'll keep it dark, but I do hope it will teach you a lesson." - -Beulah and Pat wondered at Gwynette's altered manner toward the guest of -honor, but, not even to them did she confide the humiliating information -she had received. - -On the ride back to the seminary in the bus Gwyn had very little to say -and the others attributed it to weariness. - -Gwynette noticed a merry twinkle in the blue eyes of Clare Tasselwood -when she effusively bade the three hostesses good-night, assuring them -that she had spent a most delightful evening. Gwyn went sulkily to her -room almost _sure_ that the daughter of that pig-raising Westerner had -known all along _why_ the party had been given. She had indeed learned a -lesson she decided as she closed her room door far less gently than she -should have done at that hour of night. Before retiring she assured -herself that even if she found out who _really was_ the daughter of a -younger son of English nobility, she wouldn't put _herself_ out to as -much as speak to her. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - GOOD NEWS - - -Sunday morning dawned gloriously, and although the sun rose at an early -hour, Jenny was out on the Rocky Point to watch the crimson and gold -shafts of light flaming up back of the mountain peaks; then she looked -out at the sea with its opalescent colors. Turning, she saw someone -walking along the beach from the house beyond the high hedge. - -It was not hard to recognize the military bearing of the youth. As the -girl had not known of the party given on the previous evening at The -Palms, she had no knowledge of the near presence of the lad whom she had -so longed to see, that she might ask about the farm. Harold had said -nothing to his sister Gwynette of his determination to remain over night, -but when his comrades had departed for the big city far to the north, he -had climbed into his little gray speeder and had gone to the deserted -mansion-like home belonging to his mother. - -Being without a thought of fear, the lad had not in the least minded the -ghastliness of the spacious rooms where the furniture wore coverings of -white and where his footsteps awakened echoes long silent. He had slept -in his own bed, but had aroused early, meaning to breakfast with his old -nurse and her family. - -When he saw the girl standing on the highest rock of the points with the -shining morning sky back of her, he snatched off his cap and waved it, -then broke into a run, which soon took him scrambling up the rocks to her -side. - -Holding out a strong brown hand, he exclaimed, real pleasure glowing in -his eyes: "Why, little Jenny Warner, how tall you are, and graceful, like -a flower on a slender stem." - -The girl laughed merrily. "Do boys always feel that they must say pretty -things to their girl acquaintances?" she asked. - -As he gazed into her liquid brown eyes with their tender depths, the lad -suddenly found himself wishing that he were a poet, that he might say -something truly fitting, but as words failed him, he confessed that most -girls seemed to like to receive compliments. How innocent was the -expression of the sweet face that was lifted toward his. - -"Really, do they?" Then she confessed: "I don't know many girls, only -one--a farmer's daughter who is over at Granger Place Seminary." - -The lad raised his eyebrows questioningly. Then he began to laugh. - -"A farmer's daughter, is she? Well, I'm glad there is _one_ pupil at that -school who is honest about her family." - -Then noting that his companion was looking at him as though wondering -what he meant, he explained in an offhand way, not wishing to break his -promise to his sister: "Oh, I just heard that some one of the girls in -that school is supposed to be the daughter of a younger son of the -English nobility." Adding quickly: "You say that you are acquainted with -only one girl. Hasn't my sister Gwyn been over to call on the Warners -yet, and haven't you met her?" - -A color that rivaled the rose in the sky flamed into Jenny's face. Harold -saw it and correctly concluded that the girls _had_ met, and that Jenny -had been rudely treated. - -"Gwyn is a snob," was his mental comment. Aloud he said: "Do you suppose -that your grandmother will invite me to stay to breakfast? I'll have to -start for the big town by ten, at the latest, and so I cannot be here for -dinner." - -"Of course she will." Jenny glanced back at the farmhouse as she spoke -and saw that the smoke was beginning to wreath out of the chimney above -the kitchen stove. "They're up now, and so I'll go in and set the table." - -But still she did not move, and the lad watching her expressive face -intently, exclaimed impulsively: "Jenny, is something troubling you? -Can't I help if there is?" - -That Harold's surmise had been correct the lad knew before the girl -spoke, for her sweet brown eyes brimmed with tears, and she said in a -low, eager voice: - -"Oh, how I have wanted to see you to ask about the farm. I heard, I -overheard your sister telling her two friends from San Francisco that -when your mother comes from France the farm is to be sold, and if it is, -dear old Grandpa and Grandma will have no place to go." - -An angry color had slowly mounted the tanned face of the boy, and he said -coldly: "My sister presumes to have more knowledge of our mother's -affairs than she has. The farm is _not_ to be sold without my consent. -Mother has agreed to that. I have asked for Rocky Point and the Maiden -Hair Falls Canyon for my share of the estate." - -He looked out over the water thoughtfully before he continued: "Mother, I -will confess, thinks my request a strange one, since the home and the -fifteen acres about it are far more valuable, and she will not consent to -the making of so unequal a division of her property, but she did promise -that she would not sell the farm until I wished it sold. I believe she -suspects that when I finish my schooling I may plan to become a gentleman -farmer myself." - -The lad laughed as though amused, but as he looked intently at the lovely -girl before him, he became serious and exclaimed as though for the first -time he had thought of considering it: - -"Perhaps, after all, I might do worse. I simply will not go into the -army. I should hate that life." - -Then, catching the girl's hand, he led her down the rocks as he called -gayly: "Come on, little Jenny Warner, let's ask your grandfather if he -will begin this very summer to teach me how to be a farmer." - -And so it was a few moments later, when Grandpa Si came from the barn -with a pail brimming with foamy milk, that he was almost bumped into by a -girl and boy who, hand in hand, were running joyfully from the other -direction. - -"Wall, I'll be dod-blasted!" the old man exclaimed, "if it ain't little -Harry!" - -Then he called: "Grandma Sue, come an' see who's here!" - -The bright-eyed old woman appeared in the open door, fork in hand. The -lad leaped up the porch steps and kissed her on a flushed, wrinkled -cheek. - -"Grandma Sue," he asked merrily, "have you room for a starved beggar boy -at your breakfast table?" - -"Room, is it?" was the pleased response. "Thar'll allays be that, sonny, -whenever you're wantin' a bite to eat." - -Such a merry meal followed. No one could make pancakes better than Susan -Warner, and when the first edge was taken from his appetite, Harold -insisted on helping Jenny turn the cakes for the other two. He wondered -what Gwynette would think and say, if she could see him, but for that he -cared not at all. Then, when they were seated, the boy astonished the -farmer by asking if he were willing to take him on that coming summer as -a helper. - -"Tush! Nonsense it is yo're talkin' now, Harry boy. Yo' wouldn't want to -be puttin' on overalls, would ye, an' be milkin' ol' Brindle?" - -But Harold was in dead earnest, they were finally convinced, and when at -last he started away along the beach it was with the understanding that -he was to return the first of June to be Farmer Warner's "helper." - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - PRIDE MEETS PRIDE - - -"Well, thanks be there are only two more weeks of incarceration in this -prison." - -Gwynette Poindexter-Jones was in no pleasant mood as her two companions -could easily discern. "I would simply expire of ennui if I had to remain -here one day longer. When I think that Ma Mere, after having had a -wonderful winter in France, is now arriving in San Francisco, where I -suppose she will remain for a time, I feel as though I never can stand -the stupid routine of this place even a fortnight longer. And the truth -is, I don't know as I will. I wrote Mother that I had refused to take the -final tests. I cannot see why I should care for a diploma from this -seminary, or any other, since I am next year to become a debutante in San -Francisco's best society. One doesn't have to pass an examination in -history, thank heavens, to make an eligible marriage. Beauty is far more -requisite." - -"And I suppose you are quite satisfied with yourself on that score." It -was Beulah Hollingsworth who made this sarcastic remark. The three girls -were seated in the summer-house on the lawn of the seminary waiting for -the arrival of the rural postman. A box of chocolates lay open on the -table before them, and, spread about it, were books and magazines. -Patricia Sullivan, to the displeasure of at least one of her friends, was -reading a romance of the West. She had not heard the remarks of her -companions until the last sentence had been uttered and the tone in which -it had been said made her look up and exclaim: "What is the matter, -Beulah? Your disposition used to be quite amiable, but it certainly is -changing. Are you living on vinegar?" - -Gwynette tossed her head. "Her favorite pastime seems to be finding -something to be sarcastic about. Of course I know that I am no rare -beauty, but I do believe that I can hold my own." - -Beulah reached over and took an especially luscious looking chocolate. As -she did so, the driveway for a moment was in her vision. A crunching of -wheels attracted her attention and she saw an old-fashioned wagon drawn -by a heavy white horse. A girl, dressed in yellow and wearing a -wide-brimmed hat wreathed with buttercups, was the driver. Beulah said: -"If you would like to see a girl who has real claim to beauty, cast your -glance out of the summer-house." - -Patricia closed her book and, rising, sauntered to the rose-hung doorway. -Turning, she said in a low voice: "Gwyn, isn't that the girl we saw at -your Rocky Point Farm?" - -Indignant, because Jenny Warner's beauty had been compared with her own, -Gwynette replied with great indifference, as she purposely turned her -back: "I neither know nor care. I have no interest in my mother's -servants." - -But it was quite evident by Jenny's manner that she had some interest in -the summer-house, for she drew rein, and called in her prettiest manner: -"Can you tell me where I will find Miss Poindexter-Jones? I have a -message for her." - -Patricia good-naturedly replied: "You won't have far to hunt. Her -highness is holding court in this very summer-house." - -Gwynette's groundless anger against the world in general but increased -when she heard the inquiry, and she snapped as Patricia turned toward -her: "If that girl has a message for me, tell her to bring it to me at -once, though I am sure I cannot conceive what it can be." - -Jenny, who had clearly heard every word that had been spoken, as indeed -Gwynette had intended that she should, replied, not without pride in her -tone: "Kindly tell Miss Poindexter-Jones that I will send the message to -Miss Granger and she may receive it from her." - -But this was not all pleasing to the haughty girl. She did not wish to -have a needless audience with the woman who disapproved of her conduct as -she well knew. Appearing in the doorway, she said angrily: "Why don't you -bring me the message, if you have one for me? I shall report your -behavior to my mother." - -Jenny said nothing, but, picking up the reins, she was about to drive on -to the school when Gwynette stepped out of the summer-house saying: -"Kindly give me whatever message you have for me. I do not wish it taken -to Miss Granger." Jenny took from her basket a letter, which she handed -to the girl, and for one moment, and for the first time, they looked -straight into each other's eyes. - -Gwynette glanced at the envelope, then, handing it back toward the girl -on the high seat of the wagon, she said disdainfully: "You are mistaken, -this letter is addressed to your grandmother and not to me." - -Jenny, undisturbed, nodded her agreement. "That is why it came to the -farm, but Mrs. Poindexter-Jones made a mistake. The message is for you." -The girl, standing in the drive, flushed angrily when she found that this -was true. "Well, I certainly hope your grandmother was not snooping -enough to read it," she flashed, desiring to hurt someone's feelings in -an endeavor to relieve her own. - -It was Patricia who protested, as she saw the flaming color in the face -Beulah had called beautiful. "Gwyn," she said sharply, "I hope the time -will come when you meet someone who will hurt your feelings as you so -enjoy hurting other people's." - -Jenny Warner made no response, but drove around to the kitchen door to -deliver the honey and eggs. When she returned, Gwynette was not in sight, -as she had at once gone to her room to be alone when she read the letter. -She instinctively knew that it contained a message that would increase -her already belligerent mood. - -As she was passing the summer-house, Jenny saw Patricia Sullivan leap out -of the doorway and beckon to her. "Miss Warner," she called, "won't you -have a few of my chocolates? They're guaranteed to be sweet clear -through." - -Beulah appeared at her side. "That's more than can be said of Gwynette -Poindexter-Jones. No one knows how glad I am that at the expiration of a -fortnight I shall have no further need to associate with her. You, Miss -Warner, will be the unfortunate victim, as you are to have her for a -neighbor all summer, I believe." - -Jenny, seeing that these girls evidently wished to be friendly, had again -drawn rein and had taken one of the proffered candies. - -Patricia looked rather longingly at the old-fashioned wagon and then at -the placid old white horse. Her gaze returned to the driver and she said -in her impulsive way: "Maybe you won't believe that it can be true, but -it is! I have never ridden in a conveyance of this kind, and I'd just -love to try it. Should you mind if I rode down the canyon road part way -with you?" - -"Of course I wouldn't mind," Jenny replied with her brightest smile. -"There is plenty of room for both of you." She included Beulah in her -invitation. Then added with a glance at the seminary, "if you are sure -that Miss Granger will not mind." - -Patricia scrambled up as she merrily replied: "Why should she care?" - -Beulah remarked: "It does seem to me that there is some archaic rule -about not going beyond the gates without a chaperone, but we each have -one. Miss Warner may chaperone me and I will chaperone Pat." - -They laughed gleefully as though something really clever had been said. -"But who will chaperone Miss Warner?" - -"Dobbin will," the driver replied. "He usually does." - -"This is jolly fun," Patricia declared a few moments later when she had -requested to drive. Beulah burst into unexpected merriment. "Oh, don't I -hope her beautiful highness saw us when we drove away. Her wrath will -bring down a volcano of sparks on our heads when we get back." - -Patricia retorted: "Beulah, I sometimes think that you like to stir up -the embers in Gwyn's nature, even when they are smouldering and might die -if they were let alone." - -Instead of replying, the other girl exclaimed after a glance at her wrist -watch: "Great moons! I must go back on a run! I have a French test at 4." - -Jenny took the reins and brought Dobbin to a stop. When they were in the -road, Patricia asked: "May we come down and see you some day? I wanted to -go out on that rocky point when we were there before, but when Gwyn's -along, everything has to be done her way." - -"I'd be glad to have you," was Jenny's sincerely given reply. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - A NEW EXPERIENCE - - -May was a busy, happy month for Jenny. Never had she studied harder and -her teacher, Miss Dearborn, rejoiced in her beloved pupil's rapid -advancement. Then, twice a week, on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, -when she drove around to the beautiful country homes of the rich -delivering eggs and honey, on the high seat at her side rode her very -first girl friend, Lenora Gale. Jenny was jubilantly happy on these -occasions, and, as for Lenora, she spent the hours in between the rides -in anticipation of the next one or in dreaming over the last one. She -wrote long letters to her far-away farmer father or to her nearer -brother, Charles, telling all about this new friend who seemed to the -readers of those letters to be a paragon indeed. - -"I just know that you will love my dear Jenny when you see her," she -wrote indiscriminately in either letter, and Charles smiled to himself. -He might like this Jenny Warner in a general way, but he was not at all -afraid that he would "love" any girl in particular, soon or ever. He was -convinced of that. He had met many girls, but he had never felt strongly -appealed to by any of them, and since he would be twenty-one on his next -birthday he decided that he was immune, but of this he said nothing in -his letters to his beloved little sister, for he well knew that she did -not refer to romantic love when she so often prophesied that her brother -would love Jenny Warner. - -But, as the weeks passed, Charles found that he was looking forward with -a new interest to the middle of June, when he was to go to Santa Barbara -to get his sister and take her, if she were well enough to travel, back -to their Dakota farm for the summer. - -As for Harold P-J. he had returned to the military academy jubilantly -eager for the beginning of his duties as Farmer Warner's "helper." He -wrote a long, dutiful letter to his mother each week, and, after that -visit to Rocky Point, he told his plan for the summer not without -trepidation and ended with a description of the flower-like qualities of -the granddaughter: "Mother mine, there's a girl after your own heart. -You'll just love Jenny Warner." - -Perhaps it was because of this letter that Mrs. Poindexter-Jones changed -her plans and decided to leave for Santa Barbara at an earlier date. - -At last there came a day when Jenny did not look about her at the gnarled -old oaks or at the carpet of wild flowers in the uplands as she walked -along the familiar trail which led to Miss Dearborn's pepper-tree guarded -gate, for she was conning over and over a lesson. Nor was her teacher in -the garden where she so often busied herself as she awaited her pupil. -Instead she stood in the drive with her hat and jacket on. - -When at last the girl lifted her eyes from her book, she stopped--an -expression of dread and consternation in her eyes. "Miss Dearborn," she -exclaimed, "you aren't going back East, are you?" - -The pleasant-faced woman laughed. "Not yet," she replied. "How you do -dread that event, which I can assure you is not even a remote -possibility. Why should I go East, dear?" - -Jenny Warner could not explain why she seemed so often to be oppressed by -that dread. "Do you believe that coming events cast their shadows -before?" she asked, putting her hand to her throat. "Honestly, Miss -Dearborn, I feel as if something terribly awful is about to happen. And -seeing you just now with your hat and jacket on made me think that you -might have had a telegram and that you were just leaving." - -Miss Dearborn merrily put in: "I _am_ just leaving, and for that matter -so are _you_. I received a telephone message half an hour ago that the -date of the first examination had been changed and is to take place at 10 -o'clock _this morning_." - -Jenny's books fell to the path and her look of consternation would have -been comical if it had not been tragic. "Miss Dearborn, I knew it! I have -felt just perfectly miserable as though I had lost my last friend with -fifty other calamities added. Now I know coming events cast their shadows -before. I thought we were going to have all this day for review." - -Miss Dearborn's reply was cheerfully optimistic. "I'm glad that we are -not. I object to the system of cramming. You would tire your brain and be -less able to answer questions tomorrow than you are today. Now take your -books into the house, dear, and leave them on the library table, then -hurry back. We are to catch the nine o'clock stage." - -Poor Jenny's heart felt heavily oppressed. Together they went down to the -Coast Highway, and, as they had a few moments to wait for the bus in the -rustic little roadside station, Jenny ventured, "Don't you think, Miss -Dearborn, it would be a good plan for you to ask me questions or explain -to me something that you think I do not understand very clearly?" - -"No, I do not." Miss Dearborn was emphatic in her reply. Then she -inquired: "How is your little friend Lenora Gale? You promised to bring -her up to have a tea-party with me soon. You haven't forgotten, have -you?" - -A shade of sorrow passed over the girl's pretty face. "Miss Dearborn," -she said earnestly, "Lenora isn't as well as she was. I am ever so -troubled about her. She seemed so much better after we met, and then, -last week, she caught another cold. Now she is worse again, and has to -stay in bed. I was up to the seminary Saturday to take the eggs and -honey, and I asked if I might see her. Miss O'Hara went to inquire of -Miss Granger, but she came back without the permission I wanted. The -doctor had requested that Lenora be kept perfectly quiet. Oh, I just know -that she is fretting her heart out to see me, and she doesn't like it at -the seminary. It's such a cold, unfriendly sort of a place. The girls -never did take to Lenora, partly because she is retiring, almost timid, I -suppose, and, besides, they may have heard that her father is only a -farmer." - -Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the bus. Then, when -they were seated within, Jenny continued, almost with bitterness: "Rich -girls are haughty and horrid, that is, if they are all like Gwynette -Poindexter-Jones." - -"But they aren't, dear. Don't judge the many by the few. I had many -wealthy classmates and they were as simple and sweetly sincere as any -poor girl could be." - -Miss Dearborn purposely kept Jenny's thoughts occupied with her friend -Lenora. Then she asked if Etta Heldt had been heard from. Jenny shook her -head. "We should have heard, at least two weeks ago. Grandpa Si thinks we -never will hear. He said the best way to lose a friend is to loan him -money, but I have faith in Etta Heldt. I just know she will write some -day soon if she reached Belgium alive." Miss Dearborn had visited Belgium -and she described that interesting little country, and at last the bus -reached the high school in Santa Barbara. Jenny, with a glance of terror -at her teacher, took one of her hands and held it hard. - -Throngs of bright-eyed girls, many of them in short sport skirts and -prettily colored sweater coats, trooped past the two who were strange. -Some few glanced at Jenny casually as though wondering who she might be, -but no one spoke. - -Fragments of conversation drifted to her. "Gee-whiliker!" a -boyish-looking girl exclaimed. "I'd rather have the world come to an end -than take the geom exam from Seer Simp." - -Professor Simpson, as Jenny knew, was the instructor in charge of that -morning's exams. - -"Say! Wouldn't I, though?" her companion replied with a mock shudder. -Then these two passed and another group hurried by. The leader turned to -fling over her shoulder: "O-o-h!! My hands are so cold now I won't be -able to hold a pen, but if Monsieur Simpson so much as looks at me with -his steely blue eyes, I'll change to an icicle." - -A moment later Jenny found herself confronted by that same dreaded -professor. Miss Dearborn was introducing her and a kindly voice was -saying: "Miss Warner, we are expecting much of you since you have had the -advantage of so much personal instruction." - -The eyes of the small elderly gentleman were, it is true, a keen -grey-blue, but there was friendliness in their expression. - -Then it was that Jenny realized that since her tutor had done so much for -her, she, in turn, must do her best, and be, if only she could, a credit -to her beloved friend. - -A gong was ringing somewhere in the corridor. As one in a dream, Jenny -bade good-bye to Miss Dearborn, who promised to return at noon. Then the -girl followed her new acquaintance into a room thronged with boys and -girls and sat at the desk indicated. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - A WELCOME GUEST - - -Three days later, when Jenny entered the farmhouse kitchen, Grandpa Si, -who was washing at the small sink pump, looked up twinkling-eyed to -inquire: "Wall, Jenny-gal, them examinations are over now, ain't they? I -reckon they wasn't nigh so terribul as yo'd figgered, when you got plumb -up to 'em, was they now?" - -Jenny, looking very pale and weary, dropped into the big armed chair -opposite her grandmother, who was shelling peas for supper. - -Then, unexpectedly, she burst into tears. Instantly the pan of peas was -placed on the table and her grandmother had comforting arms about the -girl. "Dearie, what is ailin' yo'? Warn't yo' able to get the right -answers for them examination questions?" - -The distressed grandfather also hovered about, saying huskily: "Now look -a-here, little un, we don't keer, not a farthing's worth, whether you -knowed them answers or didn't know 'em. I reckon you're smarter'n most, -how-so-ever, 'twas." Jenny, who had been clinging to her grandmother, -astonished them by saying between sobs: "'Tisn't the examinations I'm -crying about. It's Lenora. They let me see her for a moment this -afternoon and she is so weak and oh so unhappy. She thinks she will never -get well, not if she has to stay in that cold, dreary old seminary, and -Oh, Grandma Sue, how I do want her to get well. I have always longed to -have a sister, and when I found Lenora Gale, I made believe she was the -sister I had so wanted. No one knows how I love her." - -The old couple were greatly distressed. All these years their "gal" had -so longed to have a sister of her very own, and all that time she had had -one, whom she didn't know. Grandma Sue smoothed the rumpled hair and -kissed Jenny on the forehead. "Go to your room, dearie, and rest till -supper time," she said soothingly. "You're all tired out with them -examinations. You'll feel better after you've had suthin' warm to eat." - -Jenny permitted her grandfather to help her out of the chair and to lead -her toward her room. There she flung herself down on her bed, and the -loving old man drew a cover over her. Then he tiptoed back to the -kitchen. "Ma," he said, "I reckon us and Mis' Poindexter-Jones have got -suthin' to answer for, makin' it so them two gals grew up not knowin' as -they was sisters." - -"Mabbe so," the old woman had resumed her pea-shelling. "Mabbe so, Silas, -but it's too late now. That proud, haughty gal wouldn't thank no one to -tell her she's our Jenny's sister, and she wouldn't be no comfort to our -gal, bein' as she's been fetched up so different. But that sweet Lenora -Gale, her as is a farmer's daughter, she's a friend more suitin' to our -Jenny." For a few moments the old woman's fingers were busy, but she was -silent and thoughtful. When the peas were ready for the pot, she poured -them into the boiling water, then turned and said: "Silas Warner, you and -me keer more to have Jenny happy than anything else, don't we?" - -"I reckon we do, Ma. What be yo' aimin' at? I kin see easy thar's suthin' -yo' want to say. I'm agreeable to it, whatever 'tis." - -The old woman seemed relieved. "I was thinkin' as how it would please our -Jenny if we was to let her invite her friend Lenora to visit her here a -spell. Jenny could sleep on the couch in the livin' room, and let the -sick gal have her bed. I think more'n half what's the matter with Lenora -Gale is that she's pinin' for a place that's home wi' folks in it to keer -for her. Jenny says she's allays speakin' of her ma, lonesome-like, -because she's dead." - -The old man blew his nose hard, then said blinkingly: "Pore little gal! I -was jest a thinkin' how it might o' been our Jenny that was sick up to -that school prison wi' no one as really keered." - -Jenny's joy knew no bounds when she learned that she might invite her -dear friend Lenora Gale to come to her home and make her a real visit. So -sure was she that the sick girl would accept, Jenny was up the next day -with the sun. Tying a towel about her curly light brown hair and donning -an all-over apron, she swept and scoured and dusted her very own room -until it fairly shone. Then she brought in a basket of flowers and put a -tumbler full of them in every place where it would stand, with a big bowl -of roses on the marble-topped center table. When Grandma Sue called her -to breakfast, she skipped to the kitchen and, taking the old couple each -by an arm, she led them to the door of her room, singing out: "What do -you think of that as a bower for the Princess Lenora?" - -"Wall, now," said the old man admiringly, "if our gal ain't got it fixed -up handsome. I reckon your little friend'll get well in no time wi' you -waitin' on her, and so much cheeriness to look at." - -It was not until they were seated about the table eating their breakfast -that Jenny suddenly thought of the possibility that something might -happen to prevent Lenora from coming that day. "Maybe she'll have to -write and ask her daddy or her brother and wait for an answer." For a -moment this fear shadowed the shining face, but it did not last long. As -soon as the breakfast was over she sprang up and began to clear things -away, but her grandmother gently took a dish from her hand. "Thar now, -dearie, you have no need to help. I reckon you're eager to be drivin' -over to the seminary. You'd better start right off." - -Impulsively the girl kissed a wrinkled cheek of the old woman. "Oh, -Granny Sue, was there ever any other person quite so understanding as you -are? I'll go, if you'll promise not to do a single thing but the dishes -while I am away. Please leave the churning for me to do when I come back -with Lenora." - -"Tut! tut!" said her grandfather. "Don't get your heart set on fetchin' -that Lenora gal back with you right to onct. Like as not she won't be -strong enough to ride along of Dobbin today." - -But Jenny would not allow herself to be discouraged. "Time enough for -that when I find Lenora can't come," she confided to Dobbin while she was -harnessing that faithful animal. He looked around at her, not without -curiosity, as though he wondered why it was his little mistress was so -often elated. Impulsively, Jenny hugged him as she said: "Oh, Dob, you -old dear, you have no idea how happy I am, nor who it is you are going to -bring back to Rocky Point Farm. Have you, now?" She peered around his -blinder, but seeing only a rather sleepily blinking eye, she climbed upon -the high seat of the wagon, backed from the barn and, turning to wave -toward the house, she drove out of the lane singing at the top of her -sweet voice. - -No vehicle was in sight as she carefully crossed the wide Coast Highway. -Her granddad had told her always to come to a full stop before driving -across, as there were often processions of high-powered cars passing -their lane. It was, however, too early for pleasure-seekers to be abroad -and so Dobbin started climbing the canyon road leading to the seminary, -and even there they met no one. Jenny's heart was so brimming over with -joy that she could not be quiet. When she was not confiding her hopes to -Dobbin, she was singing. - -Suddenly she stopped, for, having reached a turn in the road, she saw -ahead of her a young man on horseback. He had drawn to one side and was -evidently waiting for the singer to appear. Jenny flushed, for she knew -that he must have heard, as she had been trying some high soprano arias -of her own composing. The young man had a frank, kind face with no -suspicion of a smile, and so the girl decided that he was merely waiting -for someone whom he expected, but, as she drew near, he lifted his cap -and asked: "Pardon me, but can you tell me if I am on the Live Oak Road? -You have so many canyon roads about here leading into the foothills. I am -looking for the Granger Place Seminary, where my sister Lenora Gale is -staying." - -Jenny impulsively put her hand to her heart. "Oh!" she gasped. "Are you -going to take Lenora away? Please don't!" - -Charles Gale, cap in his hand, gazed inquiringly at the girl, who hurried -on to explain: "You see, Lenora and I are best friends and she is so -unhappy up at that school, where she doesn't know anyone, really, and she -has been so sick, my grandmother told me I might bring her over to our -house to make a visit. Granny Sue said just as I left, 'Jenny, tell your -little friend she may stay with us as long as she wants to, until she is -real well, anyway.'" So this was Jenny Warner. - -The girl paused for breath and the young man, smiling at her, said -sincerely: "I am indeed glad to learn that my sister has so true a -friend, indeed, more than one, I judge, since your grandmother sent such -a kind message to her, but I have come to take Lenora back with me." - -Jenny's ever expressive face registered such disappointment and sorrow -that the young man could not but add: "Suppose we go up to the seminary -together and talk the matter over with my sister. Perhaps, if she is not -strong enough to travel, it may be well for her to remain with you for a -week or two. I would be glad to leave her in a pleasant place at least -that long, as I shall not be through at the agricultural college for two -weeks yet. Then I can accompany Lenora back to Dakota where our father so -eagerly awaits her coming." - -Realizing that, as he had not introduced himself he said: "I presume that -my sister has mentioned her brother Charles." - -"Oh, yes, I knew you at once." Jenny's clear brown eyes gazed out at him -with friendly interest. "You look like Lenora, though I can't say just -how." Then, as she again started Dobbin up the hill road, she beamed at -her companion as she said: "This is going to be a happy day for your -sister. How surprised she will be, and how glad! And I'm glad that I met -you, for Miss Granger might have said that Lenora could not visit me, but -if you say that she can, no one else will have any authority." Then -impulsively: "I'm going to be your friend forever and ever." Then with -one of her sudden changes, Jenny flashed a bright look at him, as she -pointed ahead: "There, did you ever see a view like that before?" They -had reached the top of the hill road and were near the seminary gate. - -The view across the valley to the towering mountains was indeed -magnificent. Then Jenny looked back of her and again pointed, this time -toward the sea. "That is Rocky Point, just below the canyon road," she -said, "and that old adobe is our farmhouse." - -Charles was much impressed with the beauty of it all, and, as his gaze -wandered back to the glowing face of the girl, he heard rather than -thought, "You'll just love Jenny Warner." - -Aloud he asked: "And is this the seminary?" His companion nodded and led -the way between the high stone gate posts. - -"Maybe I'd better wait outside while you go in and see Miss Granger," -Jenny suggested when they drew rein at the front of the seminary. - -But Charles Gale would not agree to that. Having dismounted, he fastened -the reins about a hitching post and asked if his companion could safely -leave her horse. - -"Oh, yes, indeed," Jenny replied brightly. "Dobbin wouldn't move until I -came again, if it was never." - -Together they went up the wide stone steps and Charles lifted the iron -knocker. A maid admitted them, staring in amazement when she saw the -girl, who delivered eggs and honey at the kitchen door, arriving at the -front with a fine-looking young man in a golfing costume. - -Charles, not knowing of this, could not understand the surprised -expression directed at his companion. Jenny smiled and said "good -morning" in her usual pleasant way. Having asked to see Miss Granger, he -presented his card. - -"Walk in," the maid said. "I'll tell Miss Granger that you're here, sir." - -When they were alone in the prim little reception room, Jenny confided: - -"Maggie has never seen me coming to the front door. My grandfather raises -chickens and bees, and I often deliver honey and eggs around at the back -door. Perhaps Miss Granger may think it queer if----" - -"Of course it isn't queer!" Charles interrupted with emphasis. "My -sister's best friend has the right to enter the front door of----" He did -not complete his sentence, but rose instead, for a stately, rather -haughty appearing woman had appeared. The visitor was warmly received. - -"Mr. Gale, I am indeed pleased that you have come. Poor little Lenora has -not been at all well of late, and that is why I sent for you. She has -been at perfect liberty to do as she wished, as you requested, but she -contracts frequent colds, and this last one has lingered." - -Miss Granger hesitated, then confessed. "The truth is, your sister does -not seem to be real happy here. She is timid and does not care to mingle -with her schoolmates." - -Then she added frankly: "I find that, on the whole, the young ladies are -rather heartless. They do not make an effort to include in their -pleasures one who is naturally reserved and who, in turn, seems to care -nothing at all about being included." - -Miss Granger, on entering the room, had bowed somewhat distantly to Jenny -Warner, whom she did not recognize, as she had seldom seen her. Charles, -noting this, asked: "Miss Granger, are you acquainted with little Miss -Warner, whose grandfather is a farmer in this neighborhood?" - -The woman, whose manner was rather frigid at all times, lifted her -eyebrows ever so slightly as though marveling that a young man whose -sister attended her select seminary should be found in the companionship -of a hired farmer's granddaughter. - -Their own father, Mr. Gale, might own a farm, but that was very -different, as he had countless acres of wheat lands, she understood, and -was very rich, while the Warners were merely hired to conduct a small -farm belonging to the Poindexter-Jones estate. All this went quickly -through the woman's thoughts and she was astonished to hear the young man -saying: - -"I have decided, Miss Granger, to remove my sister to the farm home of -Miss Warner for the two weeks remaining before I complete my studies at -the Berkeley Agricultural College. My sister is very fond of Miss Jenny, -and I feel that the companionship she will have in that home will do much -to help her recover the strength she will need for the long journey to -Dakota." - -Miss Granger prided herself on being able to hide all emotions, and on -never expressing surprise, but she could not resist saying: - -"I was unaware of this friendship, which is the result, no doubt, of the -freedom of action which you wished your sister to have, but if it is a -friendship sanctioned by Lenora's brother, I, of course, can say nothing -concerning it." - -Rising, she held out her hand: "I will have Miss Gale's trunk packed at -once, and shall I have it sent to the Poindexter-Jones farm?" - -"Yes, if you please, and thank you, Miss Granger, for your many -kindnesses to my sister." - -With a cold nod toward the girl and with a formal reply to Charles' -polite speech, she swept from the room. The lad turned with an amused -smile toward his companion. In a low voice he said: - -"I understand now why Sister never wrote me that I would be sure to love -Miss Granger." - -Charles was shocked indeed at the appearance of the sister who was dearer -to him than life itself. Pale and so wearily she came into the room -leaning on the school nurse. Throwing her arms about her brother's neck -she clung to him. "I've been so lonely for mother lately," she sobbed. "I -dream of her often just as though she were alive and well. Then I am so -happy, but I waken and realize that mother is never coming back." - -The young man, much moved, pressed his cheek close to the tear-wet one of -the girl. "I know, darling, I know." Then, striving to keep a break out -of his voice, he said cheerily: "See who is here, Sister. Someone of whom -you have often written me. And she has a wonderful plan to suggest." - -Lenora smiled wanly and held out a frail white hand. "I love Jenny -Warner," she said as though informing her brother of something he already -knew. Then she asked, looking from one to the other: "Where am I going? -Home to father?" - -"Not quite yet, dear girl," her brother replied. "Jenny's grandmother has -invited you to visit them for two weeks, or rather, until I am through -with my studies, then, if you are strong enough, I will take you home to -Dad." - -Before Lenora could express her pleasure, the ever watchful nurse stepped -forward, saying: "Miss Gale ought not to be kept standing. Miss Granger -has ordered the closed carriage and bade me accompany my patient to her -destination." - -"That's fine." Charles found it hard to keep a note of anxiety out of his -voice when Lenora sank into a near chair and began to cough. He followed -the nurse from the room when she went to get her wraps. "Please tell me -my sister's condition," he said in a low, troubled voice. "Her lungs are -not affected, are they?" - -"No, I am glad to say they are not. The trouble seems to be in her -throat." Then, after a thoughtful moment, the nurse added, glancing about -to be sure that no one was near: "I would not wish to be quoted, but I -believe Miss Gale's recovery depends upon her being in an environment -which she will enjoy. Here she is very lonely and broods continually for -the mother who is gone." - -"Thank you for having told me." Charles was indeed grateful to the nurse, -whose name he did not know. "I shall see that such an environment is -found for my dear sister if it exists anywhere. Our mother has been dead -for several years, but, as time goes on, we miss her more and more." - -"I understand," the nurse said as though she, too, had had a similar -loss, then she glided quietly away. - -On returning to the reception room, Jenny suggested that she would better -go at once to the farmhouse that she might be there to welcome Lenora and -the nurse. Charles agreed that the plan was a good one, and so, tenderly -kissing her friend, Jenny went out; the young man opening the door for -her. - -When she had driven away, Charles returned to his sister, who smiled up -at him faintly as she said: "Wasn't I right, Charles? Isn't Jenny the -sweetest, dearest girl you ever saw?" - -But her brother shook his head. "No, indeed," he said, emphatically, -taking one of the listless hands from the arm of the chair. "The -sweetest, dearest girl in this world to me is your very own self, and, -although I am quite willing to like any girl whom you may select as a -best friend, you will never get me to acknowledge that she is sweeter -than my very own sister. However, I will agree that I am pleased with -Miss Jenny Warner to the extent of being willing, even glad, to have you -in the same house with her until you are strong enough to travel to our -home with me. I'll wire Dad tonight. I have purposely kept your illness -from him. It would be unwise for him to come here at this time of the -year. We cannot both be away from the farm at seeding time." - -The nurse reappeared, saying the coach was waiting. The young giant of a -lad lifted his sister and carried her out of the seminary which she was -indeed glad to leave. - -Jenny and her grandmother were on the side porch of the picturesque adobe -farmhouse when Charles Gale on horseback rode up, immediately followed by -the closed carriage. Susan Warner with tender pity in her face and voice, -welcomed the pale girl, who was lifted out of the conveyance by the -strong arms of her brother. Lenora's sweet gray eyes were brimmed with -tears and her lips trembled when she tried to thank the old woman for her -great kindness. "There, there, dearie. Don't try to be sayin' anything -now. You're all petered out with the ride." Then cheerily: "Jenny'll show -you where to fetch little Lenora, Mister--" she hesitated and the girl at -her side hastened to say: "Grandma Sue, this is Charles Gale, Lenora's -brother. Miss Granger had sent for him." - -The pleasant-faced young man bowed as he apologized for his inability to -remove his hat. His sister having recovered from her first desire to cry, -smilingly did it for him. "Haven't I a giant for a brother?" she asked; -then holding out a frail hand to the nurse, who had descended from the -carriage carrying the wraps and a satchel. Lenora said: "Mrs. Warner, -this is Miss Adelaide Wells, who has been very kind to me." Then, as -memory of the place she had left surged over her, the tears again came: -"Oh, brother," she half sobbed, clinging to him, "promise me I'll never, -never have to be sent to a seminary again." - -"Why, of course not," he assured her. "When I have finished my schooling -you and I will go back to our farm home and stay there forever and -forever. If you need any further instruction, I can help you, so put that -fear quite out of your thought." - -The girl smiled, but seemed too weak to make a reply. Charles followed -Jenny through the kitchen and the cheerful living room into the bedroom -which had been decked in so festive a fashion only that morning. After -the nurse had put Lenora to bed, she returned to the seminary. The weary -girl rested for a while with her eyes closed, then she opened them and -looked about her. - -She found Jenny sitting quietly by her bedside just waiting. Lenora -smiled without speaking and seemed to be listening to the rush of the -waves on the rocks, then she said: "That is the lullabye I once said I -would like to hear in the night. It's like magic, having it all come to -pass." - -She smiled around at the flowers. "How sweet they are! I know that each -one tells me some message of the thoughtfulness and love of my friend." -Holding out a frail hand, Lenora continued: "Jenny Warner, if I live, I -am going to do something to make you glad that you have been so kind to -me." - -A pang, like a pain, shot through the listener's heart. "If I live." She -had not for one moment thought that her dear, dear friend might die. She -was relieved to hear the other girl add in a brighter manner, as though -she felt stronger after her brief rest: "I believe now that I shall live, -but truly, Jenny, I didn't care much when I lay all day up there in that -cold, dreary seminary with no one near to mind whether I stayed or went. -But now that I am here with you in this lovely, cheerful room, somehow I -feel sure that I shall live." Before her companion could reply, she -asked: "Where is brother Charles?" - -Jenny glanced out of the window. "Oh, there he is, standing on that high -rock on the point, the one that canopies over our seat, you know, where -we sat the last time you were at the farm. Shall I call him, dear?" - -Lenora nodded and so Jenny, bareheaded, ran out toward the point of -rocks. Charles, turning, saw her and went to meet her. "Has my sister -rested?" he asked. Jenny said that she had, then anxiously she inquired: -"Mr. Gale, what does the nurse think? Lenora is not seriously ill, is -she?" - -There was a sudden shadowing of the eyes that looked down at her. "I -don't know, Miss Jenny. I sincerely hope not. At my request Miss Wells -will send me a daily report of my sister's condition. The nurse takes a -walk every afternoon, and, if your grandmother is willing, she will stop -here until our little Lenora is much better." - -"I think that a splendid plan. It will be better than having a doctor -call every day." Then brightening: "Oh, Mr. Gale, I am sure Lenora will -get well. She is better, come and see for yourself." And so together they -went indoors. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - INGRATITUDE PERSONIFIED - - -"What do you suppose is the matter with Gwyn? Ever since Jenny Warner -delivered a note from her mother Saturday afternoon, she has been as glum -as a--well, what is glum, anyway?" Patricia looked up from the book she -was studying to make this comment. - -Beulah mumbled some reply which was unintelligible, nor did she cease -trying to solve the problem she was intent upon. Pat continued: "I have -it figured out that Gwyn's mother wrote something which greatly upset our -never-too-amiable friend. She kept shut in her room yesterday, tight as a -clam in its shell. I rapped several times and asked if she had a headache -and if she wished me to bring tea or anything, but she did not reply." - -"Take it from me, Pat, you waste your good Samaritan impulses on a person -like Gwyn. She is simply superlatively selfish." - -Pat leaped up and put a hand over her friend's mouth. "I heard the knob -turn. I think we are about to be honored with a visit. Don't be -sarcastic, Beulah. Maybe Gwyn has a real trouble." - -This whispered remark had just been concluded when there came an -imperative rapping on the inner door. Pat skipped to open it. Gwynette, -dressed for the street, entered. "What's the grand idea of locking the -door between our rooms?" she inquired. - -"Didn't know it was locked," Pat replied honestly. Beulah was again -solving the intricate problem, or attempting to, and acted as though she -had not heard. - -Patricia, always the more tender-hearted, offered their visitor a chair. -Then solicitously: "What is the matter, Gwyn. You look as though you had -cried for hours. Bad news in the note Jenny Warner brought you?" - -There was a hard expression in the brown eyes that were turned coldly -toward the sympathetic inquirer. Slowly she said, "I sometimes think that -I hate my mother and that she hates me." - -There was a quick protest from Pat. "Don't say that, Gwyn, just because -you are angry! You have told me, yourself, that your mother has granted -your every wish until recently." - -Gwynette shrugged her proudly-held shoulders. "Even so! Why am I now -treated like a child and told what I must do, or be punished?" Noting a -surprised expression in Patricia's pleasant face, Gwyn repeated with -emphasis: "Just exactly that! If I do not take the tests, or if I fail in -them when they are taken, I cannot have my coming-out party next year, -but must remain in this or some other school until I obtain a diploma as -a graduate with honors. So Ma Mere informed me in the note brought by -that despicable Jenny Warner." - -Beulah could not help hearing and she looked up, her eyes flashing. -"Gwynette, if you wish to slander a friend of Pat's and mine, you will -have to choose another audience." - -The eyebrows of the visitor were lifted. "Indeed? Since when have you -become the champion of the granddaughter of my mother's servants?" - -Beulah's answer was defiant. "Pat and I both consider Jenny Warner one of -the most beautiful and lovable girls we have ever met. We went for a ride -with her on Saturday, and this afternoon, if we aren't too exhausted -after the tests, we are going to walk down to her farm home and call on -her and upon little Lenora Gale, who has been moved there from the -infirmary." - -Gwynette rose, flinging over her shoulder contemptuously, "Well, I see -that you have made your choice of friends. Of course you cannot expect to -associate with me, if you are hobnobbing at the same time with our -servants. What is more, that Lenora Gale's father is a wheat rancher in -Dakota. I, at least, shall select my friends from exclusive families. I -will bid you good-bye. From now on our intimacy is at end." The door -closed behind Gwyn with an emphatic bang. Beulah leaped up and danced a -jig. Pat caught her and pushed her back into her chair. "Don't. She'll -hear and her feelings will be hurt." - -"Well, she's none too tender with other people's feelings," Beulah -retorted. - -A carriage bearing the Poindexter-Jones coat-of-arms and drawn by two -white horses was waiting under the wide portico in front of the seminary -when Gwynette emerged. The liveried footman was standing near the open -door to assist her within, then he took his place by the coachman and the -angry girl was driven from the Granger Place grounds. - -She did not notice the golden glory of the day; she did not glance out as -she was driven down the beautiful Live Oak Canyon road, nor did she -observe when the wife of the lodgekeeper opened the wide iron gates and -curtsied to her. She was staring straight ahead with hard, unseeing eyes. - -When the coach stopped and the footman had opened the door, the girl -mounted the many marble steps leading to the pillared front porch. -Instantly, and before she could ring, a white-caped maid admitted her. It -was one who had been with them for years in their palatial San Francisco -home, as had, also, the other servants. "Where is my mother, Cecile?" the -girl inquired with no word of greeting, though she had not seen the trim -French maid for many months. The maid's eyes narrowed and her glance was -not friendly. She liked to be treated, at least, as though she were -human. She volunteered a bit of advice: "Madame is veer tired, Mees Gwyn. -What you call, not yet strong. Doctor, he say, speak quiet where Madame -is." - -Gwyn glared at the servant who dared to advise her. "Kindly tell me where -my mother is at this moment. Since she sent the carriage for me, it is -quite evident that she wishes to see me." - -"Madame is in lily-pond garden. I tell her Mees Gwyn has come." But the -girl, brushing past the maid, walked down the long, wide hall which -extended from the front to the double back door and opened out on a most -beautiful garden, where, on the blue mirror of an artificial pond many -fragrant white lilies floated. There, sheltered from the sea breeze by -tall, flowering bushes, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones reclined on a softly -cushioned chair. Near her was a nurse in blue and white uniform who had -evidently been reading aloud. - -When Gwynette approached, the older woman said in a low voice: "Miss -Dane, I prefer to be alone when I receive my daughter." - -The nurse slipped away through the shrubbery and Mrs. Poindexter-Jones -turned again toward the girl whose rapid step and carriage plainly told -her belligerence of spirit. The pale face of the patrician woman would -have touched almost any heart, but Gwyn's wrath had been accumulating -since her conversation with Beulah and Pat. She considered herself the -most abused person in existence. - -"Ma Mere," the girl began at once, "I don't see why you didn't let me -come to you in France. If you aren't any stronger than you seem to be, I -should have thought you would have remained where you were and sent for -Harold and me to join you there." - -"Sit down, Gwyn, if you do not care to kiss me." There was a note of -sorrow in the weary voice that did not escape the attention of the -selfish girl. Stooping, she kissed her mother on the pale forehead. Then -she took the seat vacated by the nurse. "Of course I am sorry you have -been sick, Ma Mere," she said in a tone which implied that decency -demanded that much of her. "But it seems to me it would have been much -better for you to have remained where you were. I was simply wild to have -you send for me while you were at that adorable resort in France. I can't -see why you wanted to return _here_." The last word was spoken with an -emphasis of depreciation. - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones leaned her head back wearily on the cool pillow as -she said, more to herself than to her listener, "I just wanted to come -home. I wanted to see the trees my husband and I planted when we were -first married. I felt that I would be nearer him someway, and I wanted to -see my boy. Harold wished me to come home. He preferred to spend the -summer here and I was glad." - -The pity, which for a moment had flickered in the girl's heart when she -saw how very weak her mother really was, did not last long enough to warm -into a flame. "Ma Mere," she said petulantly, "I cannot understand why -you never speak of your husband as my father." There was no response, -only a tightening of the woman's lips as though she were making an effort -to not tell the truth. - -"Moreover," Gwyn went on, not noticing the change in her mother's manner, -"why should Harold's wishes be put above mine? Perhaps you do not realize -that he has become interested, to what degree I do not know, but -nevertheless really interested, in the granddaughter of your servants on -the farm." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones turned toward the girl. There was not in her eyes -the flash of indignation which Gwynette had expected, only surprise and -perhaps inquiry. "Is that true?" Then, after a meditative moment the -woman concluded, "Fate does strange things. What was it they called her?" - -Gwyn held herself proudly erect. At least she had been sure that her -mother would have sided with her in denouncing Harold's plan to become a -farmer under the direction of Silas Warner. She hurried on to impart the -information without telling the name of the girl whom she so disliked, -although without reason. - -"I recall now," was the woman's remark. "Jenny Warner. Jeanette was her -name and yours was Gwynette." - -Angrily her companion put in, "Ma Mere, did you hear me say that Harold -has decided to become a farmer, a mere laborer, when you had planned that -he should become a diplomat or something like that?" - -"Yes, I heard." The woman leaned back wearily. "My boy wrote me that was -why he wanted to stay here, although he would give up his own wishes if -they did not accord with mine." Then she added, with an almost pensive -smile on her thin lips, "He is more dutiful than my daughter is, one -might think." - -Gwynette flung herself about in the chair impatiently. "Harold knows you -will do everything to please him and nothing to please me." - -The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked at the hard, selfish face which -nevertheless was beautiful in a cold way. - -The woman seemed to be making an effort to speak calmly. "Gwynette," she -said at last, "we will call this unpleasant interview at an end. The -fault probably is mine. Without doubt I do favor Harold. He is very like -his father, and I seem to feel that Harold cares more for me than you -do." She put up a protesting hand. "Don't answer me, please. I am very -tired. You may go now." - -The girl rose, somewhat ashamed of herself. Petulantly, she said, "But Ma -Mere, must I take the horrid old test? I will fail miserably and be -disgraced. I supposed I was to make my debut next winter and I did not -consider a diploma necessary to an eligible marriage." - -The woman had been watching the girl, critically, but not unkindly. Her -reply was in a softer voice. "No, Gwyn, you need not take the tests. -Somehow I have failed to bring you up well." Then to the listener's -amazement, the invalid added: "Tell the coachman, when he returns from -the seminary, to stop at the farm and bring Jenny Warner over to see me. -I would like to know how Susan Warner succeeded in bringing up her girl." - -Gwynette was again angry. "You are a strange mother to wish to compare -your own daughter with the granddaughter of one of your servants." - -With that she walked away, and, with a sorrowful expression the woman -watched her going. How she wished the girl would relent, turn back and -fling herself down by the side of the only mother she had ever known, and -beg to be forgiven and loved, but nothing was farther from Gwynette's -thought. - -Glad as she was to be freed from taking the tests, she was more than ever -angry because she would have to remain at the seminary until the close of -the term, which was another week. Why would not her mother permit her to -visit some friend in San Francisco? Then came the sickening realization -that she no longer had an intimate friend. Patricia and Beulah had both -gone over to the enemy. Why did she hate Jenny Warner, she wondered as -she was being driven back to the school. Probably because Beulah had once -said they looked alike with one difference, that the farmer's -granddaughter was much the more beautiful. And then Harold actually -preferred the companionship of that ignorant peddler of eggs and honey to -his own sister. Purposely she neglected to mention to the coachman that -he was to call at the farm and take Jenny Warner back with him. But Fate -was even then planning to carry out Mrs. Poindexter-Jones's wishes in -quite another way. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - A SECOND MEETING - - -"Lenora, dearie, can you spare Jenny a spell! I want her to tote a basket -of fresh eggs over to Poindexter Arms, and a few jars o' honey. Like as -not the poor sick missus will be glad of somethin' different and tasty. -Don't let her pay for 'em, Jenny-gal. Tell her they're a welcome-home -present from all of us. Tell her how we're hopin' the sea air'll bring -back her strength soon, and that ol' Susan Warner will pay her respects -as soon as she's wanted. Jenny, dearie, can you recollect all that?" - -The girl, who had been seated on the top step of the seaward veranda -shelling peas and reading to her best friend, had leaped up when her dear -old grandmother had appeared. Laughingly she slipped an arm about her, -when she finished speaking, and kissed both of her cheeks. Then she -peered into the faded blue eyes that were smiling at her so fondly as she -entreated, "Granny Sue, wouldn't it do as well if I left the basket at -the kitchen door and asked a maid to give the message?" - -The old woman looked inquiringly into the flower-like face so close to -her own. "Would you mind seein' the missus, if you was let to? I'd -powerful well like to hear the straight of how she is, and when she'd -like to have me pay my respects. You aren't skeered of her, are you, -dearie?" - -"Of course not, Granny Sue. Although I must confess I was terribly scared -of her when I was little. I thought she was an ogress. I do believe I -will put in some of our field poppies to golden up the basket. Would she -like that, Granny, do you think? I gathered ever so many this morning." - -"I reckon she'd be pleased, an' if I was you. I'd put on that fresh -yellow muslin. You look right smart in it." - -Lenora was an interested listener. She had heard all about the proud, -haughty woman who was owner of the farm, and mother of the disagreeable -Gwynette and of the nice Harold. She knew _he_ must be nice by the way -all three of the Warners spoke of him. - -She now put in: "O, Jenny, do wear that adorable droopy hat with the -buttercup wreath. You look like a nymph of sunshine when you're all in -yellow." - -"Very well, I will! I live but to please." This was said gaily. "Be -prepared now for a transformation scene: from an aproned sheller of peas -to a nymph of sunshine." - -In fewer minutes than seemed possible, Jenny again appeared, and -spreading her fresh yellow muslin skirt, she made a minuet curtsy. Then -she asked merrily, "Mistress Lenora, pray tell how a nymph of sunshine -should walk and what she should say when she calls upon the most Olympian -person she knows. Sort of a Juno." - -"Just act natural, dearie," the proud grandmother had appeared with the -basket of eggs, poppies and honey in time to reply to this query, "and no -nymphs, whatever they be, could be sweeter or more pleasin'." Then she -added, "Your grandpa's got Dobbin all hitched an' waitin' for you. -Good-bye, dearie! Harold'll be glad to have you kind to his ma. He sets a -store by her." - -It was the last remark that gave Jenny courage to ask if she might see -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, twenty minutes later, when she had driven around -to the side door of the mansion-like stone house. Cecile looked doubtful. -"Ef eets to give the basket, the keetchen's the place for that." - -Jenny smiled on Cecile, and the maid found herself staring in puzzled -amazement. Who was this girl who looked like that other one who had just -left; looked like her and yet didn't, for she was far prettier and with -such a kindly light in her smiling brown eyes. "Please tell Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones that Susan Warner, on the farm, sent me over and would -like me to deliver a message myself if she wishes to see me." - -There was nothing for Cecile to do but carry the message, and, to her -amazement, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones looked pleased and requested that the -maid show the girl at once to the pond-lily garden. - -Almost shyly Jenny Warner went down the box-edged path. The elderly lady, -not vain and proud as she had been in her younger days, lying back on -soft silken pillows, watched her coming. - -How pretty the girl looked in her simple yellow muslin frock, with her -wide drooping hat, buttercup wreathed, and on her arm a basket, golden -with field poppies. - -As she neared, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones felt a mist in her eyes, for this -girl looked very like the other only there was such a sweet, loving -expression in the responsive face, while Gwynette's habitual outlook on -life had made her proud, critical and cold. The woman impulsively held -out a hand. "Jenny Warner," she said as she lifted the mist-filled eyes, -"won't you kiss me, dear?" - -Instinctively Jenny knew that this invalid mother of Harold was in real -need of tenderness and love. Unhesitatingly she kissed her, then took the -seat toward which Mrs. Poindexter-Jones motioned. The basket she placed -on the table. "Grandmother wished me to bring you some of our strained -honey and fresh eggs and to ask you when you would like her to come and -pay her respects." - -The woman smiled faintly. She seemed very very tired. Thoughtfully she -replied, "Tomorrow, at about this hour, if the day is as pleasant as -this. I will again be in the garden here. Tell Susan Warner I very much -want to see her. I want to ask her a question." Then she closed her eyes -and seemed to be resting. Jenny wondered if she ought to go, but at her -first rustle the eyes were opened and the woman smiled at the girl. -"Jenny," she said, somewhat wistfully, "I want to ask your grandmother -_how_ she brought you up." - -The girl was puzzled. Why should Mrs. Poindexter-Jones care about the -simple home life of a family in her employ. - -But, before she had time to wonder long, the invalid was changing the -subject. "Jenny, do you like to read aloud?" she asked. - -There was sincere enthusiasm in the reply. "Oh, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, I -love to! I read aloud every day to my dear friend Lenora Gale, who is -visiting me. We are reading poetry just now, but I care a great deal for -prose also. Books and nature are the two things for which I care most." - -As she spoke Jenny glanced at the book lying on the small table where she -had placed her basket. Almost shyly she asked. "Were you reading this -book before I came?" - -"My nurse, Miss Dane, was reading it to me. She is a very kind, good -woman, but her voice is rasping, and it is hard for me to listen. My -nerves are still far from normal and I was wishing that I had some young -girl to read to me." Jenny at once thought of Gwynette. Surely she would -be glad to read to her mother while she was ill. As though she had heard -the thought, the woman answered it, and her tone was sad. "My daughter, -unfortunately, does not like to read aloud. She does not care for -books--nor for nature--nor for----" the woman hesitated. She did not want -to criticize Gwynette before another, and so she turned and looked with -almost wistful inquiry at the girl. "Jenny Warner, may I engage your -services to read to me one or two hours a day if your grandmother can -spare you that long?" - -Jenny's liquid brown eyes were aglow with pleasure. This was Harold's -mother for whom she could do a real service. "Oh, may I read to you, Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones? I would be so glad to do something--" she hesitated and -a deeper rose color stole into her cheeks. She could not say for -"Harold's mother." Mrs. Poindexter-Jones would not understand the depth -of the girl's gratitude toward the boy who was making it possible for her -dear old grandparents to remain on the farm. And the woman, gazing at -her, found that just then she could not mention remuneration. - -"Suppose you come to me day after tomorrow at ten." Miss Dane had -appeared to say that it was time for the invalid to go into the house. - -"Is it noon so soon?" the woman inquired, then turning back toward the -girl who had risen, she added: "Seeing you has done me much good. -Good-bye. Tell Susan Warner I want to see her tomorrow." - -Jenny returned home, her heart singing. She was to have an opportunity to -thank Harold, and she was glad. - -When Jenny reached the farmhouse she found her family in the kitchen, and -by the way they all stopped talking when she entered, she was sure that -something had happened during her absence which they had been discussing, -nor was she wrong. - -She looked from one interested face to another, then exclaimed: "You're -keeping a secret from me. What is it, please tell!" - -Lenora, who had been made comfortable with pillows in grandfather's easy -chair, drawn close to the stove, merrily replied: "The secret is in plain -sight. You must hunt, though, and find it." - -Jenny whirled to look at the table, already set with the supper things, -but nothing unusual was there; then her glance traveled to the old -mahogany cupboard, where, behind glass doors, in tidy rows, the best -china stood. There, leaning against a tumbler, was an envelope bearing a -foreign stamp. - -With a cry of joy Jenny leaped forward. Instinctively she seemed to know -that it was the long watched-for letter from Etta Heldt, nor was she -wrong. - -With eager fingers the envelope was opened. A draft fluttered to the -floor. Jenny picked it up, then, after a glance at it, turned a glowing -face toward the others. - -"I knew it!" she cried joyfully. "I knew Etta Heldt was honest! This is -every penny that she owes us." - -The handwriting was difficult to read and for a silent moment Jenny -studied it, then brightly she exclaimed: "Oh, such wonderful news!" Then -she read: - - "Dear Friend: - - "I would have written long ago, but my grandpa took sick and was like - to die when I got here, and my grandma and I had to set up nights, turn - about, and days I was so tired and busy. I didn't forget though. Poor - grandpa died after a month, but I'm glad I got here first. He was more - willing to go, being as I'd be here with grandma. - - "Now I guess you're wondering where I got the money I'm sending you. I - got it from Hans Heldt. He's sort of relation of mine, though not - close, and he wanted me to marry him and I said no, not till I paid the - money I owed. He said he'd give it to me and then we'd make it up - working grandpa's farm together. So we got married and here's the - money, and my grandma wishes to tell your grandma how thankful she is - to her and you for sending me home to her. I guess that's all. - Good-bye. - - Your grateful friend, - - Etta Heldt." - -There were tears in Jenny's eyes as she looked up. "Oh, Grandma Sue," she -ran across the room and clung to the dear old woman, "aren't you glad, -glad, glad we brought so much happiness into three lives?" Later, when -they were at supper, Jenny told about her visit to Poindexter Arms. - -There was a sad foreboding in the hearts of the old couple that evening. -Although they said little, each was wondering what the outcome of their -"gal's" daily readings would be. "Whatever 'tis, 'twill like to be for -the best, I reckon," was Susan Warner's philosophic conclusion, and the -old man's customary reply, "I cal'late yer right, Ma! Yo' be mos' -allays." - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - REVELATIONS AND REGRETS - - -Susan Warner reached Poindexter Arms at the hour appointed and found her -employer in the lily-pond garden. The old woman curtsied. Her heart was -filled with pity. How changed was her formerly haughty mistress. There -were more lines in the pale, patrician face than there were in the ruddy -countenance of the humbler woman who was years the older. Hesitatingly -she spoke: "I reckon you've been mighty sick, Mis' Poindexter-Jones. It's -a pity, too, you havin' so much to make life free of care an' happy." But -the sad expression in the tired eyes, that were watching her so kindly, -seemed to belie the words of the old woman who had been nurse for Baby -Harold and housekeeper at Poindexter Arms for many years. - -"Be seated, Susan. Miss Dane, my nurse, has gone to town to make a few -purchases for me. Some of them books--" the invalid paused and turned -questioningly toward the older woman. "Did your Jenny tell you that I -wish to engage her services for an hour or two each morning--reading to -me?" - -Susan Warner nodded, saying brightly, "She was that pleased, Jenny was! -She didn't tell me just what she was meaning, but she said, happy-like, -'It will give me a chance to pay a debt.'" - -"A debt." The invalid was perplexed. "Why, Jenny Warner is in no way -indebted to me." Then a cold, almost hard expression crept into her eyes, -as she added, "If Gwynette had said that, I might have understood. But -she never does. She takes all that I give her, and is rebellious because -it is not more." She had been thinking aloud. Before her amazed listener -uttered a comment, if, indeed, she would have done so, which is doubtful, -the younger woman said bitterly: "Susan Warner, I have failed, failed -miserably as a mother. You have succeeded. That is why I especially -wished to talk with you this morning. I want your advice." Then Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones did a very unusual thing for her. She acknowledged her -disappointment in her adopted daughter to someone apart from herself. - -"The girl's selfishness is phenomenal," she continued, not without -bitterness. "She is jealous of the least favor I show my own boy and -wishes all of our plans to be made with her pleasure as our only -consideration." - -The old woman shook her head sympathetically. "Tut! tut! Mis' -Poindexter-Jones, that's most unfeelin' of her. Most!" She had been about -to say that it was hard to believe that the two girls were really -sisters, but, fearing that the comparison might hurt the other woman's -feelings, she said no more. - -The invalid, an unusual color burning in her cheeks, sighed deeply. -"Susan Warner," she said, and there was almost a break in her voice, -"don't blame the girl too much. I try not to. If you had brought her up, -and I had had Jenny, it might have been different. They----" - -But Susan Warner could not wait, as was her wont for a superior to finish -a sentence. She hurriedly interrupted with "Our Jenny wouldn't have been -different from what she is--no matter how she was fetched up. I reckon -she just _couldn't_ be. She'd have been so grateful to you for havin' -given her a chance--she'd have been sweeter'n ever. Jenny would." - -The older woman was not entirely convinced. "I taught Gwynette to be -proud," she said reminiscently. "I wanted her to select her friends from -only the best families. I was foolishly proud myself, and now I am being -punished for it." - -Susan Warner said timidly, "Maybe she'll change yet. Maybe 'tisn't too -late." - -"I fear it is far too late." The invalid again dropped wearily back among -her silken pillows. She closed her eyes, but opened them almost at once -to turn a keenly inquiring glance at her visitor. "Susan Warner, I wanted -to ask you this question: Do you think it might break down Gwynette's -selfish, haughty pride if she were to be told that she is your Jenny's -sister and my adopted daughter?" - -The older woman looked startled. "Oh, I reckon I wouldn't be hasty about -tellin' that, Mis' Poindexter-Jones. I reckon I wouldn't!" Then she faced -the matter squarely. Perhaps the panic in her heart had been caused by -selfish reasons. If the two girls were told that they were sisters, then -Jenny would have to know that she was not the real granddaughter of the -Warners. Would she, could she love them as dearly after that? The old -woman rose, saying quaveringly, "Please, may I talk it over with Silas -first. He's clear thinkin', Silas is, an' he'll see the straight of it." -And to this Mrs. Poindexter-Jones agreed. - -On the day following, at the appointed hour, Jenny Warner, again wearing -her pale yellow dress, appeared in the garden by the lily pond, and was -welcomed by the invalid with a smile that brightened her weary face. - -There were half a dozen new books on the small table, and Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones, without preface, said: "Choose which one you would like -to read, Jeanette." - -She glanced quickly at the girl, rebuking herself for having used the -name of long ago, but it evidently had been unnoticed. The truth was that -Miss Dearborn, her beloved teacher, had often used that longer name. - -"They all look interesting. O, here is one, 'The Morning Star.' I do -believe that is poetry in prose. How I wish Lenora might hear it also." - -"Lenora?" the woman spoke inquiringly; then "O, I recall now. You did say -that you have a visitor who is ill. Is she strong enough to accompany you -to my garden for our readings?" - -"She would be, I think. The doctor said that by tomorrow I might take her -for a drive. I could bring her chair and her cushions." But the older -woman interrupted. "No need to do that Jeanette. I have many pillows and -several reclining chairs." Then she suggested: "Suppose we leave the book -until your friend is with us. There is a collection of short stories that -will do for today." - -Jenny Warner read well. Miss Dearborn had seen to that, as she considered -reading aloud an accomplishment to be cultivated. - -The invalid was charmed. The girl's voice was musical, soft yet clear, -and most soothing to the harassed nerves of the woman, broken by the -endless round of society's demands. - -When the one story was finished, the woman said: "Close the book, please, -Jeanette. I would rather talk. I want to hear all about yourself, what -you do, who are your friends, and what are your plans for the future." - -Jenny Warner told first of all about Miss Dearborn. That story was very -enlightening to the listener. She had felt that some influence, other -than that of the Warners, must have helped in the moulding of the girl -who sat before her. "I would like to meet Miss Dearborn," was her only -comment. - -Then Jenny told about Lenora Gale and the brother, Charles, who was -coming to take her back to Dakota. - -"But Lenora will not be strong enough to travel, perhaps not for a month, -the doctor thinks. I do not know what her brother will do, but Lenora -will remain with me." Such a glad light was shining in the liquid brown -eyes that the older woman was moved to say, "It makes you very happy to -have a girl companion." - -Jenny clasped her hands, as she exclaimed: "No one knows how I have -always longed to have a sister. I have never had friends--girl friends, I -mean--I have been Miss Dearborn's only pupil, but often and often I have -pretended that I had a sister about my own age. I would wake up in the -night, the way girls do in books, and confide my secrets to a -make-believe sister. Then, when I went on long tramps alone up in the -foothills, I pretended that my sister was with me and we made plans -together." - -The girl hesitated and glanced at her listener, suddenly abashed, fearing -that the older woman would think her prattling foolish. She was amazed at -the changed expression. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones was ashen gray and her face -was drawn as though she were suffering. "Dear," she said faintly, "call -Miss Dane, please! I would like to go in. It was a great wrong, a very -great wrong--and yet, every one meant well." - -Puzzled, indeed, the girl arose and hastened toward the house. Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones must have become worse, and suddenly she was even -wandering in her mind. Jenny found the nurse not far away lying in a -hammock, just resting. - -She hurried to her patient. The woman leaned heavily on her companion as -she walked toward the house. The girl, fearing that her chattering had -overtired Harold's mother, followed penitently. - -At the steps the woman turned and held out a frail hand. There were tears -on her cheeks and in her eyes. "Jeanette," she said, almost feebly, "I am -very tired. Do not come again until I send for you. I want to think. I -must decide what to do." - -Then, noting the unhappy expression on the sweet face of the girl, she -said, ever so tenderly, "You have not tired me, dear, dear Jeanette. -Don't think that. It is something very different." Puzzled and troubled, -Jenny returned to the farm. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - MOTHER AND SON - - -The news from the big house on the day following was that Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones had had a relapse and was again very weak and ill. The -same doctor who visited Lenora was the physician at Poindexter Arms. The -son, Harold, had been sent for, and, as his examinations at the military -academy were over, he would not return. That, the doctor confided to -Susan Warner, was indeed fortunate, as his patient had longed to see her -boy. "The most curious thing about it all," he concluded, "is that she -has not sent for her daughter, who is so near that she could reach her -mother's bedside in half an hour." - -"Not yet," Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had said. "I wish to talk with my son. -He will know what is best to do." - -Harold, arrived and went at once to his mother's room. With infinite -tenderness they greeted each other. "My dearest mother," the lad's tone -expressed deep concern, "I was so happy when your nurse wrote that you -were rapidly recovering. What has happened to cause the relapse? Have you -been overdoing? Now that I am home, mother, I want you to lean on me in -every way. Just rest, dearest, and let whatever burdens there are be on -my broad shoulders." With joy and pride the sick woman gazed at her boy. - -"Dear lad," she said, "you know not what you ask. The cause of my relapse -is a mental one. I have done a great wrong to two people, a very great -wrong, and it is too late to right it. No, I am not delirious." She -smiled up into his troubled, anxious face and her eyes were clear, even -though unusually bright. - -Then the nurse glided in to protest that Mrs. Poindexter-Jones would -better rest before talking more with her son. But the sick woman was -obstinate. "Miss Dane," she said, "please let me do as I wish in this -matter. I will take the responsibility with the doctor. I want to be -alone with my boy for fifteen minutes. Then he will go away and you may -come." - -The nurse could do nothing but retire, though much against her better -judgment. Harold seated himself close to the bed and held one of his -mother's hands in his cool, firm clasp. - -"What is it, dearest?" he asked. "What is troubling you?" - -Then she told the story, the whole of it, not sparing her own wrong -training of the girl, concluding with her disappointment in her adopted -daughter. The lad leaned over and kissed his mother tenderly. "You meant -so kindly," he said, "when you took an orphan into your home and gave her -every opportunity to make good." - -He hesitated and the woman asked: "Harold, did you know? Did you ever -guess? You do not seem surprised." - -"Yes, dearest. Long ago. Not just at first, of course, for I was only -five when Gwynette came into our home and she was three, but later, when -I was grown, I knew that she was not my own little sister, or she would -have come to us as a wee baby." - -"Of course, I might have known that you would reason it out when you were -older. I wish now that you had spoken to me about it, then I could have -asked your advice sooner." - -"My advice, mother?" - -"Yes, dear lad. It is often very helpful to talk a problem over with -someone whose point of view naturally would be different. You might have -saved me from many mistakes. What I wish to ask now is this: If I can -obtain the permission of the Warners (we made an agreement long years ago -that the secret was never to be revealed by any of us), but if now they -think it might be best, would you advise me to tell Gwynette the truth?" - -The lad looked thoughtfully out of the window near. His mother waited -eagerly. She had decided to abide by his advice whatever it might be. At -last he turned toward her. "Knowing Gwynette's supreme selfishness, I -fear that whatever love she may have for you, mother, would be turned to -very bitter hatred. She would feel that you were hurling her from a -class, of which she is snobbishly proud, down into one that she considers -very little better than serfdom. I hardly know how she would take it. She -might do something desperate." The boy regretted these words as soon as -they were spoken. The woman's eyes were startled and because of her great -weakness she began to shiver as though in a chill. The repentant lad -knelt and held her close. "Mother, dear, leave it all to me, will you? -Forget it and just get well for my sake." Then with a break in his voice, -"I wouldn't want to live without _you_, dearest." A sweet calm stole into -the woman's soul. Nothing else seemed to matter. She rested her cheek -against her son's head as she said softly: "My boy! For your sake I will -get well." - -Harold, upon leaving his mother, went at once to his room, and, throwing -himself down in his comfortable morris-chair, with his hands thrust deep -into his trouser pockets, he sat staring out of a wide picture-window. He -did not notice, however, the white-capped waves on the tossing, restless -sea. He was remembering all that had happened from his little boyhood, -especially all that associated him with the girl he had long realized -could not be his own sister. - -Had he been to her the companion that he might have been, indeed that he -should have been, even though he knew she was not his father's child? No, -he had really never cared for her and he had avoided her companionship -whenever it was possible. Many a time he had known that she was hurt at -his lack of devotion. Only recently, when he had so much preferred taking -Sunday dinner at the farm, and had actually forgotten Gwyn until the -haughty girl had reminded him that it was his duty to take her wherever -she would like to dine, he had recalled, almost too late, that it would -be his mother's wish, and now, that his father was gone, his mother was -the one person whom he loved above all others. His conclusion, after half -an hour of relentless self-examination, was that he was very much to -blame for Gwynette's selfishness. If he had long ago sought her -confidence, long ago in the formative years, they might have grown up in -loving companionship as a sister and brother should. This, surely, would -have happened, a thought tried to excuse him to himself, if she had been -an own sister. But he looked at it squarely. "If my mother wanted -Gwynette enough to adopt her and have her share in all things with her -own son, that son should have accepted her as a sister." Rising, he -walked to the window, and, for a few moments, he really saw the -wind-swept sea. Then, whirling on his heel, he snapped his fingers as he -thought with a new determination. "I shall ask our mother (he purposely -said 'our') to give me a fortnight to help Gwyn change her point of view, -before the revelation is made to her. The fault, I can see now, has not -been wholly her own. Mother has shown in a thousand ways that I am the -one she really loves. Not that she has neglected Gwyn, but there has been -a difference." He was putting on his topcoat and cap as he made the -decision to take a run up to the seminary and see how his sister was -getting on. - -As he neared his mother's room, the nurse appeared, closing the door -behind her so softly that the lad knew, without asking, that the invalid -was asleep. Miss Dane smiled at the comely youth. - -"My patient is much better since you came home. I believe you were the -tonic, or the narcotic rather, that she needed, for she seems soothed and -quieted." - -The lad's brightening expression told the nurse how great was his love -for his mother. She went her way to the kitchen to prepare a -strengthening broth for the invalid to be given her when she should -awaken, and all the while she was wondering why a son should be so -devoted and a daughter seem to care so little. It was evident to the most -casual observer that Gwynette cared for no one but herself. - -Harold was soon in his little gray speedster and out on the highway. He -thought that, first of all, he would dart into town and buy a box of -Gwyn's favorite chocolates. She could not but greet him graciously when -he appeared with a gift for her. On the coast highway, near Santa -Barbara, there was a roadside inn where motoring parties lunched and -where the best of candies could be procured. As he was about to complete -his purchase, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with the build of a -college athlete, entered carrying a suitcase. He inquired when the next -bus would pass that way, and, finding that he would have to wait at least -an hour, he next asked how far it was to the farm of Silas Warner. Harold -stepped forward, before the clerk could reply, and said, "I am going in -that direction. In fact I shall pass the farm. May I give you a lift?" - -"Thanks." - -Together they left the shop and were soon speeding along the highway, -neither dreaming of all that this meeting was to mean to them. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - HAROLD AND CHARLES - - -Harold was frankly curious. He had not heard of the guest at the -Warner's. Indeed, having arrived but that day he had heard nothing except -his mother's anxiety about Gwynette. Could it be possible that the -fine-looking chap at his side was a friend of Jenny's? He could easily -understand that anyone, man or woman, who had once met her would, ever -after, wish to be counted as one of her friends. - -When they were well out in the country, the lad at the wheel turned and -smiled in his frank, friendly way. "Stranger hereabouts?" he inquired. - -"Yes and no," the young man replied. "This is my third visit, though the -other two could hardly be called that. I came here when the rainy season -began up north to put my sister, who is not strong, in the seminary here. -I hoped that your more even climate might help restore her strength. -Dakota is our home state. We have a ranch there, but the winters are very -severe. Sister, I am sorry to say, was not happy at the seminary, and, -when she did take a severe cold, she did not recover, and so I made my -second flying trip with the intention of taking her to Arizona if that -seemed best, but, when I arrived her nurse told me that she believed a -pleasant home atmosphere would do more for my sister than a dry air. -This, I was glad to find, had already been offered to Lenora. She had met -a girl, Jenny Warner is her name, and the two had become fast friends. On -the very day that I arrived Miss Jenny was also going to the seminary -with an invitation from her grandmother which was to make my sister a -guest in their home until she should be strong enough to travel. That was -two weeks ago. This, my third visit, is for the purpose of determining if -Lenora is well enough to accompany me to our home in Dakota. My name is -Charles Gale, and I have just completed the agricultural course connected -with the state college at Berkeley." - -Harold reached out a strong brown hand which was grasped heartily by -another equally strong and brown. - -"Great! I'd like well to take that course. Harold Jones is my name. -Mother and Sis put a Poindexter and a hyphen in the middle. Women like -that sort of thing. It was mother's maiden name. Well, here we are at the -long lane that leads up to the farm." - -Charles leaned over to pick up his suitcase. "Don't turn in. I can hike -up to the house." - -"Nothing doing." Harold swung into the narrow dirt lane. "I was planning -to pay a visit to Susan Warner. She took care of me when I was a small -kid, you see, and so I claim her as sort of a foster grandmother, and, as -for Silas Warner, there's no finer example of the old school farmer -living, or I miss my bet." - -Charles looked interested. "I'd like to meet him. I was here such a short -time on my last visit that, although I met Mrs. Warner, I did not see her -good spouse." - -Harold, eager to create some sort of a stir, caused his sport siren to -announce their arrival with shrill staccato notes. It had the desired -effect. First of all dear old Susan Warner bustled out of the kitchen -door, then from around the front corner of the house came Jenny with her -friend, frail and white, leaning on her arm. Lenora's face brightened -when she saw her brother and she held out both arms to him as he leaped -from the low car. Harold chivalrously sprang up on the side porch to -shake hands first of all with his one time nurse, then he went to Jenny, -and although he did not really frame his thought in words, he was -conscious of feeling glad that it was _his_ arrival and not that of -Charles Gale which was causing her liquid brown eyes to glow with a -welcome which, at least, was most friendly. - -"Come in, all of you, do, and have a glass of milk and a cookie." Grandma -Sue thought of them as just big children, and, by the eagerness with -which they accepted the invitation, she was evidently not far wrong. - -Jenny skipped to the cooling cellar to soon return with a blue crockery -pitcher brimming with creamy milk. Susan Warner heaped a plate with -cookies. Charles led his sister to Grandpa Si's comfortable armed chair -near the stove. When they were all seated and partaking of the -refreshments, the older of the lads said, "Sister, you are not yet strong -enough to travel, I fear." - -"O, I think that I am! We could have a drawing room all of the way and I -could lie down most of the time." But even the excitement of her -brother's arrival had tired her. - -Jenny went to her friend's side and, sitting on the broad arm of the -chair, she pleaded: "Don't leave me so soon, Lenora! Aren't you happy -here with us? You've been getting stronger every day, and only yesterday -Grandma Sue told the doctor that she hoped you would be here another -fortnight, and he said, didn't he, Grandma Sue, that it would be at least -that long before you would be able to travel." - -Lenora looked anxiously at her brother. She knew that he was eager to get -back to their Dakota ranch home, knowing that their father needed him and -was lonely for both of them. But the young man said at once, "I believe -the doctor is right. I will wire Dad tonight when I go back to the hotel -that we will remain two weeks longer." Then, turning toward the nodding, -smiling old woman, he asked: "Mrs. Warner, you are quite sure that we are -not imposing upon you? I could take my sister with me if----" - -Susan Warner's reply was sincerely given. "Mr. Gale," she said, her ruddy -face beaming, "I reckon there's three of us in this old farmhouse as -wishes your sister Lenora was goin' to stay all summer. Jenny, here," how -fondly the faded blue eyes turned toward her girl, "has allays had a -hankering for an own sister, and since it's too late now for that, next -best is to adopt one, and Lenora is her choice and mine, too, and Si's as -well, I reckon." - -The young man's relief and appreciation were warmly expressed. Then he -said, "Father will want us to stay under the circumstances. I will remain -at the hotel----" Grandma Sue interrupted with, "I do wish we had another -bedroom here. It's a powerful way from the farm to town and Lenora will -want to see you every day." - -Harold had been thoughtfully gazing at the floor. He now spoke. -"Charles," then with his half whimsical, wholly friendly smile he -digressed, "you won't mind if I call you that, will you, since we are -merely boys of a larger growth," then continued with, "Don't decide where -you will bunk, please, until I have had an opportunity to talk the matter -over with my invalid mother. I'd like bully well to have you for my -guest. I have a plan, a keen one if I can carry it out. I'll not reveal -it until I know." Harold stood up, suddenly recalling that he had a duty -to fulfill which was being neglected for his own pleasure. That had -always been his way, he feared, when he had to choose between Gwynette -and someone who really interested him. - -To Mrs. Warner he said, "I'm on my way over to the seminary to see my -sister. Poor kid! There are two more days of prison life for her, or so -she considers it. Mother requested that she remain at the seminary until -the term is over and it's being hard for her." Then to the taller lad, -"Charles, you want to stay here with your sister until evening anyway, -don't you?" - -The girl quickly put out a detaining hand, as she said, "O please do -stay. I haven't asked you a single question yet. It will take you until -dark to answer half that I want to know." The big brown hand closed over -the frail one. To Harold he replied, "Yes, I'll be here if I can get a -bus to town in the evening." - -"You won't need the bus, not if my little gray bug is in working order." -They had all risen except Lenora, and Susan Warner said hospitably, -"Harry-lad, if your ma don't need you over to the big house, come back in -time for supper. I'll make the corn bread you set such a store by." - -"Thanks, I'll be here with bells," the lad called as he leaped into his -waiting car. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - A JOLLY PLAN - - -Harold's little gray "bug," as he sometimes called the car which he -boasted was the speediest of its kind, made the long upgrade in high, and -that, being a feat it had not accomplished on its last ascent, so -gratified the youthful owner that he swung into the seminary grounds with -a flourish. Upon seeing his sister sitting moodily in the summer-house -with a novel, unread, on her knee, he ran in that direction, waving his -cap gleefully. - -"Hello, there, Sis!" he called. "Get on your bonnet and come for a ride. -The bug is outdoing itself today." - -The girl, whose eyes were suspiciously red, turned toward him coldly. -"Harold, how many times have I asked you not to call me Sis. It savors of -kitchen mechanics, and, what is more, I do not wear a bonnet. Finally, I -most certainly do not wish to ride in that racer of yours." - -The boy dropped down on the bench on the opposite side of the -summer-house and gave a long whistle which equally aggravated his -companion. Then, stretching out to be comfortable, he thrust his hands -deep into his pockets, as he inquired: "Well, then, Sister Gwynette, will -you enlighten me as to why your marblesque brow is darkly clouded?" - -The girl's frown deepened and she turned away from him petulantly. "You -know just as well as I do that you care nothing whatever about my -troubles," she flung at him. "You wouldn't be here now if Mother hadn't -sent you, and I'm sure I can't see why she did. She cares no more for me -than you do, or she would not force me to stay in this prison until the -close of the term just for appearance sake. I'm not taking the final -tests, so why should I pretend that I am?" - -The boy drew himself upright and, leaning on the rustic table which was -between them, he said, trying not to let his indignation sound in his -voice: "Gwynette, do you know that our mother is very, very ill? She is -again in bed and I could only be with her for a few moments." - -Harold paused, hoping that his announcement would cause his listener some -evident concern, but there was no change in her expression, and so more -coldly he continued: - -"Mother said nothing whatever about her reason for asking you to remain -here until the term is over, but it is my private opinion that when she -did send for you, some sort of a scene was stirred up which made Mother's -fever worse. The nurse probably thought best for Mums to be undisturbed -as long as possible." Suddenly the lad sprang up, rounded the table and -sat on the side toward which his petulant sister was facing. Impulsively -he took her hand as he asked, not unkindly, "Gwyn, don't you care at all -whether our mother lives or dies?" - -There was a sudden, startled expression in the girl's tear-filled eyes, -but, as the lad knew, the tears were there merely because of self-pity. - -"Dies?" she repeated rather blankly. No one whom she had ever known had -died, and she had seemed to think that those near her were immune. "Is Ma -Mere going to die?" - -The boy followed up what he believed to be an advantage by saying gently, -"We would be all alone in the world, Gwyn, if our mother left us, and, -oh, it would be so lonely." - -Suddenly and most unexpectedly the girl put her arms on the table and, -burying her head upon them, she sobbed bitterly. Harold was moved to -unusual tenderness. He put his arm lovingly about his sister as he -hastened to say, reassuringly, "Miss Dane, the nurse, told me this -morning that Mother's one chance of recovery lay in not being excited in -any way. Her fever must be kept down. We'll help, won't we, Gwyn?" - -The girl sat up and wiped her eyes with her dainty handkerchief. - -"I suppose so," she said dully. The boy, watching her, could not tell -what emotion had caused the outburst of grief. He decided not to follow -it up, but to permit whatever seeds had been sown to sprout as they -would. - -Springing up, he exclaimed: "Snapping turtles! I forgot something I -brought for you. It's in the car." He ran back, found the box of choice -candies, returned and presented them. Gwyn was still gazing absently -ahead of her. "Thanks," she said, but without evidence of pleasure. - -The boy stood in the vine-hung doorway gazing down at her. "Gwyn," he -said, "if you want to come home, I'll be over after you tomorrow. Just -say the word." - -"I prefer to wait until my mother sends for me," was the cold answer. The -lad went away, fearing that he had accomplished little. - -It was five-thirty when the "bug" again turned into the long lane that -led to the farmhouse near Rocky Point. - -"Here comes Harold," Jenny turned from the window to inform the other -occupants of the kitchen. Grandma Sue was opening the oven to test her -corn bread. Lenora was again in the comfortable armchair near the stove. -For the past hour she had been asleep in the hammock out in the sun, and -she felt stronger and really hungry. Charles, having been told that there -was nothing that he could do to help, sat on the bench answering the -questions his sister now and then asked. - -Grandpa Si had not yet returned from a neighbor's where he had gone to -help repair fences. - -Jenny, dressed in her white Swiss with the pink dots, had a pink -butterfly bow in her hair. Her cheeks were flushed and her liquid brown -eyes glowing. She was wonderfully happy. Her dear friend Lenora was to -remain with her another two weeks. She was convinced that this was the -sole reason for her joy. It did not remotely enter her thought that -perhaps the return of Harold might be adding to her happiness. - -Charles, hearing the siren call, leaped to the porch and the boys again -shook hands like old friends who had not met in many a day. - -Harold was plainly elated. He detained Charles on the porch long enough -to tell his plan. - -"I've been over to see Mother since I left and she is quite willing that -I open up the little cabin on the cliff that used to belong to my Dad -when he was young. It's been closed since he died and I didn't know how -Mother would feel about having it occupied. But when she heard about you, -she said she was glad indeed that I was to have a companion, as she knew -the big house would seem lonely while she is ill, so we'll move right -over there after supper." - -"That's great!" the Dakota boy was equally pleased. "Honest, I'll confess -it now; I did dread going to that barren Commercial Hotel, and I couldn't -afford to spend more than ten minutes at The Palms, not if I had to pay -for the privilege." - -"Come on, let's tell our good news." Harold led the way into the kitchen -where his jubilant enthusiasm was met with a like response. Lenora -clapped her hands. "Oh, won't you two boys have the nicest time! Tell us -about that cabin. How did your father happen to build it?" - -"I don't believe I ever really knew. Gwyn and I were such little things -when he died." Turning to the older woman, who had dropped on the bench -to rest, he asked, "Grandma Sue, you, of course, know all that happened. -You were living near here, weren't you, when my father was a boy?" - -"Indeed I was. My folks had the overseein' of a lemon grove up Live Oak -Canyon way. First off I did fine sewin' for your Grandma Jones. That's -how I come to know your family so well. But she didn't live long arter I -went there, and your grandpa was so broke up, he went to pieces sort of, -right arter the funeral an' pined away, slow like, for two years about. -Your pa, Harry, was the only child, and he give up his lawin' in the big -city and come home to stay and be company for his pa. I never saw two -folks set a greater store by each other, but the old man (your grandpa -wasn't really old, but grievin' aged him), even his boy seemed like -couldn't cheer him up, he missed his good woman so. 'Twant long afore he -followed her into the great beyond. That other Harold, your pa, was only -twenty-two or thereabouts and he was all broke up. He didn't seem to want -to go back to the lawin' and it was too lonesome for him to stay in the -big house, so he sent the help all away, giving 'em each a present of -three months' pay. That is, he sent 'em all but Sing Long. Sing was a -young Chinaman then, and he wanted to stay with your pa. That's when he -had the cabin on the cliff built. He was allays readin', your pa was, so -he filled one big room with books and with Sing Long to cook for him and -take care of him, there he stayed until he was twenty-five. Then he went -'round the world and came back with a wife." - -Grandpa Si's entrance interrupted the story. The old man was surprised to -find company in the kitchen. "Wall, wall, I swan to glory!" He took off -his straw hat and rubbed his forehead with his big red bandanna -handkerchief. "If 'tisn't my helper come so soon. Harry-lad, it's good -for sore eyes to see you lookin' so young, like there wa'n't no sech -thing ahead as old age." - -Harold shook hands heartily as he exclaimed with his usual enthusiasm: -"Old age! Indeed, sir, I don't believe in it. All I have to do is to look -at you and Grandma Sue to know that it doesn't exist." Then turning -toward the young visitor, he continued: "Silas Warner, may I make you -acquainted with Charles Gale?" The weather-bronzed face wrinkled into -even a wider smile as the old man held a hand toward the young stranger. - -"Wall, now, you're a size bigger'n our little Lenora here, ain't you? -Tut, tut. We've allays boasted about how big we can grow things down here -in Californy, but I reckon Dakota's got us plumb beat. Harry, you'll have -to eat a lot to catch up with your friend." - -That youth laughingly replied that he was afraid that eating a lot would -make him grow round instead of high. The old man good naturedly -commented, "Wall, Harry-lad, you ain't so much behind or below whichever -'tis, not more'n half a head, an' you may make that up. Though 'tain't -short you be now." - -Then he began to sniff, beaming at his spouse, whose cheeks, from the -heat of baking, were as ruddy as winter apples. "Ma," he said, wagging -his head from side to side and smacking his lips in anticipation, "that -there smell oozin' out of the oven sort of hits the empty spot. Cream -gravy on that thick yellar cornmeal bread! Wall, boys, if there's rich -folks with finer feed 'n that I dunno what 'tis." - -He was washing at the sink pump as he talked. - -"Neither do I," Harold agreed as he sprang to help Jenny place the chairs -around the table. Their eyes met and Harold found himself remembering -that this lovely girl was own sister to his adopted sister. What relation -then was he to Jenny? But before this problem could be solved, Grandma -Sue was placing the two plates of cornbread on the table and Jenny had -skipped to the stove to pour the steaming gravy into its pitcher-like -bowl. - -Charles led Lenora to her place, although she protested that she really -could walk alone. Harold leaped to the head to draw Grandma Sue's chair -out, and then Jenny's, while Charles did the same for his sister. Then -the merry meal began. Grandpa Si told all that had happened during the -day to Susan, as was his custom. Never an evening meal was begun without -that query, "Wall, Si, what happened today. Anythin' newsy?" - -It didn't matter how unimportant the event, if it interested the old man -enough to tell it, he was sure of an interested listener. Indeed, two, -for Jenny having been brought up to this evening program, was as eager as -her grandmother to hear the chronicalings of the day, which seldom held -an event that a city dweller would consider worth the recounting. - -"Wall, I dunno as there's much, 'cept Pete says the lemon crop over on -that ranch whar you lived when you was a gal, Ma, is outdoin' itself this -year. Tryin' to break its own record, Pete takes it. He's workin' over -thar mornin's and loafin' arternoons, lest be he can pick up odd jobs -like fence-mendin'." Then, when the generous slices of corn bread had -been served and were covered with the delicious cream gravy, there was -not one among them who did not do justice to it and consider it a rare -treat. After the first edge of hunger was appeased, the old man asked -what kind of a year ranchers were having in Dakota. This answered, he -smiled toward the frail girl. "Lenora," he said, "yo' ain't plannin' to -pull out 'f here soon, air yo'? It'll be powerful lonely for Jenny-gal, -her havin' sort of got used to havin' a sister." Then, turning to the -smiling Charles, the old man said facetiously: "Ma an' me sort o' wish -you an' your Pa didn't want Lenora. We'd like to keep her steady. -Wouldn't we, Ma?" The old woman nodded, "I reckon we would, but there's -others have the first right an' we'll be thankful for two weeks more." - -Directly after supper Harold said to his hostess: "Please forgive us if -we eat and run. I want to move into the cabin before dark." Then, to the -old man: "I'll be ready to start work early in the morning." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - A RUSTIC CABIN - - -It was just before sunset when the two boys reached the cabin on the -cliff close to the high hedge which separated the farm from the rest of -the estate. It was a rustic affair with wide verandas on three sides. -From the long front windows there was an unobstructed view of the coast -line circling toward the Rincon Mountain which extended peninsula-wise -out into the ocean. - -Sing Long opened the front door and beamed at them. He greeted Harold and -his friend, saying good naturedly, "Me showee. Alle done." He led the way -at once upstairs. A very large bedroom was most comfortably furnished -with severe simplicity. The Chinaman opened a closet door and showed -Harold his clothes hanging there. - -"Great!" the boy was indeed pleased to find that he was being so well -cared for. "You may sleep up at the big house, just as you have been -doing, Sing," Harold told him, "but be back to prepare our breakfast by -five tomorrow morning." - -The Chinaman grinned, showing spaces between yellowed teeth. "Belly -early, him. Fibe 'clock." It was quite evident that he was recalling -former days when it had been hard to awaken his young master at a much -later hour. - -Harold laughed. "Oh, times have changed, Sing. No more late sleeping for -me. Tomorrow I'm going to begin to be a farmer." - -They could hear the Chinaman chuckling as though greatly amused until he -was out of the cabin. Harold at once became the thoughtful host. "I'll -budge my things along and make room for yours in the closet," he said. -"We'll have your trunk brought over from The Commercial tomorrow." Then, -going to the window, he stood, hands thrust in pockets, looking out at -the surf plunging against the rocks. For some moments he was deep in -thought. Silently Charles unpacked the few things he had with him. Harold -turned as the twilight crept into the room. "Dear old Dad loved this -place," he said, which showed of what he had been thinking. - -"Even after he and Mother were married, when there was a crowd of gay -folk up at the big house, one of Mother's week-ends, Dad would come here -and stay with his books for company most of the time. I suppose the -guests thought him queer. I'm inclined to think that at first Mother did -not understand, for she has often told me how deeply she regrets that she -had persuaded him to give up coming down here. She wishes that instead -she had given up the house parties. Oh, well, there's a lot to regret in -this old world." Charles, knowing nothing of his new friend's -self-reproach because of having neglected his adopted sister, wondered at -a remark so unlike the enthusiastic conversation of the earlier evening. -The truth was that Harold was saddened by this first visit to his -father's cabin. Suddenly he clapped a friendly hand on the older lad's -shoulder and said, "But come, the prize room is downstairs. I don't -wonder Dad liked to be in it more than in any room over at the big house. -I used to visit him when I was a little shaver, but the place has been -locked since his death. I was ten when Dad died." - -They had descended a circling open stairway which led directly into the -large room, a fleeting glance at which Charles had had on their entering. - -It was indeed an ideal den for a man who loved to read. A great stone -fireplace was at one end with bookcases ceiling high, on either side. - -There were Indian rugs on the floor, low wall lamps that hung over -comfortable wicker chairs with basket-like magazine holders at the side. -A wide divan in front of the blazing fire on the hearth invited Charles, -and he threw himself full length, his hands clasped under his head. -"Harold, this is great," he exclaimed. "I've been in such a mad rush -these last days getting the finals over, packing and traveling down here, -that it seems mighty good to stretch out and let go for awhile." - -"Do you smoke?" Harold asked. "If you want to, go ahead. I never learned. -Dad was much opposed to smoking and even though I was so young I promised -I wouldn't, at least not until I was twenty-one." Then, after a moment of -thought, the younger lad concluded: "In memory of Dad, I shall never -begin." - -"Glad to hear it, old man! If a chap doesn't start a bad habit, he won't -have to struggle to break it when it begins to pull down his health. I -much prefer to breathe fresh air myself." Charles changed the subject. -"What's this about getting up at five o'clock to start in being a farmer? -Don't tell me, though, if you'd rather not." - -"Oh, there's no secret to it. Sort of thought I'd like to learn how to -run a farm since I am to own one." - -"Surely! But I didn't know you were to inherit a farm. Where's it -located?" - -It was evident that Charles did not know that the Rocky Point farm -belonged to Harold's mother and the boy hesitated to tell, not knowing -but that the older lad would think less of the Warners and Jenny if he -knew that they were what Gwyn called his "mother's servants." A second -thought assured him that this would be very unlikely. - -Simply Harold said, "Silas Warner is my mother's overseer." - -"Oho, I understand. You're lucky to have such a splendid man to look -after your interests." Then, "I like ranching mighty well. Dad suggested -that I take up law, thought I might need it later, when--" Charles never -finished that sentence, and, if Harold thought it queer, he made no -comment. - -They talked of college, of ambitions and plans for the future, until bed -time. For the first time in his life Charles was lulled to sleep by the -rhythmic breaking of the waves as the tide went out. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - FUN AS FARMERS - - -Grandpa Si and Grandma Sue were alone at a five o'clock breakfast. They -did not wish Jenny to get up that early as there was really nothing to -do, but make the morning coffee, fry the bacon and flapjacks, which -constituted the farmer's breakfast menu every day in the year. - -Silas Warner often tried to persuade his good wife to sleep later, -telling her that he could well enough prepare his own breakfast, but he -had long since desisted, realizing that he would be depriving her of one -of their happiest hours together. It was then, when they were quite -alone, that they talked over many things, and this morning Susan found -her hands trembling as she poured the golden brown coffee into her -husband's large thick china cup. Silas had asked for three days to -meditate on the serious question of whether or not they should tell Jenny -that she was not their own child, and Susan well knew that this morning -she would hear his decision. - -It was not until the cakes were fried and she was seated opposite him -that he looked over at her with his most genial smile, and yet the silent -watcher knew him so well that she could sense that he was not happy in -the decision which he evidently had reached. "Pa, you think it's best to -tell, don't you? I can sort o' see it comin'." - -"I reckon that's about what my ruminatin' fetched me to, Susan. You'n me -know how our gal's hankerin' for an own sister, and now that Lenora is -goin', she'll be lorner 'n ever, Jenny will." He glanced toward the -closed door which led to the living room where their "gal" slept since -she had given her bed to her guest. "I cal'late we'd better keep it dark -though till Lenora's gone, then sort of feel our way as how best to tell -it. Thar's time enough. While Lenora's here, there ain't no need for any -other sister for our gal." - -Susan Warner sighed, even while she smiled waveringly. "Wall, Si, if you -think it's best, I reckon 'tis. But it'll be powerful hard to have Jenny -thinkin' the less of us." - -The good man rose and walked around the table and placed a big gnarled -hand on his wife's shoulder. "Tut! Tut! Susy," that was the name he had -used in the courtin' days, "our gal ain't made of no sech clay as that. -She'll stick by us all the tighter, you see if 'taint so." - -Further conversation on the subject was prevented by the arrival of -Harold and Charles decked in overalls, which the former lad had obtained -from his mother's gardener. - -Silas Warner stepped out on the side porch to greet them and his grin was -at its widest. "Wall, I swan to glory, if here ain't my two helpers. -Ready to milk the cow, Harry-lad?" - -Mrs. Warner appeared in the open door, her blue checked apron wound about -her hands. She smiled and nodded. "Speak quietly, boys. We like Lenora to -sleep as late as she can," was her admonition. - -The farmer led the way to the barn and there he again stood grinning his -amusement. The boys laughed good naturedly. "Say, them overalls of -your'n, Harry, are sort o' baggy, 'pears like to me. You could get one o' -Ma's best pillars in front thar easy." - -The younger lad agreed. "Charles has the best of it. Our gardener is just -about his size. Now if only we had a couple of wide straw hats with torn -brims, we'd look the part." - -Shaking with mirth, the old man led the boys to a shed adjoining the -barn, where on a row of nails were several hats ragged and tattered -enough to suit the most exacting comedian. "Great!" the younger lad -donned one and seizing the milk pail from the farmer's hand, he struck an -attitude, exclaiming dramatically "Lead me to the cow." But he was to -find that a college education did not help one to milk, and after a few -futile efforts he rose, and, with a flourish, offered the bench to -Charles, who, having often milked, had the task done in short order. -Harry watched the process closely, declaring that in the evening he would -show them. - -That same morning Mrs. Poindexter-Jones awakened feeling better than she -had in a long time. - -While Miss Dane was busying herself about the room, the older woman lay -thoughtfully gazing at a double frame picture on the wall. It contained -photographs of two children, one about eight and the other about five. -How beautiful Gwynette had been with her long golden curls and what a -manly little chap Harold. She sighed deeply. The boy had not changed but -the girl----. - -Another thought interrupted: "Now that you and Harold both believe that -it may be partly your fault, you may feel differently toward Gwynette." - -"I do love her," the woman had to acknowledge. "One cannot bring up -anything from babyhood and not care, but I was not wise. I overindulged -the child because she was so beautiful, and I was proud to have people -think her my own, and, later, when she was so heartlessly selfish, I was -hurt. Poor Gwynette." - -Aloud she said: "Miss Dane, please telephone the seminary and tell my -daughter that I am sending the carriage for her at four this afternoon. I -want her to come home. Then, when my son comes, tell him I wish to see -him. He told me that he would be here in the early afternoon." - -"Very well. I will attend to it." The nurse glided from the room to -telephone Gwynette. Half an hour later she returned. The woman looked up -almost eagerly. Miss Dane merely said, "The message was given." - -She did not care to tell that the girl's voice had been coldly -indifferent. Her reply had been, "Very well. One place does as well as -another!" - -At noon, after a morning cultivating in the fields, the boys were not -sorry when the farmer advised them to take it easy during the afternoon. -The day was very warm. - -"Well, we will, just at first, while hardening up." Harold was afraid the -farmer would think that he was not in earnest about wanting to help, but -there was no twinkle evident in the kind blue eyes of Silas Warner. - -The boys, hoes over their shoulders, walked single file through the field -of corn toward the farmhouse. The girls had not yet seen them and they -expected to be well laughed at. Nor were they mistaken. They found Jenny -and Lenora out in the kitchen garden. The former maiden had been -gathering luscious, big, red strawberries, while her friend sat nearby on -a rustic bench. Jenny stood upright, her basket brimming full, and so she -first saw the queer procession. - -"Oh, Lenora, do look! Is it or is it not your brother Charles?" The -grinning boys doffed their frayed straw hats and made deep bows. Jenny -pretended to be surprised. "Why, Harold, is that you? I thought Grandpa -had hired a tramp or two to help out. My, but you look hot!" - -"Indeed, young ladies, it does not take much perspicacity to make that -discovery." He mopped his brow with his handkerchief as he spoke. - -Charles laughed. "It's harder on Harold than on me. We do this sort of -thing every day up at the Agricultural School." - -Then, to tease, he added: "Why don't you invite the girls to watch you -milk this evening?" - -"Well, I may at that," the younger boy said, nothing daunted by their -laughter. "But just now we must hie us to our cabin. I promised to visit -Mother about two." Then to Charles he suggested: "Before we eat the good -lunch Sing Long will have for us, suppose we go swimming, old man, what -say?" - -"Agreed! It sounds good to me!" Turning to his sister, Charles took her -hand lovingly. "I'll be over to spend the afternoon with you, dear?" - -Harold, glancing almost shyly at the other girl, wished he could say the -same thing to her. Then it was he recalled something. "Charles," he said, -"Mother wanted me to bring you over to the big house this afternoon. I -call it that to designate it from the cabin. She is eager to meet my new -friend." - -"Indeed I shall be very glad to meet your mother." Then smiling tenderly -at the girl whose hand he still held, he said: "You do feel stronger -today, don't you, sister?" She nodded happily, then away the two boys -ran. - -An hour later, refreshed and sleek-looking after their swim, they sat at -a small table on the pine-sheltered side porch and ate the good lunch -Sing Long had prepared for them. - -"This is great!" Charles enthusiastically exclaimed. "I'd like Lenora to -see it." - -"Better still, in a few days, when she is able to walk this far, we will -invite the girls to dine." Harold hesitated, flushed a little and added -as an after thought: "Of course we'll ask my sister, too." Again he had -completely forgotten Gwynette. His good resolution was going to be hard -to put into effect, it would seem. - -"I shall be glad to meet your mother and also your sister," Charles was -saying. - -An impulse came to Harold to confide in Charles. Ought he or ought he -not? He knew that he could trust his new friend and his advice might be -invaluable. And so he began hesitatingly: "I'm going to tell you -something, Charles, which I never told to anyone else. In fact, it's only -recently that Mother realized I knew about it. But now a complication has -risen. We, Mother and I, don't know _what_ is best to do, and what is -more, Silas and Susan Warner have to be considered." - -"Don't tell me unless you are quite sure that you want to, old man," -Charles said in his frank, friendly way, adding, "We make confidences, -sometimes, rather on an impulse, and wish later that we had not." - -"Yes, I know. There are fellows I wouldn't trust to keep the matter dark, -but I know that you will. We especially do not wish Jenny Warner to know -or Gwynette, my sister, until we have figured out whether or not it would -be best. Of course, my mother and the Warners thought they were doing the -right thing. Well, I won't keep you wondering about it any longer. I'll -tell you the whole story as Mother told it to me only two days ago." - -Charles listened seriously. They had finished their lunch and had -sauntered down to the cliff before the tale was completed. - -"That certainly is a problem," was the first comment. "I can easily -understand that your mother wished to keep the matter a secret, but I do -feel sorry for the girls. No one knows the comfort my sister has been to -me. I would have lost a great joy out of my life if she had been taken -from me--if we had grown up without knowing each other." - -"Of course you would, old man," Harold agreed heartily. "But, you see, I -early figured out that Gwynette couldn't be my own sister, and I have -never really cared for her nor has she for me. Well, she'll be coming -home tomorrow and then you can tell better, perhaps, after having met -her, how to advise me. Mother said she would abide by my decision. I -asked Mums to postpone for two weeks an ultimatum in the matter." Then, -placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, he added: "Now I must go over -and see Mother. If you care to wait in the cabin, I'll be back in half an -hour. I'll find out when my mother will be able to see you." - -"Of course I'll wait. Lenora ought to rest after lunch, I suppose. I'll -be glad to browse among the interesting books. Don't hurry on my -account." - -Ten minutes later Harold was admitted to his mother's room. - -"I am keeping awake just for this visit," the smiling woman said when he -had kissed her. "Is your friend with you?" - -"No, he is at the cabin. I thought perhaps at first you would rather see -me alone. I will go back and get him if you would like to meet him now." - -Instead of answering him, the woman turned to the nurse, who was seated -at a window sewing: "Miss Dane, if I sleep for two hours, I might meet -Harold's friend about five, don't you think?" The nurse assented. - -To her son she then said, "I would like you and your friend to dine here -every evening. Please begin tonight." - -She purposely did not tell Harold that his sister would be at home and -would need his companionship. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - A DIFFICULT PROMISE - - -When the boys reached the farm, they saw Jenny dressed in her sunny -yellow with the buttercup wreathed leghorn hat shading her face, and, as -she was walking down the lane carrying a basket, it was quite evident -that she was going away. Harold felt a distinct sense of disappointment. -Lenora was lying in the hammock under two towering eucalyptus trees. -Charles went to her at once and sat on the bench near, but Harold, -excusing himself, ran toward the barn where he could see that Jenny was -already in the old buggy backing Dobbin out into the lane. - -Hatless, he arrived just as the girl turned toward the highway. "Whither -away, fair maid?" the boy sang out. - -"To see my very nice teacher, Miss Dearborn. I had a message from her -this morning. She wishes to see me before three. My heart is rebuking me, -for it is over a week since our classes ended and I've been so busy I -haven't been over to Hillcrest. I'm glad, though, that she has sent for -me, and I hope she will scold me well. I deserve it." - -The boy hesitated. "Would I be much in the way if I went with you?" Then -eagerly, "I'd love to drive old Dobbin." - -Jenny, of course, could not deprive him of that pleasure, and so, at her -smilingly given assent, the lad went around to the other side, leaped -over a wheel and took the seat and reins abandoned by the girl. - -Dobbin, seeming to sense that all was ready, started on a trot toward the -gate. Harold turned to wave back to Charles, who returned the salute. He -was glad to be alone for a time with Lenora. They were planning to write -a combination letter to their far-away and, as they well knew, lonely -father. - -"You care a lot for this Miss Dearborn, Jenny, don't you?" Harold turned -to one side of the highway to give the automobiles the right of way on -the pavement. - -"Indeed I do! I love her and I am always fearful that I may lose her -before my education is completed." - -"Wouldn't you like to go away to school somewhere? Most girls do, I -understand." - -"Oh, no! I couldn't leave Grandma and Grandpa. They are old people and -need me. At any time something might happen that either or both of them -would be unable to work as they do now. I want to be right here, always, -to be their staff when they need one." - -The boy, glancing at the girl, could readily tell that what she had said -had come from her heart. It had been neither for effect nor from a sense -of duty. - -The boy changed the subject. "You will miss Lenora when she is gone." - -There was an almost tragic expression in the liquid brown eyes that were -turned toward him. "No one can know _how_ I shall miss her. It has been -wonderful to have someone near one's own age to confide in." - -"Wouldn't I do when Lenora is gone?" Harold ventured. "I'm not such a lot -older than you are." - -"I'm afraid not," Jenny smilingly retorted. "Girl confidences would seem -foolish to you." Then, as they drove between the pepper-tree posts, she -exclaimed, "I surely deserve a scolding for having so long neglected my -beloved teacher." - -Miss Dearborn did not scold Jenny. There was in her face an expression -which at once assured the girl that something of an unusual nature had -occurred. Harold had remained in the wagon and the two, who cared so much -for each other, were alone in the charming library and living-room of -Hill-Crest. - -"Miss Dearborn. Oh, what has happened? I know something has." Then seeing -a suitcase standing near, locked and strapped, the girl became more than -ever fearful. "You are going away. Oh, Miss Dearborn, are you?" Tears -sprang to the eagerly questioning brown eyes. - -"Yes, dear girl, I am going to Carmel. I had told you that Eric Austin -and his family are living there. Last night a telegram came, sent by that -dear sister-friend herself. She is ill and wants me to come at once. Of -course I am going." - -The telephone called Miss Dearborn to another room. When she returned she -said, "A taxicab will be here shortly." As she donned her hat, she -continued talking. "No one knows how sincerely I hope my schoolmate will -recover. She is so happily married, she dearly loves her husband and her -children. Oh, Jeanette, it is so sad when a mother is taken away. There -is no one, _just no one_ who can take her place to the little ones." - -The girl asked, "How many children are there, Miss Dearborn? I remember -you said one girl had been named after you." - -"Yes, then there is a boy, a year or two older, and this baby, the one -that has just come!" She took up the suitcase, but Jenny held out her -hand. "Please let me carry it." The teacher did so, as she had to close -and lock the front door. Harold sprang from the wagon. "Miss Dearborn," -the girl said, "you have heard me speak of our neighbors, the -Poindexter-Jones. This is my friend Harold." The lad, cap under his arm, -took the outstretched hand, acknowledging the introduction, then reached -for the suitcase. - -Sounds of an automobile laboring up the rough hill-road assured them, -before they saw the small closed car, that the taxi was arriving. - -Jenny held her teacher's hand in a close clasp and her eyes were again -brimmed with tears. This time for the mother of the little new baby. - -"Good-bye, dear girl." The woman turned to the boy and said, "Take good -care of my Jeanette. Even she does not know what a comfort she is to me." - -The boy had replied something, he hardly knew what. Of course he would -take care of Jenny. With his life, if need be. When the taxi was gone he -took the girl's arm and led her back to the wagon. He saw that she was -almost crying and he knew that her dear friend must be starting on some -sad mission, but Jenny merely said, when they were driving down the -canyon road, "Miss Dearborn has a college friend living in Carmel and she -is very ill and has sent for her." - -After a time he spoke aloud his own thoughts. "Jeanette, that is what -your teacher called you. It reminds me of my sister's name somewhat." He -hesitated. He was on dangerous ground. He must be very careful of what he -said. The girl turned toward him glowingly. "How lucky you are, Harold, -to have a real sister. She must be a good pal for you. Is she to be at -home soon?" - -"Yes, tomorrow." The boy hesitated, then he said slowly, thinking ahead: -"Jenny, Mother and I feel that we haven't brought Gwyn up just right. We -have helped her to be proud and selfish. I'm going to ask you a favor. -Will you try to win her friendship and be patient and not hurt if she -seems to snub you just at first? Will you, Jenny?" The boy was very much -in earnest, and so the girl replied, "Why, Harold, I will try, if you -wish, but I know that your sister does not want my friendship, so why -should she be forced to have it?" - -"Because I wish it," was all the lad would reply. Jenny knew better than -the boy did how difficult it would be. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - THE HAUGHTY GWYNETTE - - -True to his promise, Harold took Charles to the "big house" just before -five, the hour of his mother's appointing. - -"You have a beautiful home," the visiting lad remarked as he was led -along box-edged paths and paused to gaze into the mirror-clear, -sun-sparkled water in the pond lily garden. Lotus flowers were lying on -the still blue surface, waxen lovely and sweetly fragrant. - -They went up the marble steps, crossed the portico and entered a long -wide hall which led directly to the front door through the windows of -which the late afternoon sun was streaming. - -"The library is my favorite room," Harold said. "I will leave you there -while I go up and see if mother is ready to meet my new friend." - -They were nearing a wide door where rich, crimson velvet portiers hung, -when Harold heard his name spoken back of him. Turning, he saw Miss Dane -beckoning to him. After speaking with her he said: "Charles, wait in the -library for me. I won't be gone long. Mother wishes to speak to me alone -for just a few moments." - -Charles stopped to look at a very beautiful painting before he stepped -between the velvet portiers. At once he saw that the room was occupied. -"Pardon me!" he exclaimed. A girl had risen and was staring at him with -amazement, but her momentary indignation was changed to interest when she -saw how good-looking and well-dressed he was. With a graciousness she -could always assume when she wished, Gwynette assured him: "Indeed you -are not intruding. I heard my brother tell you to wait here until he -came. Won't you be seated? I am Gwynette, Harold's sister. He may have -told you about me?" The lad was amazed. Even while he was assuring the -girl that he had indeed heard of her his thought was inquiring, "How -could Harold find it hard to care for such a graceful, beautiful sister, -even though she was adopted." - -Gwynette had resumed the seat she had occupied formerly, a deep softly -upholstered leather chair drawn close to the wide hearth on which a drift -log was burning with flames of many colors. - -"And I," the lad sat in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth to -which she motioned him, "since Harold is not here to introduce me, will -tell you who I am and how I happen to be here." Then he hesitated, gazing -inquiringly at the girl whose every pose was one of grace. "You probably -know my sister, Lenora Gale, since she was at the Granger Place Seminary -for a time." - -If there was a stiffening on the part of the girl, it was not -perceptible. If her thought was rather disdainfully "another farmer", she -did not lessen her apparent interest. Her reply, though not enthusiastic, -was in the affirmative, modified with, "I really cannot say that I knew -your sister well, however. She was not in my classes and our rooms were -far apart." - -Then, with just the right amount of seeming solicitude, "She is quite -well now, I hope. I understand that she went to stay at my mother's farm -with our overseer's family." - -Charles glanced up at her quickly. Gwyn could not long play a part -without revealing her true self. "Very wonderful people, the Warners," -was what the young man said. "It has been a privilege to meet them. -Lenora, I am glad to say, is daily becoming stronger and within a -fortnight we will be able to travel to our far-away home." - -He paused and the girl said, now with less interest, "A ranch, I -understand." - -"Yes, a ranch." Silence fell between them. Gwynette gazed into the fire, -torn between her scorn for her companion's station in life and her -admiration of his magnetic personality. Suddenly she smiled at him and -Charles felt that he had never seen any girl more beautiful. "Do you -know," she said with apparent naivete, "it is hard for me to believe that -you are a farmer; you impress me as being a gentleman to the manner -born." - -The lad, who was her senior by several years, smiled. "Miss Gwynette," he -retorted, "I am far more proud of being a rancher than I would be of -inheriting a title." - -Harold returned just then to say that his mother was ready to receive -their guest. The younger lad was amazed at the graciousness with which -his usually fretful sister assured Charles Gale that she was indeed glad -he was to be with them for dinner. - -When the two boys were quite out of hearing, Harold gave a low whistle. -Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he said softly: "Charles, you're a -miracle worker. I haven't seen such a radiant smile from Gwyn in more -days than I can remember." The other lad replied in a low voice, "I'm -glad you took me into your confidence. I may be able to help you solve -your problem." - -Harold asked with sincere eagerness, "You think that perhaps Gwyn can be -changed without taking the extreme measure of telling her that she is -Jenny Warner's own sister?" - -Charles nodded. "The ideal thing would be to so change Gwynette that she -would be glad to learn that she had a sister all her very own." Harold -shook his head. "Can't be done, old man, unless that sister proved to be -an heiress or an earl's daughter." The boy laughed at a sudden -recollection. "Poor Gwyn had a most unfortunate experience and sort of -made herself the laughing stock of her crowd over at the seminary," he -confided. "She heard that there was a girl in the school whose father was -a younger son of English nobility who might some day be Lady -Something-or-other. Gwyn decided that _that_ girl should be cultivated, -but, unfortunately, the young lady had requested that her identity be -kept a secret. No one but Miss Granger knew it. The principal had been -proud, evidently, of the fact that a member of a noble English family -attended her school, and had let that much be known." Charles smiled. "I -thought America was democratic and cared nothing for class," he said. - -They had stopped on the circling, softly-carpeted stairway while they -talked. Being far from the library, they had no fear of being overheard -by Gwyn. Harold replied: "Well, there are some of us who care nothing at -all for class, but every country has its snobs and Gwyn is one, -unfortunately." - -Charles appeared interested. "Did she manage to identify the girl who -might some day have a title?" - -Again Harold laughed. "Poor Gwyn, it really was very funny. She selected -a big, handsome blonde who ordered the maids about in an imperious manner -and, more than that, she gave a dance at The Palms, inviting her to be -the guest of honor. I brought down a bunch of cadets from the big town -and it happened one of them hailed from Chicago, and so did the handsome -blonde. He told us that she was a Swede and that her father had made a -fortune raising pigs!" - -Charles could not refrain from smiling. "That was hard on your sister, -wasn't it?" he said. - -The other lad nodded. "I wouldn't dare refer to it in Gwyn's hearing, but -come on! Mother will wonder where we are all this time." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones was as much pleased with Harold's new friend as -Gwynette had been, and, in the brief ten moments that the boys stayed -with the invalid, she became convinced that he was just the lad she would -like to have in the cliff cabin with her son. When the nurse appeared -with a warning nod at Harold, the boys at once arose, and the woman, -reclining among her pillows, smiled as she held out a frail hand. -"Charles Gale," she said kindly, "we are glad indeed to have you with us. -Remain as long as you can, and, when your sister is stronger, I would -like to have that dear little Warner girl bring her to call upon me." - -On the way down the wide circling flight of stairs Charles said softly, -"Your mother seems to like Jenny Warner." The other nodded. "Yes, she -does. She wonders if, had she chosen Jeanette, as she calls her, and the -Warners had taken Gwynette, the girls would have been different. Susan -Warner declares that if her Jenny had been brought up as a princess she -would still have been simple and loving, going about doing good as she -does now. She is the bright angel to a family of Italians living in -Sycamore Canyon." - -Soft chimes from the dining-room told them that the dinner hour had -arrived, and so Harold went to the library to escort his sister, Charles -following. Again the bright smile greeted them. Rising, the girl said, -"Brother, Ma Mere told me, when I arrived from the seminary this -afternoon, that I need not remain here this summer unless I so desire." - -To Charles she explained, "I did feel so neglected when Mother sent me to -this out-of-the-way country school. I wanted to be with her in France. -The resort where she was staying is simply charming, and one meets people -there from the very best English families. For some reason, however, I -had to be buried out here." Then, after an expressive shrug, she added -with renewed interest: "Ma Mere has heard of a select party sailing from -San Francisco next week, and if I wish, I may join it." - -While Gwyn had been talking, they had sauntered to the dining-room and -were seated in a group at one end of the long, highly-polished table. -Charles, listening attentively, now realized how truly selfish the girl -was. He was recalling another girl in a far-distant scene. When their -mother had been ill, Lenora could hardly be persuaded to leave her -bedside long enough to obtain the rest she needed, and that illness had -lasted many months. Indeed, it was not until after the mother had died -that the girl could be persuaded to think of herself, and then it was -found, as Charles and his father had feared, that she had used up far -more vitality than she could spare and she had not been strong since. He -tried not to feel critically toward the beautiful girl at his side. -Purposely he did not glance at Harold. That boy had flushed -uncomfortably, and, at, last, he spoke his thoughts, which he evidently -had tried to refrain from doing. "Gwyn, don't you suppose, if you stayed -at home, you might make our mother's long hours in bed pleasanter for -her?" - -The girl's tone was just tinged with irritation. "No, Harold, I do not. -Mother does not find my companionship restful and Miss Dane surely does -for her all that is humanly possible." Gwyn was distinctly uncomfortable. -She felt that the conversation was not putting her in an enviable light -and she had truly wished to impress Charles Gale, for the time being, at -least. She had no desire to have the admiration a lasting one, since he -was merely a rancher's son. - -Gwynette had one ambition and that was to make a most desirable marriage -soon after her eighteenth birthday, which was not many months away. She -was convinced that, after her debut into San Francisco's most select -"Younger Set", she would soon meet the man of her dreams. She never -doubted but that _he_ at once would love her and desire to make her his -wife. But just now it would be gratifying to her vanity to have so -handsome a young giant as Charles Gale admire her. Poor Gwyn at that -moment was far from having accomplished this. Charles _did_ admire -beauty, and thought how charming she would be, were she not so -superlatively selfish. - -Harold changed the subject. "Gwyn, we boys are going to the farm after -dinner. Will you go with us? Charles naturally wishes to spend the -evenings with his sister." - -Both boys waited, though not appearing to do so, for the girl's reply. -Her brother well knew that she would not want to go to the farm and -associate with her mother's servants, as she called Susan and Silas -Warner and their granddaughter, but, on the other hand, Harold could -easily see that his sister was much impressed with Charles Gale and might -wish to accompany them for the sake of his companionship if for no other -reason. - -Gwyn _did_ accept, after a moment's thought. She knew that, all alone in -the big house, she would be frightfully bored. And so, half an hour -later, the three started out across the gardens, under the pines and -along the cliff, where in the early twilight a full moon, rising from the -sea, was sending toward them a path of silver. Gwynette paused and looked -out across the water for a long silent moment. When she spoke, it was to -her brother. "Harold, I've never before been along this cliff. In fact," -this to Charles, "all of my life has been spent either in San Francisco -or abroad. This is the first year that Mother has seemed to want to come -to Santa Barbara. I always supposed it was because it reminded her of our -father, who died here so long ago." - -"Then you do not know the beautiful spots that are everywhere around your -own home," Charles said, and his voice was more kindly than it had been. -He was sorry for the girl who had been brought up among people who -thought that ascending the social ladder was the one thing to be desired. -He knew, for Harold had told him, how sincerely the mother regretted all -this, but now that the girl's character was formed, they feared that only -some extreme measure, such as revealing to her who she really was, could -change her. Charles, who was a deep student of human nature, felt that -the girl's sincere joy in the loveliness of the path of silver light on -the sea was a hopeful sign. Harold was thinking, "That is the first -resemblance to Jenny Warner that I have noticed. _She_ loves nature in -all its moods." At their first tap on the front door, it was flung open -and Jenny, in her yellow dress, greeted them joyfully, pausing, however, -and hesitating when she saw by whom the boys were accompanied. One -glimpse into the old-fashioned farm "parlor", with its haircloth-covered -furniture, its wax wreath under a glass, its tidies on the chairs, its -framed mottoes on the walls, beside chromo pictures of Susan and Si -Warner made when they were married, filled Gwynette with shuddering -dread. She couldn't, she wouldn't associate with these people as equals. -Had she not been an honored guest in the homes of millionaires in San -Francisco and abroad? But, distasteful as it all was to her, she found -herself advancing over the threshold when Charles stepped aside to permit -her to enter ahead of him. Jenny, remembering her promise to Harold, held -out her hand, rather diffidently, but Gwynette was apparently looking in -another direction, and so it was Harold who took it, and, although his -greeting was the customary one, his eyes expressed the gratitude that he -felt because Jenny had _tried_ to fulfill her promise to him. "Don't -bother about it any more," he said in a low voice aside, "it isn't worth -it." Of course the girl did not know just what he meant, but she resolved -not to be discouraged by one failure. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - GWYN'S AWAKENING - - -"Wall, wall," it was Silas Warner who entered the parlor five moments -later, rubbing his hands and smiling his widest, "this here looks like a -celebration or some sech. 'Tain't anybody's birthday, is it, Jenny-gal, -that yer givin' a party for?" - -"Oh, don't I wish it were, though," Harold exclaimed, "then Grandma Sue -would make one of her famous mountain chocolate cakes." He looked around -the group beseechingly. "Say, can't one of you raise a birthday within -the next fortnight. It will be worth the effort." - -Lenora flashed a smile across the room at her brother. "Charles can," she -announced. "He will be twenty-one on the twenty-fifth of June." - -"Great!" Then turning to the smiling old woman who sat near Jenny in the -most comfortable rocker the room afforded, "Grandma Sue, I implore that -your heart be touched! Will you make us a cake twenty-one layers high, -with chocolate in between an inch thick? I'll bring the candles and the -ice cream." - -Jenny, who for the first time was surrounded by young people, caught -Harold's holiday spirit and clapping her hands impulsively, she cried, -"Won't that be fun! Grandma Sue, you'll let us have a real party for -Charles' birthday, won't you?" - -Of course the old woman was only too happy to agree to their plans. While -she and Jenny were talking, Harold sat back and looked at the two girls, -the "unlike sisters" as he found himself calling them. Gwynette sat on -the edge of a slipper haircloth chair, the stiffest in the room. There -was an unmistakable sneer in the curve of her mouth, which was quite as -sensitive as Jenny's but lacking the sweet cheerful upturn at the -corners. Nor was Harold the only one who was thinking about this very -evident likeness, or unlikeness. - -Farmer Si, chewing a toothpick (of all plebeian things!), stood warming -his back at the nickel-plated parlor stove, hands back of him, teetering -now and then from heel to toe and ruminating. "Wall," was his -self-satisfied conclusion, "who wants her can have 'tother one. Ma and me -got the best of that little drawin' deal." - -"But that birthday is a whole week away," Harold was saying, "and here is -a perfectly good evening to spend. The question before the house is, how -shall we spend it?" - -"O, I know," Lenora leaned forward eagerly. "Let's make popcorn balls. -Brother and I used to call that the greatest kind of treat when we were -children." - -Gwynette's cold voice cut in with: "But _we_ are _not_ children." - -Harold leaped up exclaiming, "Maybe you are not, Gwyn, but the rest of us -are. Grandma Sue, may we borrow your kitchen if we leave it as spotless -as we find it?" - -Gwynette rose, saying coldly, "I am very tired. I think I will go home -now." Harold was filled with consternation. He, of course, would have to -accompany his sister, but, before he could speak, Charles was saying: "I -will walk over with you, Miss Gwynette, if you will permit me to do so. I -haven't had nearly my usual amount of outdoor exercise today, and I'd be -glad to do it." - -Gwynette flashed a grateful glance at him, and, wishing to appear well in -his eyes, she actually crossed the room and held out her hand to the old -woman, who, with the others, had risen. "Goodnight, Mrs. Warner," she -began, then surprised herself by ending with--"I hope you will invite me -to the birthday party." She bit her lip with vexation as soon as she was -outdoors. She had not meant to say it. Why had she? It was the same as -acknowledging that she considered herself an equal socially with the -Warners and the Gales, who also were farmers. She knew the answer, even -though she would not admit it. - -"What a warm, pleasant evening it is," Charles said when the door of the -farmhouse had closed behind them. "Would it bore you terribly, Miss -Gwynette, to go out on the point of rocks with me for a moment? I'd like -to see the surf closer in the moonlight." - -"Oh, I'd love to." Gwynette was honest, at least, when she made this -reply. She liked to be with this good-looking young giant who carried -himself as a Grecian god might have done. - -Taking her arm, the young man assisted the slender, graceful girl from -rock to rock until they had reached the highest point. There Charles -noted the canopied rock where Lenora and Jenny sat on the first day of -their visit to the point together. - -"Is it too cool, do you think, to sit here a moment?" Gwynette asked -somewhat shyly. For answer, the lad drew off his outer coat, folded it -and placed it on the stone. "Oh, I don't need it," he said, when she -protested. "This slipover sweater of mine is all that I usually wear, but -I put on the coat tonight in honor of the ladies." Then, folding his -arms, he stood silently near, watching the truly inspiring scene. One -great breaker after another rolled quietly in, lifting a foaming crest as -it neared the shore, glistening like fairy snow in the silver of the -moonlight. - -"The surf doesn't roar tonight, the way it does sometimes," the lad said, -dropping at last to the rock at the girl's side. "Watch now when the next -wave breaks, how all of the spray glistens." - -For a few moments neither spoke and, in Gwynette's starved soul something -stirred again, this time more distinctly. It was an intense love of -nature that she had inherited, with Jenny, from a wandering -poet-missionary father. She caught her breath when spray and mist dashed -almost up to them. "O, it is lovely, lovely!" she said, for once being -perfectly sincere and forgetting herself. "I never saw anything so -exquisite." - -Charles was more than pleased. Perhaps he was to find the soul of the -girl at his side. Harold did not believe that she had one. As he glanced -down at her now and then her real joy in the beauty of the scene before -them, he concluded that she was fully as beautiful as her sister. - -"I wonder where the silver path leads," she said whimsically. - -"I wish I had a sailboat here," the lad exclaimed, "and if you would be -my passenger, we'd sail over that silver stream and find where it leads." - -The girl looked up at him. Her new emotion had changed the expression of -her face. It was no longer cynical and cold. "Our father had a sailboat, -but for years it has been hanging to the rafters of the boathouse. -Perhaps Harold would like to take it down, now that he is to be here all -summer." - -"Good. I'll ask him!" the lad was enthusiastic. "I suppose you wonder how -I, a farmer from the inland, learned to sail. It was the year before -mother died that we all went to Lake Tahoe, hoping that the change of air -would benefit her. A splendid sailboat was one of the accessories of the -cabin we rented, and how I reveled in it. I do hope Harold will loan me -his boat. It seems calm enough beyond the surf. In fact I saw several -boats today evidently racing around a buoy over toward the town." - -"Yes, there is a yacht club at Santa Barbara and they have a wonderful -harbor. Harold has been invited to join the club. I would like to attend -one of their dances." - -The girl hesitated to ask her companion if he could dance. Probably not, -having been brought up on an isolated ranch. To her relief the question -was answered without having been asked. - -"I believe I like skating better than dancing, but, when the music -pleases me and my partner, I do enjoy dancing." Gwyn found that she must -reconstruct her preconvinced ideas about Dakota farmers. Then, after -silently watching the waves for a thoughtful moment, he turned toward her -as he smilingly said: "Miss Gwynette, do you suppose that you and I could -go to the next Yacht Club dance?" - -"Oh, yes, of course." The girl's eyes were glowing. Now indeed the -resemblance to Jenny was marked. "We have the entree everywhere." - -As they walked side by side toward the big house. Gwyn was conscious of -being happier than she had ever been in all her seventeen years. Then she -realized, with a pang of regret, that in two weeks this companion who -seemed to understand her better than did anyone else, would be gone. - -At the foot of the steps she turned and held out her hand. "Goodnight, -Mr. Gale," she said simply. "Thank you for escorting me home." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - CONFLICTING EMOTIONS - - -Harold was more than glad to grant his sister's request that the -sailboat, which for years had been suspended in the boathouse, should be -lowered and launched. Naturally, after having dried for so long leaks -appeared as soon as it was afloat in the quiet cove sheltered by the -little peninsula, Rocky Point. Again it was drawn up and a merry morning -the two boys spent with the help of an old man about the place who at one -time had sailed the seas. The cracks were caulked and again the pretty -craft floated, seeming to dance for joy, over the smoothly rolling waves, -when it was tied to the buoy a short distance from shore. The rowboat had -been used by the gardener for fishing excursions, and so that was in -readiness. The boys had been glad to find that, though the sails were -somewhat yellowed, they had been so carefully rolled away and covered -that no repairs were necessary. - -"We'd better make a trial trip in the craft before we take the ladies," -Charles suggested when, dressed in their overalls, they paused on their -way to the farm the next morning to look out at the boat. - -It was that very day that Mrs. Poindexter-Jones again decided that she -would like to be taken to the pond-lily garden and have Jenny Warner read -to her. When, leaning on Miss Dane's arm, she arrived in the charming -shrub-sheltered nook, she saw Gwynette lying in a hammock which was -stretched between two sycamore trees near. The girl at once arose and -went forward to greet her mother with an expression of real solicitude -which the woman had never before seen in her daughter's face. She even -glanced again to be sure that she had not been mistaken. Brightly the -girl said, "Good morning, Ma Mere. I'm glad you are able to be out this -lovely day. I was just coming to your room to ask if you'd like me to -read aloud to you. I found such a good story in the library, a new one." - -The pleased woman glanced at the book the girl held. It was the one in -which Jenny Warner had read a few chapters. - -There was a glad light in the eyes of the girl's foster-mother. - -Gwyn saw it, and for the first time in her life her conscience stirred, -rebuking her for having never before thought of doing anything to add to -her mother's pleasure. - -What the older woman said was: "I shall be more than glad to have my -daughter read to me. I was just about to send for Jenny Warner. Before -you came home she started to read that very book to me, but we were only -at the beginning." Gwynette flushed. "Oh, if you would rather have--" she -began. But her mother, hearing the hurt tone and wishing to follow up any -advantage the moment might be offering, hurriedly said: "Indeed I would -far rather have you read to me than anyone else, dear Gwynette. I had not -asked you because I did not know that you would care to." There was an -almost pathetic note in the voice which again carried a rebuke to the -heart of the girl. - -Miss Dane left them, after having arranged her patient in the comfortable -reclining chair. - -Gwynette, having read by herself to the chapter where Jenny had stopped, -began to read aloud and the woman, leaning back luxuriously at ease, -listened with a growing tenderness in her eyes. How beautiful Gwynette -was, and surely there was a changed expression which had come within the -last few days. _What_ could have caused it? Why did she seem more content -to remain in the country? The girl had not again mentioned the party for -European travel which she had seemed so eager to join when her mother had -proposed it. Half an hour later she suggested that they stop reading and -visit. - -"Dear," she said, and Gwynette actually thrilled at the new tenderness in -her mother's voice, "it isn't going to bore you as much as you thought to -remain here with us?" - -The girl rose and sat on a stool near the reclining chair. "Ma Mere," she -said, and there were actually tears in her eyes, "I have been very -unhappy, miserably dissatisfied, and I sometimes think that what I am -yearning for is love. I have had adulation," she spoke somewhat bitterly. -"I have demanded a sort of homage from the girls in my set wherever I -was. I think often they grudgingly gave it. I've had lots of time to -think about all these things during the last two weeks when Beulah and -Patricia, who had been my best friends in San Francisco, were busy with -final tests. I knew, when I faced the thing squarely, out there in the -summer-house where I spent so many hours alone. I knew that neither of -those girls really cared for me--I mean with their hearts--the way they -did for each other, and it made me feel lonely--left out. I don't know as -I had ever felt that way before, and then, when I came over here, that -first day after you came home, you talked about Harold with such loving -tenderness, and again I felt so neglected." She looked up, for the woman -had been about to speak. "Let me finish, Ma Mere, please, for I may never -again feel that I _want_ to tell what I think. I have been locked up so -long. I've been too proud to tell anyone that I _knew_ Harold did not -really care for me, that every little thing he did for me was because he -considered it a duty." - -His mother knew this to be true, for her son had made the same confidence -the day he had arrived from school. Her only comment was to lay her hand -lovingly on the brown head. A caress had not occurred between these two, -not since Gwynette had been a little girl. - -There were unshed tears in the woman's eyes. How blind she had been. -After all, Gwynette was not entirely to blame. Well the foster-mother -knew that she had encouraged the high-spirited girl to be proud and -haughty. For many years Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had considered social -standing of more importance than all else, but, during the long months -that she had been ill, an idle watcher of the throngs who visited the -famous health resort in France, something of the foolishness of it all -had come to her and she had readjusted her sense of real values, scarcely -knowing when it had happened. She had much to regret, much to try to -undo. - -"Dear girl," she said, and there was in her voice a waver as though it -were hard for her to speak, and yet she was determined to do so, "I fear -I have done you a great wrong. I have taught you to be proud, to scorn -worthiness in your fellow-men, or, if not exactly that, to place class -distinction above it. Now I know that character is the true test of what -a man is, not how much money he has or what his place in society. Of -course, it is but right that we should choose our friends from among -those people who interest us, but not from among those who can benefit us -in a worldly way. Gwynette, daughter, is it too late for me to undo the -wrong that I have done in giving you these false standards and ideals?" - -Now there were indeed tears quivering on the lashes of the older woman. -The girl was touched, as she never before had been. "Oh, Mother!" It was -really a yearning cry. "Then you _do_ love me. You do care?" - -Miss Dane appeared at the moment and the older woman merely smiled at the -girl, but with such an expression of infinite tenderness that, when the -invalid had been led away, there was a most unusual warmth in Gwynette's -heart. She rose and walked down to the cliff. She wanted, oh, her mother -could not know how very much she wanted to free herself from the old -standards, because she admired, more than she had ever before admired -anyone, the son of a mere rancher. She stood gazing at the boat and -thinking so intently of these things that she did not hear footsteps -near, but how her heart rejoiced when she heard a voice asking, "Will you -go to the Yacht Club dance with me this evening, Miss Gwynette? Harold -has procured the necessary tickets." - -Would she go? Gwynette turned such a glowingly radiant face toward the -questioner that he marveled at her beauty. How could he know that it was -the magic of his friendship which had wrought this almost unbelievable -transformation. - -"Oh, how splendid! The Yacht Club is a beautiful place and the music they -have is simply divine." Then she hesitated and looked doubtful, "but I -haven't a new party gown and I wore my old one there last month." - -How trivial and unimportant the young man's hearty laugh made her remark -seem, and what he said might have been called brutally frank: "You don't -suppose that anyone will recall what Miss Gwynette Poindexter-Jones wore -on that particular occasion?" - -The girl flushed, although she knew the rebuke contained in the remark -had not been intentionally unkind. Yet she could not resist saying, with -a touch of her old hauteur, "You mean that no one will remember me." Then -the native common sense which had seldom been given an opportunity to -express itself came to save her from petty displeasure. "You are right, -Sir Charles," she said lightly, "of course no one there tonight will -recall the gown I wore; in fact they won't remember _me_ at all." - -The lad had glanced quickly at the girl when she had called him "Sir -Charles," but, noting that it had been but a teasing preface to her -remark, he stood by her side for a silent moment gazing out at the boat. - -"Harold and I are going for a sail this afternoon," he said, "if the -craft doesn't leak. We want to try it out before we take the young ladies -for a sail. My sister Lenora used to love to be my passenger when we were -up at Lake Tahoe." - -Gwyn did not know why she asked, just a bit coyly, "Was your sister your -_only_ passenger?" - -The reply was frankly given: "No indeed! There were several young ladies -at a nearby inn who accompanied us at different times." - -Harold came up just then and said: "Well, Gwyn, are you going to watch -the famous sailors perform this afternoon? Jenny and Lenora have promised -to be out on Rocky Point to encourage us with their presence, so to -speak." Charles looked keenly at the girl as he said: "I would be pleased -if you would join them, Miss Gwyn. I would like you to know my sister -better. You will love her when you do." - -They had turned and were walking toward the house. Gwynette did not in -the least want to go. After hesitating, she replied: "I planned looking -over my gown. It may need some alterations." - -Even as she spoke, she knew that her words did not ring true. She sensed, -more than saw, that Charles was disappointed in her. He began at once to -talk about sailing to Harold, and, for the rest of the walk she might -have been quite alone. Her brother realized that Gwyn had not been -courteous. She should, at least, have replied that she was _sure_ she -would like the sister of Charles. He, Harold, had said nothing of Jenny. -He was not going to have his friend again humiliated by Gwyn's haughty -disdain. He was almost glad that she had invented an excuse for remaining -away. - -Gwyn lunched alone in the big formal dining-room. The boys had departed -for their cabin, where Sing Long had prepared their midday meal as usual. -The girl had hoped they would invite her to accompany them, but they had -not done so. - -After lunch she went to her room and took out the gown. She well knew -that it was in perfect repair, for had she not worn it to the party she -had given at The Palms in honor of the girl she had _supposed_ was -related to nobility? How foolish she had been! She did not much blame -Patricia and Beulah for laughing at her. In all probability there had -been no such girl in the seminary, and if there had been, what possible -difference could it make to her? Then she recalled what her mother had -said: "It is _character_ that counts, not class distinction." Gwyn was -decidedly unhappy. She laid the filmy, truly exquisite gown on her bed -and stood gazing out of her window. She saw the sailboat gliding past. -She decided that at least she would go out on the cliff. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - THREE GIRLS - - -Gwynette, dressed in a corn-yellow linen with tailored lines and wearing -a very becoming sport hat of the same material and color, trimmed with -old blue and orange, sauntered out to the cliff. She had intended to -remain there on a rustic bench to watch the boys sail to and fro, hoping, -though scarcely believing, that they would eventually land at the small -pier at their boathouse. Another thought prompted: "They are far more apt -to land nearer the Point of Rocks. Charles will want to be with his -sister, and Harold cares much more for that--that----" She hesitated, for -even in her thought she did not like to connect her brother's name with -the granddaughter of her mother's servants. - -Rising, and without definite decision to do so, she sauntered along the -cliff in the direction of the rocky point. She saw the two girls seated -on the highest rock, and just at that moment they were waving seaward, -and so Gwyn decided that the sailboat must be nearing the shore. A -low-growing old pine hid the water from her view. When she had passed it, -she glanced quickly out at the gleaming, dancing waves, and there, -turning for a tack, was the boat she sought. Charles, at the rudder, saw -her at once and waved his hat. She flushed. He would know that she was -going over to the point to be with the other girls. Half angry with -herself, when she realized that she was doing it merely to please him, -and not in the least because it was her own desire, she actually paused, -determining to turn back, but before she had done so, Jenny, having -glanced around, saw her, and so it was too late to retreat even if she -had really wished to do so. Remembering her promise to Harold, Jenny -called in her most friendly manner, "Oh, Miss Poindexter-Jones, won't you -come over on the Reviewing Rocks, as Harold calls them? We have a -wonderful view of the boat from here." - -Gwynette went, and if her smile was faint, it was at least a smile, and -Jenny felt encouraged. She gave up her own position. "Do sit here," she -said, "this seat is really as comfortable as a rock can be. I would offer -to go to the house for a cushion, but Lenora has the only two that we own -and she needs them both." - -"Indeed, I do not." The seated girl protested, and she was about to draw -out the one against which she was leaning, but Gwyn had the good grace to -at once declare that her gown washed nicely and she did not in the least -mind sitting on the rocks. Then they turned to watch the antics of the -sailboat. - -"Charles is in his element now." It was evident from her tone that Lenora -was very proud of her brother. "When we were at Tahoe the daughters of -the wealthy cottagers and guests at Tahoe Inn were always eager to have -him accompany them, not only sailing but everywhere." With a little laugh -she concluded, "As you may guess, I have a very popular brother." Then, -more seriously, as she recalled why they had been at the lake, far-famed -for its beauty: "But Charles refused nearly all invitations that he might -remain with our dear mother, who was frail. In fact, the only ones he -accepted were those that Mother and I insisted that he should not refuse. -But, oftenest of all, Charles would take me with him for a sunrise sail -before Mother would need us, and I shall never, never forget the beauty -of the awakening day on that mountain-circled lake." All this was told to -Jenny, who had seated herself on another rock a little apart from the -others. - -Gwyn found herself thinking it strange that ranchers from Dakota should -have the entree to Tahoe Inn, which she knew to be exclusive. Then she -had to confess that she, herself, had always associated with only the -first families, and yet she now was seated on the rocks with two girls -far beneath her socially. She flushed as she had to acknowledge that she -was there just to please Charles Gale. He probably had attracted the -girls who had been at Tahoe Inn as he did her. Her lips, though she did -not know it, were taking on the customary scornful lines, when Jenny -stood up. - -"They're coming in close this time. Harold wants to tell us something. -Everyone listen hard." - -The lad, making a trumpet of his hands, was shouting: "We'll land next -tack. Have some lemonade for us, will you?" - -The standing girl nodded her head: then, holding out a hand to Lenora, -said: "That command shall be obeyed." - -More formally, though in a tone of friendliness, Jenny turned to the -other girl: "You will go with us, will you not, Miss Poindexter-Jones? -I'll gather some fresh lemons and----" her face brightened as she added: -"Let's set the rustic table out under the trees near the hammock, and -serve some of those little cakes Grandma made this morning, and we might -even have strawberries. I gathered many more than we'll need for the -shortcake for dinner." - -"Oh! That will be jolly fun!" Jenny's enthusiasm was contagious as far as -Lenora was concerned, and so all three girls walked toward the house, two -of them eagerly, but one reluctantly. Why didn't she have the courage to -say that she must go to her own home? What excuse could she give that -would be the truth, for, strangely enough, Gwynette scorned falsehood. -She had been angry with herself ever since she had made the excuse of the -dress, knowing that it had not been true. Though they did not know it, -that high sense of honesty these two girls had inherited from their -missionary father. - -While she was struggling with her desire to be one of the party when -Charles should have landed, and her disinclination at being with girls -far beneath her socially, Jenny, who was a little in the lead, turned and -smilingly addressed her: - -"Miss Poindexter-Jones, what would you prefer doing--hulling -strawberries, making the lemonade or setting the table under the trees?" - -Lenora, who was bringing up the rear of the little procession, smiled to -herself. Jenny surely was daring, for, as they both well knew, Gwynette -would not _prefer_ to do anything at all. Surely she would now find some -excuse for hasty retreat. She might go home and read to her mother if she -had awakened. This Gwyn decided to tell them, but when she did hear her -own voice it was saying: "If I may choose, I prefer to set the table." - -"Good!" Jenny turned to Lenora: "Dearie, shall you mind staining your -fingers rosy red?" - -"Strawberry red, you mean, don't you?" Lenora dropped down on the top -step of the front porch, adding with an upward smile: "Sister Jenny, -bring the fruit and I will hull with pleasure." - -"All right-o." Then to the other girl, who stood stiffly erect, Jenny -said very sweetly: "If you will come with me, I'll show you where -Grandmother Sue keeps her best china. I know that she will let us use it -for this gala occasion." Then pointing: "See over there, by the hammock, -is the little rustic table. There are five of us. I'll bring out five -chairs." - -"Don't!" Lenora put in. "I'd far rather luxuriate in the hammock. Anyway, -four chairs even up the table better." - -Gwyn removed her hat, and followed Jenny toward the kitchen, where in an -old-fashioned china closet there were some very pretty dishes. The ware -was thin and the fern pattern was attractive, and suitable for an -out-of-door tea party. - -For the next fifteen minutes these three girls were busy, and to -Gwynette's surprise she was actually enjoying her share of the -preparations. After setting the table with a lunch cloth and the pretty -dishes, she gathered a cluster of pink wild roses for the center. - -"I love those single roses!" Jenny exclaimed when she brought out a large -glass pitcher of lemonade on which were floating strips of peel. "They -are so simple and--well--just what they really are, not pretending -anything." - -Lenora appeared with a glass dish heaped with luscious strawberries. -Their hostess was surely in an appreciative mood. "O-o-h! Don't they look -simply luscious under all that powdered sugar? Those sailors don't know -the treat that's in store for them." - -"And for us!" It was Gwyn's first impulsive remark. "I didn't know that I -was hungry, but I feel now as though I were famished." - -"So are we!" A hearty voice behind caused them all to turn, and there -were the two boys who had stolen up quietly on purpose to surprise the -girls. "We landed at the cabin, so we are all washed up and ready for the -'eats'." - -And it truly was a feast of merriment. Gwyn was surprised to find herself -laughing with the others. - -Lenora, half reclining in the hammock, was more an observer than a -partaker of the active merriment. From her position she could see the -profiles of the two girls at the table. They were both dressed in yellow, -for Jenny had on her favorite muslin. The shade was somewhat different -from Gwyn's corn-colored linen, but the effect was startlingly similar. -They had both removed their hats and their hair was exactly the same soft -waving light brown, with gold glints in it. Indeed, it might have been -hair on one head. Charles and Harold, of course, had also noted this at -an earlier period, but it was Lenora's first opportunity to study the two -girls. What _could_ it mean? _It_ was too decided a likeness to be merely -a coincident. She determined to ask Charles. - -That lad was devoting his time and thought to drawing Gwyn out of the -formal stiffness which had been evident when the little party started. -This he did, for Gwyn had had years of practice at clever repartee, and -so also had Charles, for, as she knew, he had associated with the -daughters of cultured families and also, of course, with the sons. - -Jenny and Harold, seated opposite each other, now and then exchanged -glances that ranged from amusement to gratification. They were both -decidedly pleased that the difficult guest was being entertained. - -When at last the strawberries, cakes and lemonade had disappeared, Harold -sprang up, announcing that, since the young ladies had prepared the -party, the young gentlemen would do the doing that was to follow. Charles -instantly began to pile dishes high, saying in a gay tone, directly to -Gwyn, "I suppose you hadn't heard that I am 'hasher' now and then at our -frat 'feeds'." - -The girl shuddered. "No, I had not." Her reply was so cold and her manner -again so formal that Lenora put in rebukingly: "Charles, why do you say -that? Of course I think it is splendid of boys who have to work their way -through college to do anything at all that they can, but father insisted -that you pay your way, that you might have your entire time for -studying." - -"I know, Sis, dear, but it's the truth, nevertheless, that we all take -turns helping out when there is need of it, and so I have learned the -knack and I'm glad to have it. One can't learn too many things in this -old world of ours." - -Gwyn rose, saying not without a hint of her old disdainful hauteur, "I am -going now. Mother may be awake and wishing me to read to her." - -"That's right, she may," Harold put in. "Otherwise I would remind you -that it is not mannerly to eat and run." - -His sister flushed, and Charles, suspecting that an angry reply was on -the tip of her tongue, hurried to suggest: "Miss Gwyn, if you will wait -until I have finished helping clear up, I'll sail you home, with Harold's -permission. We left the boat at the cabin dock." - -"Suppose you go at once," the other lad remarked, "I'd a whole lot rather -have Jenny wipe the dishes while I wash them." - -"Good! Then I can take a nap in this comfy hammock," Lenora put in. "This -is the most dissipating I've done since I was first taken ill." - -Charles was at once solicitous and Jenny half rebukeful. "Oh, Lenora. I -do hope you aren't overtired," they both said in different ways. - -Lenora curled down among the pillows that she always had with her. -"Indeed not! I'll be well enough to travel home one week from today," she -assured her brother. "Now do go, everybody, and let me sleep." And so, -after bidding good-bye to Jenny and Lenora in a far more friendly manner -than her wont, Gwyn, her heart again singing a joyous song she could not -understand, walked along the cliff trail, a young giant at her side. -"He's only the son of a Dakota rancher," a thought tried to whisper to -Gwyn. "What care I?" was her retort as she flashed a smile of good -comradeship up at the young man, who, she found, was watching her with -unmistakable admiration in his eyes. - -"It's good to be alive this beautiful day, isn't it?" was all that he -said. - -When Charles returned to the farm, he found Lenora still in the hammock -awakening from a most refreshing nap. She held out a hand and took it -lovingly as he sat on one of the chairs that had been about the rustic -table. Lenora spoke in a low voice. "Jenny isn't near, is she, brother?" -she inquired. - -"Nowhere in sight Why? Shall I call her?" - -The girl shook her head. "I wanted to ask you a question and I didn't -wish her to hear." Charles was puzzled; then troubled to know how to -answer when he heard Lenora's question: "Have you noticed the close -resemblance between Jenny and Harold's sister? They might almost be twins -if Gwynette were not two years the older. I think it is simply amazing. -Their profiles are startlingly similar." - -"Yes, I think I noticed the resemblance at once." Charles was glad to be -able to add, "Here comes Harold!" Excusing himself, he ran lightly across -the grass to meet his friend. In a low voice he explained that his sister -had discovered the resemblance and was amazed at it. His listener said: -"Suppose we let her into the secret. Perhaps she can help us to induce -Gwyn and Jenny at least to like each other." Harold was sure that his -mother would not mind, as she had said she would trust everything to his -judgment. "I will carry the chairs in. That will leave you alone to -explain as you think best," he concluded after a merry greeting to the -girl in the hammock. Harold took three of the chairs and went back to the -kitchen. Charles sat again in the fourth chair and took his sister's -hand. "Dear girl," he said, "I have received permission from Harold to -share with you a secret which is of a very serious nature." Lenora -glanced up puzzled and interested. - -Then, very simply, Charles told the whole story. The girl's first comment -was, "Poor Gwyn! She has had a most unfortunate bringing up, and, if she -were now to learn the truth, it would crush her. She might run away and -do something desperate." - -"That is just what Harold fears, and so he has asked his mother to permit -him to have two weeks to think over what would be best to do. He feels -encouraged for Gwynette has twice been over here quite of her own free -will." - -But Lenora shook her head. "There is nothing really encouraging about -that, for she did not come to be with Jenny. She came because she likes -you." - -Charles smiled and surprised Lenora by replying, "And I like Gwynette. -She's nicer, really, than she knows." Again there was an interruption. -This time both Jenny and Harold appeared. "It's time to milk the cow," -the younger lad announced with the broadest smile. "Charles, it's your -turn tonight." - -"You are both too late," Jenny told them, "for Grandpa Si took the pail -out of the milkroom ten minutes ago and by this time it is brimming, I am -sure." - -Charles rose. "Well, I'm rather glad, as I wish to take a swim before -arraying myself for the ball." Noting his sister's questioning -expression, he informed her that Gwynette and he were going to a dance at -the Yacht Club House that night. "Why don't you go with them, Harold?" It -was Jenny inquiring. "I have often heard you say that you like to dance." - -"So I do. If you and Lenora will accompany me, I'll go only too gladly." - -Lenora shook her head. "I'll be asleep before it would be time to start," -she said. "Why don't you go with him, Jenny?" - -That pretty maid's laughter was amused and merry. "Would I wear my yellow -muslin or my white with the pink sprig? Lenora Gale, you know that I -haven't a party dress, nor do I know how to dance." - -Harold put in: "We'll not go tonight, but if Grandma Sue has no religious -scruples, I'll come over after dinner and give you a first lesson in -modern dancing." Then the two boys went cabin-ward for their afternoon -swim. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - GWYNETTE'S CHOICE - - -Jenny Warner could not guess why there were so many mysterious smiles and -head noddings that night at supper and the next morning at breakfast. - -"I just know that you're all up to mischief," she accused as they were -leaving the table. - -"Guess what we four are going to do this morning," Lenora beamed at her -friend. - -"Well, I know Granddad is going into town." - -"And Grandma Sue, you, and I are going with him," Lenora laughingly told -Jenny. - -Jenny caught the glance that passed between Grandma Sue and Lenora and -knew they had a secret. - -When an hour later Grandpa Warner stopped Dobbin in front of the most -fashionable store in Santa Barbara, Jenny was more puzzled than ever. - -"Come on, sister mine." Lenora took Jenny's hand and the two girls and -Grandma Sue entered the store. - -It was all very mysterious and exciting to Jenny. She looked at Grandma -Sue who gazed about at the rainbow-hued silks piled high on the counters, -at the display of exquisite laces, and at the dainty silk lingerie, as -though she were visiting a museum. "There's a power o' pretty things in -this here shop," she confided to her companions. - -Lenora, having spoken to a uniformed attendant, led them at once to an -elevator and they were silently and swiftly lifted to an upper floor. - -There Jenny saw a handsomely furnished room with glass cases around the -walls, and in them hung dresses of every color and kind. She decided that -Lenora needed something new to wear on her long journey, which was only -five days away, and so she sat with Susan Warner on a velvet upholstered -sofa while the other girl spoke quietly with a trim-looking clerk who was -dressed in black with white lace collar and cuffs. - -"Yes, indeed. We have the very latest things in party gowns." Jenny could -not help overhearing this remark. The clerk continued: "If you will come -this way, I will show them to you." Susan Warner was on her feet as soon -as Lenora beckoned. Jenny was more mystified than ever. Lenora did not -need a party gown, of that she was sure, for were there not two as pretty -as any girl could wish to possess hanging in her closet at the farm? - -The saleswoman led them to a small room furnished in old gold and blue. -The walls were paneled with gilt-framed mirrors, and here the attendant -left them. Susan Warner sat down smiling as she noted Jenny's perplexity. -That little maid could keep quiet no longer. "_Who_ is going to buy a -party gown," she inquired. "Lenora doesn't need another, and Grandma Sue, -I'm sure it can't be _you_." - -"It's for you, Miss Jeanette Warner," Lenora whispered. "Sssh! Don't act -surprised, for if you do, what will the saleswoman think? Now, what color -would you prefer, blue or yellow are both becoming to you." - -Jenny turned toward the older woman. "Grandma Sue," she began, when the -clerk reappeared with an armful of exquisite gowns of every hue. So there -was nothing for Jenny to do but try on one and then another. How lovely, -how wonderfully lovely they were, but with a blue silk, the color of -forget-me-nots, she had fallen in love at once. It was trimmed with -shirred blue lovers' knots, looping it in here and there, and with -clusters of tiny pink silk roses. "We'll take that," Grandma Sue -announced, not once having asked the price. Jenny gasped. The -saleswoman's well-trained features did not register the astonishment she -felt. Susan Warner did not give the impression of wealth or fashion, but -one never could tell. The truth was that Lenora had told the clerk not to -mention the price, fearing that Jenny would refuse the party dress, which -was to be a gift to her from the two Gales. When they emerged from the -shop, the lovely gown carefully folded in a long box, Jenny was again -surprised to find Harold and Charles standing by the curb visiting with -her grandfather. - -"Wall, wall, Jenny-gal, did they get you fixed up with fancy riggin's?" - -Grandpa Si beamed at the darling of his heart. - -The girl looked as though she were walking in a dream. It all seemed very -unreal to her. "Oh, it is the loveliest dress!" she exclaimed, "but -wherever am I to wear it? I _never_ went to a party, so why do I need a -party gown?" - -"You shall see what you shall see," was Harold's mysterious reply. Then -he added briskly, "Now since we happened to meet you, will you not honor -us with your company for lunch?" - -"Yes, indeed we will." Lenora, twinkling-eyed, was evidently carrying out -a prearranged conversation. "Just lead the way." - -An attractive caf being near, the party, led thither by Harold, was soon -seated at a table in a curtained booth. - -Silas Warner beamed across at his good wife. "Sort o' hifalutin doin's -we're up to, hey, Ma?" - -Susan Warner's cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. "It sure is a -treat to me to know what's on the inside of these places. Will yo' hear -that now? There's a fiddle startin' up somewhars." - -The "fiddle" was not alone, for an orchestra played during their entire -stay. The boys were told to order the lunch, and they seemed to get a -good deal of enjoyment out of doing it. They selected delicacies with -long French names, but Grandpa Si, who by that time had removed his hat, -since the boys had done so, ate everything that was brought to him with a -relish, smacking his lips appreciatively and asking, "Wall, Ma, do yo' -reckon _you_ could make one o' them concoctions if the waiter'd tell you -what the mixin's was?" - -"Silas Warner, don't yo' go to askin' him," Susan warned. "He'll think -we're greener than we be, even though that's green enough, goodness -knows, when it comes to puttin' on sech styles." - -The old man leaned over and patted his wife's hand, which was still -partly covered with the black lace mit. "Ma, don' yo' go to frettin' -about me. I ain't goin' to ask nothin' an', as fer the vittles, thar's -none as can cook more to _my_ likin' than yerself, even though thar be -less trimmin's." - -It was while they were eating their ice cream and cake that Harold -suggested that they go to the theatre. It was quite evident that the old -people were delighted and so were the girls. "It's a splendid play," -Charles put in. "I do wish your sister had come with us." Harold had -purposely neglected to tell his friend of the conversation he had had -that morning with Gwynette. - -As they were leaving the caf, Charles asked, "Should you mind, Hal, if I -borrow your little gray car and go back after Gwynette? I'm sure she -would enjoy the play." - -"Go by all means." Harold drew his friend aside, although not seeming to -do so, as he added, "I'll get a box for the Warners and Lenora. You would -better get seats somewhere else for you and Gwyn." - -"Why?" Charles questioned. "There is usually room for eight at least in a -box. Are they smaller here?" - -"No-o, but----" - -"Hmm! I understand. Well, just leave that to me. So long!" - -Meanwhile Gwyn had been feeling decidedly neglected. She had read to her -mother in the garden as had become their morning custom but the older -woman noted that the girl was listless and disinterested. "Ma Mere," Gwyn -had said, dropping the book to her lap, and showing by her remark that -she had not been thinking of the story. "If it isn't too late I believe I -will go on that tour you were telling me about. I am desperately unhappy. -Something is all wrong with me." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones sighed. "I am sorry, Gwyn. It is too late dear, but -perhaps I will hear of another. I will make inquiries if you wish." Then -Miss Dane had come to take the invalid indoors, and Gwyn spent a lonely -hour lunching by herself in the great formal dining-room. - -It was in the library that Charles found her. She had been trying to -read, but oh, how eagerly she glanced up when she heard his step. The lad -bounded in, both hands held out. There was an expression in his fine eyes -that rejoiced the girl's heart. - -"Oh, I've been so dismally lonely," Gwyn said, and there were tears of -self-pity on her long curling lashes. - -"Poor girl I know what it is to be lonely." Then, with one of his most -winsome smiles, Charles added, "That's why I have come back for you, -Gwyn." It was the first time he had called her that. "The others were -going to the theatre. Harold's to get a box. I couldn't enjoy the play -without you there--that is, not if you would like to go." - -Gwyn was torn between a desire to be with Charles Gale and a dread of -being seen in a box with these impossible Warners. "Oh, Charles!" They -were calling each other by their first names without realizing it. "I -want to go with _you_! I am always _proud_ of you anywhere, but--" she -hesitated and looked up at him almost pleadingly, "you won't like me when -I tell you that I would be _ashamed_ to be seen in a box--with my -mother's servants." - -Charles released her hands and walked to a window, where he stood -silently looking out. "Gwyn," he said, turning toward her, "I didn't -think I would ever meet a girl for whom I would care--_really care_, but -I know now that I have met one, but, since she scorns farmers, I shall -have to cease caring, for I by _choice_ am, and shall remain, a farmer, -or a rancher, as we are called in the Northwest." - -Gwyn's heart beat rapidly. Was this handsome young man, who stood so -proudly erect, telling her that he loved her? And in that moment she knew -that she cared for him. She felt scornful of herself, for, had she not -often boasted that the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco's younger -set would be the one of _her choice_, nor, had she any doubt but that -_she_ would also be his, and here she was silently acknowledging that she -loved a mere rancher. However, it might be with her but a passing fancy. -He would be gone in another week; then she would visit the city and meet -men of her _own_ class and forget. Yes, that is what she really _wanted_ -to do, _forget_ this unsuitable attraction. - -Charles broke in upon her meditations with, "Well, Gwyn, time is passing. -Do you care to go to the matinee with me and occupy a box with the -Warners, my sister and Harold?" - -The proud girl felt that he was making this a test of whether or not she -could care for him as a rancher. "No," she heard her voice saying coldly. -"I would rather be lonely than be seen in a box with those back-woodsy -Warners." - -"Very well, I must return at once or I will be late." Charles started for -the door. Gwyn sensed, and truly, that her "no" meant a refusal of more -than an afternoon at the matinee. - -"Good-bye!" he turned in the portier-hung doorway to say. He saw that she -had dropped to the sofa and, hiding her face in a cushion, was sobbing as -though her heart would break. One stride took him back to her. "Gwyn! -Dear, dear girl!" He sat beside her and took both of her hands, but she -continued to look away from him. "Why won't you try to overcome these -petty false standards? I _want_ to ask you to be my wife, but I can't, -when you think a rancher so far beneath you." - -For answer, she lifted a glowing face. "_I want_ to be a rancher's wife. -Charles, please let me." - -The curtain had gone down on the first act when Gwynette and Charles -appeared in the box. They were welcomed with smiles and nods and a few -whispered words. Harold, from time to time, glanced back at his sister. -She was positively radiant. Then he caught a look full of meaning that -was exchanged by the girl and the man at her side. - -It told its own story. Gwynette, the proud, haughty, domineering girl, -had been won by a rancher. Her brother well knew how she had struggled -against what she would call a misalliance, but Cupid had been the victor. -Then he wondered what his mother would say. Involuntarily Harold glanced -at the girl near whom he was sitting. Feeling his glance, she smiled up -at him, and yet it was merely a smile of good comradeship. He would have -to wait. Jenny was two years younger than her sister, and had never -thought of love. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE - - -Gwynette went about in a dream. She and Charles had been for a sunrise -sail (as Lenora had said that she and her brother had so often been on -Lake Tahoe) and they had made their plans. Charles was to return to the -Dakota ranch on scheduled time and work with his father during the -summer, then, in the fall, he would return for his bride. - -"Unless you change your mind and wish to marry someone in your _own_ -class," he said, as hand in hand they returned to the big house. The girl -flushed. "Don't!" she pleaded. Then, "I want to forget how worthless were -my old ideals." - -"And you wouldn't even marry the younger son of a noble English family, -in preference to me, I mean, if you knew one and he asked you?" Gwyn -thought the query a strange one, but looked up, replying with sweet -sincerity: "No, Charles, I shall marry no one but _you_." Then she -laughed. "What a queer question that was. A young nobleman is not very -apt to ask _me_ to marry him." - -There was a merry expression on the lad's handsome, wind and sun tanned -face as he said: "Wrong there, Gwynette, for one _has_ asked you." Then, -when he thought that he had mysterified her sufficiently, he continued: -"Did you ever hear it rumored that a pupil of the Granger Place Seminary -might, some day, have the right to the title 'My Lady'?" - -Gwyn flushed. Even yet she did _not_ suspect the truth, and she feared -Harold had told of her humiliation in giving a ball at The Palms in honor -of a supposed daughter of nobility whose father proved to be a pigraiser. -Rather coldly she said, "I had heard such a rumor, but we all decided -that it was untrue." - -"But it wasn't. Were my sister in England she would be called 'Lady -Lenora.' Our uncle died last winter and father is now in possession of -the family estates and title." - -The girl flushed and tears rushed to her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me -all this sooner?" she asked, and the lad replied: "I had two reasons. One -was that I wished to be loved just for myself, and the other was that I -do not care to marry a snob." - -Then he had bounded away to breakfast with Harold at the cabin and to don -his overalls, for, not one morning had the boys neglected to appear at -the farm, on time, to help Grandpa Si. - - * * * * * * * * - -It was the hour for Gwyn to read to her mother, who was already waiting -in the pond-lily garden. The woman, much stronger than she had been, was -amazed to see the joy so plainly depicted on the beautiful face of her -adopted daughter. She held out a hand that was as white as the lilies on -the blue surface of the water. - -"Gwynette, dear girl, what _has_ so transformed you?" To the woman's -surprise, Gwyn dropped down on the low stool and, taking her hand, -pressed it close to her cheek. "Mother dear, I am so happy, so -wonderfully happy! But I don't deserve it! I have always been so hateful. -How could I have won so priceless a treasure as the love of Charles -Gale?" - -There were conflicting emotions in the heart of the listener. She had had -dreams of Gwynette's coming-out party which they had planned for the next -winter. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had often thought over the eligibles for -whom she would angle, after the fashion of mothers with beautiful -daughters, and here the matter had all been settled without her knowledge -and Gwyn was to marry a rancher's son. "Dear," she said tenderly, -smoothing the girl's sun-glinted hair, "are you _sure_ that you love him? -With your beauty you could have won wealth and position." - -How glowing was the face that was lifted. "Mother, I _chose_ love, and -have won a far higher social pinnacle than _you_ ever dreamed for me." - -When the story had been told Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, notwithstanding her -changed ideals, was nevertheless pleased. She leaned forward and kissed -her daughter tenderly. "Dear girl," she said, "I am especially glad that, -first of all, you chose love. I did when I married your father, but the -great mistake I made was continuing to be a snob." - -Gwyn arose. "I shall _not_, Mother, and to prove it, I shall go this -afternoon to call upon the Warners." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - A BIRTHDAY CAKE - - -Miss Dearborn had returned to Hillcrest, and with her were a small girl -and boy, the children of her dear college friend, who, with her baby, had -been taken from this world. Jenny, with Lenora, had gone that afternoon -to see her and had learned that Miss Dearborn was to make a home for the -little ones for a year, during which time their father was to tour the -world, then he would return and make a home for them himself. Neither -Miss Dearborn nor Jenny spoke their thoughts, but oh, _how_ the girl -hoped that there would then be a happy ending to Miss Dearborn's long -years of sacrifice. If the young woman were thinking of this, her next -remark did not suggest it. "Jenny, dear, we will have three classes in -our little school next year to suit the ages of my three pupils." - -Then it was that Lenora said impulsively, "How I do wish, Miss Dearborn, -that you could take still another pupil. My father and brother think best -to have me spend the winter in California. Our Dakota storms are so -severe. I am to live with the Warners just as I have been doing this past -two months." Miss Dearborn's reply was enthusiastic and sincere: -"Splendid! That will make our little school complete. I know how Jenny -will enjoy your companionship. She has often told me that if she had had -the choosing of a sister, she would have been just like you." - -Lenora glanced quickly at the speaker, wondering if Miss Dearborn _knew_ -who Jenny's _real_ sister was, but just then the little Austin girl ran -to her "auntie" with a doll's sash to be tied, and the subject was -changed. - -On that ride home behind Dobbin, Lenora wondered if Jenny would ever -learn that Gwyn was her real sister. Charles had confided in her, and so -she knew that in the autumn Gwynette would be _her_ sister by marriage -and that would draw Jenny and Lenora closer than ever. How she wished -that she could tell Jenny everything she knew, but she had promised that -she would not. When the girls returned home they found Susan Warner much -excited about something. Gwynette had been over to call, _actually_ to -call, and she had remained on the side porch visiting with Grandma Sue -even when she had learned that Jenny and Lenora had driven to Miss -Dearborn's. - -"More'n that, she left an invite for _all_ of us to come to a party Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones is givin' on Charles' birthday. Gwyn said she hoped I'd -make the chocolate cake with twenty-one layers like Harold wanted, just -the same, but we'd have the party over to the big house." - -Jenny, at first, looked disappointed. Then her expression changed to one -of delight. Clasping her hands, she cried, "Oh, Grandma Sue, _that_ will -be a _real_ party, won't it, and I can wear the beautiful new dress -Lenora has given me. I was afraid I never, _never_ would have a chance to -wear it." - -The old woman nodded. Then she confided: "Thar's some queer change has -come over Gwynette Poindexter-Jones, and I'll say this much for her, -she's a whole sight nicer'n she _was_, for it, whatever 'tis. I reckon -her ma's glad. I cal'late, on the whole, she's been sort o' disappointed -in her." - -Then Jenny astonished them by saying: "Gwyn is a beautiful girl. No one -knows how I want her to love me." Susan Warner looked up almost -suspiciously from the peas that she was shelling. That was a queer thing -for Jenny to say, and even after the girls had gone indoors, that Lenora -might rest, Susan Warner thought over and over again, now of the yearning -tone in which Jenny had spoken, and then of the words, "No one knows how -I _want_ her to love me." _What_ could it mean? There wasn't any possible -way for Jenny to know that she and Gwyn were sisters. Tears sprang to -Susan's eyes unbidden. "If she ever learns that, she'll have to know Si -and me ain't her grandparents." Then the old woman rebuked her -selfishness. "I reckon Si was right when he said 'twouldn't make a mite -o' difference in Jenny's carin' for us. Si said _nothing_ could." But her -hands shook when, a few moments later, she dumped the shelled peas into -the pot of bubbling water that was waiting to receive them. Taking up one -corner of her apron, she wiped her eyes. Jenny had entered the kitchen. -At once her strong young arms were about the old woman, and there was -sweet assurance in her words: "Grandma Sue, I love you." Then, after -pressing her fresh young cheek for a long, silent moment against the one -that was softly wrinkled, the girl held the old woman at arm's length as -she joyfully cried, "Oh, Grandma Sue, isn't it wonderful, _wonderful_, -that you and Grandpa Si and Lenora and I are going to a real party, the -very first one that I have ever attended?" - -But the old woman protested. "Now, dearie, Grandpa Si an' me ain't -plannin' to go along of you young folks. 'Twouldn't be right, no ways you -look at it, us bein' hired by Mrs. Poindexter-Jones." - -The brightness faded from Jenny's flower-like face. She stepped back and -shook a warning finger at her companion. Her tone expressed finality. -"Very well, Mrs. Susan Warner, then we might as well take the party gown -back to the shop it came from, for, if you and Granddad aren't good -enough to attend Gwynette's party, neither am I. So the matter is -settled." - -"What's the argifyin'?" a genial voice inquired from the open door, and -there, coming in with a brimming pail of milk, was Grandpa Si. - -Jenny turned and flung at him her ultimatum. The old man pushed his straw -hat back on his head and his leathery face wrinkled in a smile. "Ma," he -said, addressing his wife, "I reckon I'd be on your side if 'twan't that -I give my word of honor to Harry and Charles, and now it's give, I'll not -go back on it. They said 'twouldn't be no party to them if you'n me -weren't at it. An' what's more, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones sent Harry over -special to give us a bid." - -Jenny nodded her golden brown head emphatically. "There, now, that's -settled. Oh, good, here's Lenora, looking fresh as a daisy from her long -nap." Then, beaming at the pretty newcomer, she exclaimed, "Come this -way, Miss Gale, if you want to see Grandma's masterpiece." - -"Tut, tut, Jenny-gal; 'twan't me that prettied it up," the old woman -protested. Jenny threw open a pantry door, and there, on a wide shelf, -stood a mountain of a chocolate cake. "Honestly, there are twenty-one -layers. They're thin, to be sure, but light as feathers, for I ate up the -sample. And the chocolate filling is just foamy with whipped cream." - -"How beautiful it is." There were tears in Lenora's eyes, as she added -wistfully: "How I wish our dear mother could see the cake you have made -for her son's twenty-first birthday." - -Then, going closer, she added, admiringly, "Why, Jenny, however did you -make those white frosted letters and the wreath of flowers? They look -like orange blossoms." - -Jenny flashed a smile of triumph around at her grandparents. "There," she -exclaimed, "doesn't _that_ prove that I am an artist born? Miss Gale -recognizes flowers. See, here is the spray I was copying. We're going to -put a wreath of real blossoms around the edge of the plate." - -"But I thought orange blossoms meant a wedding--" Lenora began. She -wondered if Charles' secret was known, but Jenny, in a matter of fact -way, replied: "A twenty-first birthday is equally important. Our only -other choice would have been lemon blossoms, and, somehow, _they_ didn't -seem quite appropriate." - -Grandma Sue had again busied herself at the stove, while Grandpa Si -strained the milk. - -"Come, girls," she now called, "everything's done to a turn. You'll be -wantin' a deal o' time to prink, I reckon." - -The old man removed his straw hat, washed at the sink pump, and, as he -was rubbing his face with the towel, his eyes twinkled above it. - -"I cal'late it'll take quite a spell for me'n you to rig up for this here -ball, Susie-wife," he said as he took his place at the head of the table. - -The old woman, at the other end, shook her gray curls as she protested: -"I sort o' wish yo' hadn't been so hasty, makin' a promise on your honor -like that to Harry. We'll feel old-fashioned, and in the way, I reckon." - -"Wall, I'm sort o' squeamish about it myself, but the word of Si Warner -can't be took back." The old man tried to assume a repentant expression. - -"You're a fraud, Grandpa Si!" Jenny laughed across at him. "I can see by -the twinkle in your eyes that you intend to lead the dance tonight." - - * * * * * * * * - -Such a merry, exciting time as they had in the two hours that followed. -Jenny insisted on helping her grandparents to dress in their best before -she donned her party gown. Grandma Sue had a black silk which had been -turned and made over several times, but, being of the best of material, -it had not grown shabby. - -"Old Mrs. Jones gave it to me," she told Lenora, "when Si and I were -figgerin' on gettin' married." Susan Warner's cheeks were apple-red with -excitement. - -"Oh, Grandma Sue," Lenora suddenly exclaimed, "I have the prettiest -creamy lace shawl. It belonged to my grandmother, and there's a -head-dress to go with it. She'd just love to have you wear it. Won't you, -to please me?" - -"I cal'late I will if you're hankerin' to have me." Lenora darted to her -trunk and soon returned with a small but very beautiful shoulder shawl of -creamy lace, and a smaller lace square with a pale lavender bow which she -placed atop of Susan Warner's gray curls. Grandpa Si arrived, dressed in -his best black, in time to join in the general chorus of admiration. - -"Grandma Sue, you'll be the belle of the ball!" Jenny kissed both of the -flushed cheeks, then flew to her room, for Lenora was calling her to make -haste or their escort would arrive before they were ready. And that was -just what happened, for, ten minutes later, wheels were heard without, -and a big closed car stopped at the side porch. Harold bounded in, and, -when he saw Grandma Sue, he declared that none of the younger guests -would be able to hold a candle to her. "It's a blarneyin' batch you are." -The old woman was nevertheless pleased. A moment later Jenny appeared, -arrayed in her blue silk party gown, her glinting gold-brown hair done up -higher than ever before, and her flower-like face aglow. For a moment -Harold could not speak. He had not dreamed that she could be so -beautiful. Then Lenora came, looking very sweet indeed in a rose chiffon. - -"Silas," Grandma Sue directed, "you'll have to set up front, along of -Harry, an' hold the cake on you're knees. I do hope 'twon't slide off. -It's sort o' ticklish, carryin' it." - -But in due time the big house was reached, and the cake was left at the -basement kitchen door. Jenny felt a thrill of excitement course over her, -yet even she could not know how momentous _that_ evening was to be in her -_own_ life. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - SISTERS - - -The big house was brilliantly illuminated and yet there were delightful -twilight nooks, half hidden behind great potted palms which had come from -a florist's in Santa Barbara. Guests had been arriving in motors from the -big city all the afternoon. Gwynette was in her element. Tom Pinkerton, -the roommate of Charles, had been summoned by phone to round up a few of -their classmates, and be there for the gala occasion. Gwyn had asked -Patricia, Beulah and a few other girl friends, while Harold had sent -telegraphic invitations to his pals at the military school. There had -only been two days to perfect arrangements, but had there been a week, -the big house could not have been more attractively arrayed, for the -wisteria arbor was in full bloom and great bunches of the graceful white -and purple blossoms filled every vase and bowl in the house. - -There were flowers in each of the ten guest rooms where the young people -who had arrived in the afternoon had rested until the dinner hour. - - * * * * * * * * - -The musical chimes were telling the hour of eight when Harold led his -companions into the brilliantly lighted hall and up to the rooms where -they were to remove their wraps. Jenny glanced through the wide double -doors into the spacious parlors and library where the chairs and lounges -had been placed around the walls, leaving the floor clear for dancing. -Beautifully dressed girls and young men in evening clothes sauntered -about in couples visiting with old friends and meeting others. Jenny did -not feel real. She had often read stories describing events like this -one, and she had often imagined that she was a guest. She almost had to -pinch herself as she was ascending the wide, softly-carpeted stairway to -be sure that _this_ was real and not one of her dreams. - -When they had removed their wraps and had descended, they were greeted by -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, who, beautifully gowned, sat in her wheeled chair, -with Gwynette, lovely in a filmy blue chiffon, standing at her side. Miss -Dane had reluctantly consented to permit her patient, who had grown -stronger very rapidly in the last few days, to remain downstairs for one -hour. - -When the hidden orchestra began to play, Miss Dane pushed the invalid -chair to a palm-sheltered nook, wherein Susan Warner and her good man had -at once taken refuge, and there, at their side, the patrician woman sat -watching the young people dance, talking to her companions from time to -time. Then she asked Miss Dane to tell her daughter that she would like -to speak to her. "I don't see her just now. You may find her in her room. -She had forgotten her necklace." - -Miss Dane, after glancing about at the dancers, went upstairs. There was -someone in the room where the wraps had been removed. Rushing in the open -door, the nurse said: "Miss Gwynette, your mother wishes to speak to -you." - -The girl turned and, smiling in her friendly way, said, "You are -mistaken, Miss Dane. I am Jenny Warner." - -Miss Dane hesitated, gazing intently at the apparition before her. -"Pardon me, Miss Warner," she then said. "It must be because you and Miss -Gwynette are both wearing blue that you look so much alike." - -She turned away and met Gwyn just ascending the stairway. The nurse had -been so impressed with the resemblance that she could not refrain from -exclaiming about it. "Really," she concluded, "you two girls look near -enough alike to be sisters." - -Gwyn did not feel at all complimented, and her reply was coldly given. -"Tell Mother that I will come to her as soon as I get my necklace." - -Jenny was leaving the bedroom, whither she had gone for her handkerchief, -just as the other girl was entering. One glance at the haughty, flushed -face of her hostess and the farmer's granddaughter knew that something of -a disturbing nature had occurred, but she did not dream that she was in -any way concerned in the matter. She was very much surprised to hear Gwyn -saying in her haughtiest manner: "Miss Warner, my mother's nurse tells me -that she spoke to you just now, believing that you were me. I recall that -the girls in the seminary once alluded to a resemblance they pretended to -see. Will you do me the favor to stand in front of this long mirror with -me, that I may also find the resemblance, if there is one, which I -doubt!" - -Jenny, her heart fluttering with excitement, stood beside the older girl -and gazed directly at her in the mirror. - -Gwyn continued, appraisingly: "Our eyes are hazel and we both have light -brown hair, but so have many other girls. I cannot understand, can you, -why Miss Dane should have said that we look near enough alike to be -sisters." - -On an impulse Jenny replied, "Yes, Gwynette, I can understand, because we -_are_ sisters." - -Instantly Jenny regretted having revealed the long kept secret, for -Gwynette sank down on a lounge near her, her hand pressed to her heart, -every bit of color receding from her face until she was deathly pale. - -Jenny, all solicitude, exclaimed: "Oh, are you going to faint? I ought -not to have told you. But you asked me! Forgive me, if you can." - -There was a hard, glinting light between the arrowed lids of the older -girl. "Jenny Warner, I do _not_ believe you! Why should _you_ know more -of _my_ parentage than I do myself?" - -Sadly Jenny told the story. She deeply regretted that her impulsiveness -had rendered the revelation necessary. "One stormy day, several years -ago, while I was rummaging around in the attic of the farmhouse, I found -pushed way back in a dark cobwebby corner a small haircloth trunk which -interested me. I did not think it necessary to ask permission to open it, -as I did not dream that it held a secret which my dear grandparents might -not wish me to discover, and so I dragged it over to the small window. -Sitting on one of the broken backed chairs, I lifted the lid. The first -thing that I found was a darling little Bible, bound in soft leather. It -was quaint and old-fashioned. Miss Dearborn had taught me to love old -books, and I at once looked for the date it had been published, when two -things dropped out. One was a photograph. There were four in the group. -The man was young and reminded me of Robert Burns; his companion was a -very beautiful girl, and yet under her picture had been written 'Mother' -and under the other 'Father.' I judged that was because with them were -two children. Beneath them was written, 'Gwynette, aged three; Jeanette, -just one today.' And then there was the date. The other was an unfinished -letter, written in purple ink that had faded. Its message was very sad, -for it told that the girl-mother had died and the young wandering -missionary, our father, feared that he had not long to live because of -frequent heart attacks. He wanted his little girls to know that they came -of a New England family that was above reproach, the Waterburys of -Waltham, Mass. - -"How well I remember the last message that dear hand had been able to -write. 'My darling little baby girls, I have had another of those dread -attacks, but I do want to say with what strength I have left, as the -years go by, love ye one another.' That was all. Then the pen had fallen, -I think, for there was a blot and an irregular blurred line of ink." - -Gwyn, crushed with an overwhelming sense of self-pity, had buried her -head in the soft silken pillows at one end of the lounge and was sobbing, -but Jenny did not try to comfort her, believing that she could not, and -so she continued: "I put the letter and the photograph into the little -old Bible and replaced it. Then I dragged the haircloth trunk back into -its dark corner. I was greatly troubled to know whether or not I ought to -tell grandmother what I had learned. I asked the advice of my dear -teacher and she said: 'Do not tell at present, Jeanette. If your -grandmother does not wish you to know, perhaps it would be wiser to wait -until she tells you. Then she told me that she had a college friend -living in Waltham, and that she would make inquiries about our family. In -time the reply came. Our father's father and grandfather had been -ministers in high standing, philanthropists and scholars. Our father had -been the last of the family, and, as they had given all they had to the -poor, there was no money to care for us. Oh, Gwynette!" - -Jenny touched the other girl ever so tenderly on the shoulder. "How -grateful I have been; how very much more I have loved my dear adopted -grandparents since I realized what they had saved me from. Had they not -taken me into their home, and shared with me the best they had, I would -have been sent to a county orphanage, and no one knows to what fate." - -Gwynette was sitting erect, her hands crushingly clasped together. Jenny -paused, wondering what she would say. It was a sincere cry of regret. -"Oh, to think how ungrateful I have been to that wonderful woman who has -given me every advantage and who would have loved me like an own daughter -if I had not been so selfish, ever demanding more." - -Gwyn turned and held both hands out to her companion. "Jenny, forgive me. -I am not worthy to call you sister. From this hour, forever, let us carry -out our father's last wish. Let us truly love one another." - -Rising, she went to her jewel box, took from it the necklace for which -she had come, and turning, she slipped it about the neck of her -companion. Kissing her flushed cheek, she said: "Sister, this is my first -gift to you. Keep it forever in remembrance of this hour." Then, after -removing all traces of tears, she held out her hand, saying: "Come, dear, -let us go down together." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had wanted to ask Gwynette if she would like to -have her engagement announced at this party. The woman was amazed to see -the girl's lips quivering. Gwyn bent low to listen, then, after -assenting, she said in a low voice, tense with feeling. "Mother, I love -you." - -Jenny had slipped at once to the side of Susan Warner, and held her -wrinkled old hand in a loving clasp. There was an expression in her face -they had never seen before. - -Charles Gale, seeing that his fiance had returned, went at once to her -side. The music had stopped, and Miss Dane pushed the invalid chair -forward. The dancers, standing in groups about, were hushed, realizing -that an announcement of some kind was to be made. - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones spoke clearly: "Friends of my daughter and of my -son, I have the great pleasure of announcing Gwynette's engagement to a -young man of whom we are very proud, Charles Gale of Dakota." Not one -word about English ancestry. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones truly had changed. -Then before the guests could flock about the young couple to congratulate -them, Gwynette had quickly stepped back, and taking Jenny by the hand, -she led her out to where Charles was standing. Slipping an arm lovingly -about the wondering girl, Gwyn said, "And I wish to introduce to you all -my own dear sister, Jeanette." - - - THE END - - - - - Transcriber's Notes - - ---Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text - is public domain in the country of publication. - ---Added a Table of Contents. - ---Silently corrected palpable typos and inconsistent proper names; left - non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sisters, by Grace May North - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - -***** This file should be named 42840-8.txt or 42840-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/8/4/42840/ - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sisters - -Author: Grace May North - -Release Date: May 29, 2013 [EBook #42840] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42840 ***</div> <div class="img"> <img id="jacketimg" src="images/jacket.jpg" alt="The Firebug" width="500" height="723" /> @@ -8948,381 +8912,6 @@ dear sister, Jeanette.”</p> <li>Added a Table of Contents.</li> <li>Silently corrected palpable typos and inconsistent proper names; left non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged.</li></ul> - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sisters, by Grace May North - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - -***** This file should be named 42840-h.htm or 42840-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/8/4/42840/ - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42840 ***</div> </body> </html> diff --git a/42840.txt b/42840.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 45b18c4..0000000 --- a/42840.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7980 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sisters, by Grace May North - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Sisters - -Author: Grace May North - -Release Date: May 29, 2013 [EBook #42840] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - - - - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -"Will you do me the favor to stand in front of this long mirror with me?" - (Page 305) - - - - - SISTERS - - - _By_ GRACE MAY NORTH - - - THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY - Akron, Ohio New York - - - Copyright MCMXXVIII - THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY - _Made in the United States of America_ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - I. How It Began 3 - II. Jenny 15 - III. Forlorn Etta 21 - IV. A Pitiful Plight 28 - V. Friends in Need 39 - VI. Wanted, a Waitress 45 - VII. Jenny's Teacher 59 - VIII. An Adventure Filled Day 75 - IX. An Old Friend Appears 88 - X. Brother and Sister 94 - XI. Views and Reviews 99 - XII. Plots and Plays 105 - XIII. Ferns and Friends 108 - XIV. Dearest Desires 116 - XV. Peers or Pigs 125 - XVI. Good News 133 - XVII. Pride Meets Pride 138 - XVIII. A New Experience 145 - XIX. A Welcome Guest 151 - XX. Ingratitude Personified 168 - XXI. A Second Meeting 178 - XXII. Revelations and Regrets 186 - XXIII. Mother and Son 194 - XXIV. Harold and Charles 201 - XXV. A Jolly Plan 207 - XXVI. A Rustic Cabin 217 - XXVII. Fun as Farmers 222 - XXVIII. A Difficult Promise 232 - XXIX. The Haughty Gwynette 238 - XXX. Gwyn's Awakening 249 - XXXI. Conflicting Emotions 257 - XXXII. Three Girls 266 - XXXIII Gwynette's Choice 279 - XXXIV An Agreeable Surprise 289 - XXXV A Birthday Cake 293 - XXXVI Sisters 302 - - - - - SISTERS - - - - - CHAPTER I. - HOW IT BEGAN - - -Gold and blue were the colors that predominated on one glorious April -day. Gold were the fields of poppies that carpeted the foothills -stretching down to the very edge of Rocky Point, against which the -jewel-blue Pacific lapped quietly. It was at that hour of the tides when -the surf is stilled. - -A very old adobe house surrounded on three sides by wide verandas, the -pillars of which were eucalyptus logs, stood about two hundred feet back -from the point. Rose vines, clambering at will over the picturesque old -dwelling, were a riot of colors. There was the exquisite pink Cecil -Brunner in delicate, long-stemmed clusters; Gold of Ophir blossoms in a -mass glowing in the sunshine, while intertwined were the vines of the -star-like white Cherokee and Romona, the red. - -Mingled with their fragrance was the breath of heliotrope which grew, -bushwise, at one corner so luxuriantly that often it had to be cut away -lest it cover the gravel path which led around the house to the orchard. -There, under fruit trees that were each a lovely bouquet of pearly bloom, -stood row after row of square white hives, while bees, busy at honey -gathering, buzzed everywhere. - -Now and then, clear and sweet, rose the joyous song of mating birds. - -A little old woman, seated in a rustic rocker on the western side porch, -dropped her sewing on her lap and smiled on the scene with blissful -content. What a wonderful world it was and how happy she and Silas had -been since Jenny came. She glanced across the near gardens, aglow with -early bloom, to a patch of ploughed brown earth where an old man was -cultivating between rows of green shoots, some of them destined to -produce field corn for the cow and chickens, and the rest sweet corn for -the sumptuous table of Mrs. Poindexter-Jones. - -Then the gaze of the little old woman continued a quarter of a mile along -the rocky shore to a grove of sycamore trees, where stood the castle-like -home of the richest woman in Santa Barbara township. Only the topmost -turrets could be seen above the towering treetops. The vast grounds were -surrounded by a high cypress hedge, and, not until he reached the wrought -iron gates could a passer-by obtain a view of the magnificence that lay -within. But the little old woman knew it all in detail, as she had been -housekeeper there for many years, until, in middle-age, she had married -Silas Warner, who managed the farm for Mrs. Algernon Poindexter-Jones. - -For the past fifteen years the happy couple had lived in the old adobe -house at Rocky Point, while at Poindexter Arms, as the beautiful estate -was named, there had been a succession of housekeepers and servants, for -their mistress was domineering and hard to please. - -Of late years the grand dame had seldom been seen by the kindly old -farmer, Si Warner and his wife, for Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had preferred -to live in her equally palatial home in San Francisco overlooking the -Golden Gate. - -She visited Santa Barabra periodically, merely to assure herself that her -orders were being carried out by the servants left in charge of -Poindexter Arms and Rocky Point farm. Often Mrs. Si Warner did not catch -a glimpse of their employer on these fleeting visits, and yet she well -knew that the imperious mistress of millions was linked more closely than -she liked to remember to the old couple at Rocky Point. - -As she resumed her sewing, memory recalled to her that long ago incident -which, by the merest chance, had made the proud woman and the humble, -sharers of a secret which neither had cared to divulge. - -It had been another spring day such as this, only they had all been -younger by fourteen years. - -While ploughing in the lot nearest the highway, Farmer Si had noticed a -strange equipage drawn to one side of the road. He thought little of it -at first, believing it to be a traveling tinsmith, as the canopied wagon -was evidently furnished with household utensils, but, when an hour later, -he again reached that side of the field and saw the patient horse still -standing there with drooping head and no one in sight, his curiosity was -aroused, and, leaping over the rail fence, he went to investigate. - -Under that weather-stained canopy a sad tragedy had been enacted. On the -driver's seat a young man, clothed in a garb of a clergyman, seemed to be -sleeping, but a closer scrutiny revealed to the farmer that the Angel of -Death had visited the little home on wheels. For a home it evidently had -been. In the roomier part of the wagon a beautiful little girl of three -sat on a stack of folded bedding, while in a crude box-like crib a sickly -looking infant lay sleeping. - -Whenever Mrs. Silas Warner recalled that long ago day, she again -experienced the varying emotions which had come to her following each -other in rapid succession. She had been ironing when she had seen a queer -canopied equipage coming up the lane which led from the highway. -Believing it to be a peddlar, who now and then visited their farm, she -had gone to the side porch, there to have her curiosity greatly aroused -by the fact that it was her husband Si who was on the seat of the driver. -Then her surprise had been changed to alarm when she learned of the three -who were under the canopy. Awe, because she was in the presence of death, -and tender sympathy for the little ones, who had evidently been orphaned, -mingled in the heart of the woman as she held the scrawny, crying infant -that her husband had given to her. Even with all these crowding emotions -there had yet been room for admiration, when the little three-year-old -girl was lifted down. The child stood apart, quiet and aloof. She had -heard them say that her father was dead. She was too young to understand -and so she just waited. A rarely beautiful child, with a tangled mass of -light brown, sun-glinted hair hanging far below her shoulders, and wide, -wondering brown eyes that were shaded with long curling lashes. - -But still another emotion had been stirred in the heart of Susan Warner, -for a most unexpected and unusual visitor had at that moment arrived. A -coach, bearing the Poindexter Arms, turned into the lane, and when the -liveried footman threw open the door, there sat no less a personage than -the grand dame, Mrs. Algernon Poindexter-Jones, on one of her very -infrequent visits to the farm which belonged to her estate. She had been -charmed with the little girl, and after having heard the story, she -announced that she would keep the child until relatives were found. Then -she was driven away, without having stated her errand, and accompanying -her, still quietly aloof, rode the three-year-old girl. A doctor and -coroner soon arrived, having been summoned by Mrs. Poindexter-Jones. The -latter had searched the effects of the dead man and had found an -unfinished letter addressed to a bishop in the Middle West. In it the man -had told of his wife's death, and that he was endeavoring to keep on with -his traveling missionary work in outlying mountain districts, but that -his heart attacks were becoming threateningly more frequent. "There is no -relative in all the world with whom to leave Gwynette, who is now three, -and little Jeanette, who is completing her first year." No more had been -written. - -After the funeral Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had announced that she would -adopt the older child and that, if they wished, the farmer and his wife -might keep the scrawny baby on one condition, and that was that the girls -should never be told that they were sisters. To this the childless couple -had rejoicingly agreed. The doctor and coroner had also been sworn to -secrecy. The dead man's effects were stored in the garret above the old -adobe and the incident was closed. - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones left almost at once for Europe, where she had -remained for several years. - -Tenderly loved, and nourished with the best that the farm could produce, -the scrawny, ill-looking infant had gradually changed to a veritable -fairy of sunshine. "Jenny," as they called her, feeling that Jeanette was -a bit too grand, walked with a little skipping step from the time that -she was first sure that she would not tumble, and looked up, with -laughter in her lovely eyes, that were the same liquid brown as were her -sister's, and tossed back her long curls that were also light brown with -threads of sunlight in them. And ever after, there were little skipping -steps to her walk, and, when she talked, it seemed as though at any -moment she might break into song. - -Jenny had never questioned her origin. She had always been with Granny -Sue and Granddad Si, and so, of course, that proved that she belonged to -them. She was too happy, just being alive, to create problems for herself -to solve, and too busy. - -There had been too few children on the neighboring ranches to maintain a -country school, and Jenny had been too young to send on a bus to Santa -Barbara each day, but her education had not been neglected, for a -charming and cultured young woman living not far away had taught her -through the years, and she had learned much that other girls of her age -did not know. - -When the weather was pleasant Jenny, her school books under her arm, -walked to the hill-top home of her teacher, Miss Dearborn, but during the -rainy season her grandfather hitched their faithful Dobbin to the -old-fashioned, topped buggy and drove her to her destination in the -morning, calling for her in the late afternoon. - -But on one wild March day when Jenny had been thirteen, an unexpected -storm had overtaken her as she was walking home along the coast highway. - -Luckily she had worn her mackintosh, but as she was passing between wide, -treeless meadows that reached to the sea on one side and a briary hill on -the other, there had been no shelter in sight. - -However, a low gray car had soon appeared around a bend and the driver, a -youth whose face was hidden by cap, collar and goggles, had offered her a -ride. Gladly she had accepted and had been taken to her home, where, to -her surprise, Grandmother Sue had welcomed the lad with sincerest -pleasure. That had been the first time Jenny Warner had met Harold, the -only son of their employer, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones. - -His visit had brought consternation to the little family at Rocky Point, -for, inadvertently, he had told the old man that his mother planned -selling the farm when she could find a suitable buyer. - -The old woman sitting on the side porch dropped her sewing to her lap as -she recalled that long-ago scene in the kitchen. - -The farmer had been for the moment almost stunned by the news, then -looking up at the boy with a pitiful attempt at a smile, he had said -waveringly: - -"I reckon you see how 'tis, Harry-boy. We've been livin' here at Rocky -Point so long, it's sort o' got to feelin' like home to us, but you tell -your ma that the Warners'll be ready to move when she says the word." - -The boy had been much affected, and, after assuring them that perhaps a -buyer would not be found, he had taken his departure. - -When he had gone, Jenny had cuddled in her grandfather's arms and he had -held her close. Susan Warner remembered that the expression on his face -had been as though he were thanking God that they had their "gal". With -her irrepressible enthusiasm the girl had exclaimed: - -"I have the most wonderful plan! Let's buy Rocky Point Farm, and then it -will be all our very own." - -"Lawsy, child," Susan Warner had remonstrated, "it'd cost a power o' -money, and it's but a few hundred that we've laid by." - -But Jenny had a notion that she wanted to try out. "Granny, granddad," -she turned from first one to the other and her voice was eager, earnest, -pleading: "Every Christmas since I can remember you've given me a -five-dollar gold piece to be saving for the time when I might be all -alone in the world. I want to spend them now." Then she unfolded her -plan. She wanted to buy hens and bees. "You were a wonderful beekeeper -when you were a boy, granddad," she insisted. "You have told me so time -and again, and I just know that I can sell eggs and honey to the rich -people over on the foothill estates, and then, when we have saved money -enough, we can buy the farm and have it for our very own home forever and -ever." - -The old couple knew that this would be impossible, but, since they had -not the heart to disappoint their darling, the scheme had been tried. -Every Saturday morning during the summer that she had been thirteen, -Jenny, high on the buckboard seat, had driven old Dobbin up and down the -long winding tree-hung lanes in the aristocratic foothill suburb of Santa -Barbara. At first her wares were only eggs from her flocks of white -Minorka hens, but, when she was fourteen, jars of golden strained honey -were added, and gradually, among her customers, she came to be known as -"The Honey Girl" from Rocky Point Farm. And now Jenny was fifteen. - -Susan Warner was startled from her day-dreams by the shrill whistle of -the rural mail carrier. Neatly folding her sewing (and Granny Sue would -neatly fold her sewing if she were running away from a fire), the old -woman went to the side porch nearest the lane where the elderly Mr. -Pickson was then stopping to leave the Rural Weekly for Mr. Silas Warner -and a note from Miss Isophene Granger for "The Honey Girl." - -"I reckon it's a fresh order for honey or eggs or such," the smiling old -woman told him. The mail carrier agreed with her. - -"I reckon 'tis! There's a parcel o' new girls over to the seminary," was -his comment as he turned his horse's head toward the gate, then with a -short nod he drove away. - -Susan Warner went back into the kitchen, and, feeling sure that the note -was not of a private nature, she unfolded the paper and read the message, -which was couched in the formal language habitually used by the principal -of the fashionable seminary. - -"Miss Isophene Granger desires six dozen eggs to be delivered this -afternoon not later than five." - -The old woman glanced at the clock. "Tut! Tut! And here it's close to -three. I reckon I'd better be gatherin' the eggs this once. Jenny says -it's her work, but it'll be all she can do to get there, with Dobbin to -hitch and what not." - -Taking her sunbonnet from its hook by the kitchen door, the old woman -went out to the barnyard where, in neat, wired-in spaces, there were -several flocks of white Minorka hens. After filling the large basket that -she carried with eggs, Susan Warner returned through the blossoming -orchard, and although she was unconscious of it, she smiled and nodded at -the bees that were so busily gathering honey; then she thought of her -girl. - -"Dear lovin' child that she is!" The faded blue eyes of the old woman -were tender. "Si and me never lets on that her plan can't come to -nothin'. 'Twould nigh break her heart. All told there's not more'n seven -hundred now in the bank, an' the farm, when they come to sell it, is like -to bring most that an acre, or leastwise so Pa reckons." - -But later, as Susan Warner was sorting the eggs and placing them in boxes -holding a dozen each, she took a more optimistic view of the matter. - -"It's well to be workin' and savin', how-some-ever," she concluded. "Our -darlin'll need it all an' more when her granddad an me are took." Then, -before the old woman could wipe away the tears that always came when she -thought of leaving Jenny, her eyes brightened, and, peering out of a -window near she exclaimed aloud (although there was only a canary to -hear), "Wall now, here comes Jenny this minute, singin' and skippin' up -the lane, like the world couldn't hold a trouble. Bless the happy heart -of her!" - - - - - CHAPTER II. - JENNY - - -Susan Warner turned to beam a welcome at the apparition standing in the -open door of the kitchen. With the sun back of her, shining through the -folds of her yellow muslin dress and glinting through her light, wavy -brown hair, the girl did indeed look like a sprite of the springtime, -and, to add to the picture, she held a branch, sweet with apricot -blossoms. - -"Greetings, Granny Sue!" she called gayly. "This is churning day, isn't -it?" - -"That's right, 'tis, Jenny darlin', or leastwise 'twould o' been 'ceptin' -for a message Mr. Pickson fetched over from Granger Place Seminary. -There's some new pupils come sudden like, I reckon, an' they need eggs a -day sooner than ordinary. I've got 'em all packed in the hamper, dearie. -You've nothin' to do but hitch Dobbin and start." - -"Righto, Granny Sue; but first I must put these poor blossoms into a jar. -I found the branch broken and just hanging by a shred of bark on that old -tree 'way down by the fence corner." - -Jenny took a brown jar from a cupboard as she talked and filled it with -water from the sink pump. - -"They'll be lonely for their home tree, like as not," she chattered on, -"but perhaps they'll be a bit glad when they find that they are to -brighten up our home for a few days. Don't you think maybe they will, -Granny Sue? Don't you think when we can't do the thing we most want to -do, we still can be happy if we are just alive and doing the most -beautiful thing that is left for us to do?" - -This last was called over her shoulder as she carried the jar and -blossoming branch toward the door of the living-room. Luckily she did not -pause for an answer, for the little old woman always felt confused when -her girl began such flights of fancy. Had she been obliged to reply, she -no doubt would have said: - -"Why, 'taint likely, Jenny, that branch of apricot flowers even knows -it's broken off, an' as for that, the ones that are left will make all -the better fruit with some of 'em gone." - -While the girl was placing the jar on the living-room center table, close -to the book that she had been reading, Granddad Si entered the kitchen -for a drink, and upon hearing of the message from Miss Granger, he -hurried to the barn to hitch old Dobbin to the cart, and so, when five -minutes later the girl skipped out, laughing over her shoulder at her -grandmother's admonition to go more slowly, lest she fall and break the -eggs, there was Granddad Si fastening the last buckles. He straightened -up, pushed his frayed straw hat to the back of his head and surveyed the -girl with pardonable pride. - -"Jenny, gal," he began, and from the expression in his eyes she knew just -how he would complete the sentence, and so, laughingly, she put her free -hand over his mouth. - -"Oh, granddad, 'tisn't so, not the least bit, and you mustn't say it -again. A stranger might hear you some time, and what if he should think -that I really believed it." - -But the old man finished his sentence, even though the words were mumbled -behind the slim white hand of his girl: - -"It's the Gospel truth, Jenny. I'm tellin' ye! Thar ain't a gal over to -that hifalutin seminary that's half as purty as yo' be. I reckon I know, -'cause I watch the whole lot of 'em when they go down the road on them -parade walks they take, with a teacher ahead and one behind like they was -a flock of geese and had to have a gooseherd along, which more'n like -they are. A silly parcel, allays gigglin'." - -The last half of this speech had been more clearly spoken, for Jenny, -having kissed him on the top of the nose from the wagon step, had climbed -into the cart. - -As she was driving away, she called back to him: "Wrong you are, -Granddad, for I am only an egg and honey vender, while they are all -aristocrats. Good-bye." - -Then, a second later, she turned again to sing out: - -"Tell Granny I'd like a chocolate pudding tonight, all hidden in -Brindle's yellowest cream." - -Long after the girl had driven away, the farmer stood gazing down the -lane. An old question had returned to trouble him: - -Was it honest not to tell her that she wasn't their own kin? - -He couldn't do it. It would break all of their hearts. She was their kin, -somehow. No own grandchild could be dearer. Then he thought of the other -girl, Jenny's sister. He had heard something that day about her, and he -had been mighty sorry to hear it. - -When his "gal" disappeared from sight, up one of the tree-shaded lanes -leading toward the foothill estates, Farmer Si turned and walked slowly -back to the kitchen. He delivered Jenny's message about the chocolate -pudding to his wife, who, even then, was preparing the vegetables for -supper. Crossing to the sink pump, the old man began working the handle -up and down. A rush of crystal clear water rewarded his effort and, after -having quaffed a long refreshing draught of it, he wiped his mouth with -the back of his hand. - -Then, after hanging his hat on its nail by the door, he sank down in his -favorite arm chair close to the stove and sighed deeply as though he were -very weary. His wife looked at him questioningly and he said in a voice -and manner which were evidently evasive: - -"Powerful poor weather for gettin' the crops started. Nothin' but -sunshine this fortnight past." - -Susan Warner was briskly beating the eggs needed for her darling's -favorite pudding. When the whirr had ceased she turned and smiled across -the room at the old man whose position showed that he was dejected. -"What's worryin' yo', Si?" The tone of the old woman's voice promised -sympathy if it were needed. "'Tisn't about the farm yo're really -cogitatin'. I can tell that easy. Thar's suthin' else troublin' yo', an' -yo' might as well speak out furst as last." - -"Wall, yo're close to right, Susan, as I reckon yo' most allays are. I -was mendin' the fence down by the highway when ol' Pickson drove up an' -stopped to pass the time o' day, like he generally does, an' he says, -says he, 'Si, have yo' heard the news?' I w'a'nt particular interested, -bein' as Pickson allays starts off that a-way, but what he said next -fetched me to an upstandin', I kin tell you." - -Susan Warner had stopped her work to listen. - -"What did Mr. Pickson tell you, Si? Suthin' that troubled you?" she -inquired anxiously. - -"Wall, sort o' that way. Mabbe it won't be nuthin' to worry about, and -mabbe agin it will. Pickson said as how Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had gone to -some waterin' place over in France for her nerves, an' not wishin' to -leave her daughter in the big city up north alone with the servants, -she'd sent her to stay in the seminary down here for the time bein', an', -what's more, a flock of her friends from San Francisco came along of her. -Them are the new pupils you was mentionin' a spell ago, as being the -reason extra eggs was needed." - -The old woman stared at her spouse as one spellbound. When she spoke her -voice sounded strained and unnatural. "Si Warner, do yo' mean to tell me -our Jenny has gone to fetch eggs for her very own sister an' her friends? -They're likely to meet up wi' each other now, arter all these years, an' -neither will know who the other really is. Oh, the pity of it, that one -of 'em should have all that money can buy, and the other of 'em ridin' -around peddlin' eggs and honey." - -But the old man took a different view of the matter. "Susan," he said, -"if our gal had the pick of the two places, I reckon she'd choose stayin' -with us. I reckon she would." - -Susan Warner's practical nature had again asserted itself. "Wall, there's -no need for us to be figurin' about that. Jenny shall never know that she -has a sister. Who is there to tell her? An' what's more, she'll never -have a chance to choose betwixt us and the Poindexter-Joneses." Then, as -a tender expression crept into the faded blue eyes, the old woman added, -"Jenny wouldn't leave us, Si. No, not for anyone. I'm sartin as to that, -but I'm hopin' she'll never know as she isn't our own. I'm sure hopin' -that she won't." - - - - - CHAPTER III. - FORLORN ETTA - - -Dobbin never could be induced to go faster than a gentle trot and this -pace was especially pleasing to his driver on a day when the world, all -the world that she knew, was at its loveliest. Having left the coast -highway, she turned up the Live-Oak Canon road and slowly began the -ascent toward the foothills. - -There was no one in sight for, indeed, one seldom met pedestrians along -the winding lanes in the aristocratic suburb of Santa Barbara. Now and -then a handsome limousine would pass and Dobbin, drawing to the far side -of the road, would put up his ears and stare at the usurper. He seemed to -consider all vehicles not horse-drawn with something of disdain. Then, -when it had passed, he again took the middle of the road, which he deemed -his rightful place. - -"Dobbin," the girl sang out to him, "what would you think, some day, if -you saw me riding in one of those fine cars?" Then, as memory recalled a -certain stormy day two years previous, Jenny continued, "I never told -you, Dobbin, but I did ride in one once. It was a little low gray car and -the boy who drove it called it a 'speeder.'" - -Then, as Dobbin seemed to consider this conversation not worth listening -to, the girl fell to musing. - -"I wonder what became of that boy. Harold P-J, he called himself, and he -said I mustn't forget the hyphen. He laughed when he said it. There must -have been something amusing about it. He was a nice boy with such -brotherly gray eyes. He hasn't been back since, I am sure, for he told -granddad he would come to the farm the very next time his mother -permitted him to visit Santa Barbara." Then Jenny recalled the one and -only time that she had seen Harold's mother. It was when she had been -ten. She had been out in the garden gathering Shasta daisies to give to -Miss Dearborn, her teacher. She had on a yellow dress that day, she -recalled; yellow had always been her favorite color and she had been -standing knee deep among the flowers with her arms almost full when the -grand coach turned into the lane. Jenny had often heard Granny Sue tell -about the coach, on the door of which was emblazoned the Poindexter-Arms, -and the small girl, filled with a natural curiosity, had glanced up as -the equipage was about to pass. But it had not passed, for the only -occupant, a haughty-mannered, handsomely-gowned woman had pulled on a -silken cord which evidently communicated with the driver's seat, for, -almost at once, the coach had stopped and the woman had beckoned to the -child. - -"Are you Jeanette Warner?" she had asked abruptly. The child, making a -curtsy, as Miss Dearborn had said all well-mannered little girls should, -had replied that her name was Jenny. Never would the girl forget the -expression on the handsome face as the eyebrows were lifted. The grand -dame's next remark, which was quite unintelligible to the child, had been -uttered in a cold voice as though the speaker were much vexed about -something. "I am indeed sorry to find that you are so alike." - -The haughty woman had then jerked on the silken cord in a most imperious -manner and the coach had moved toward the farmhouse. - -Jenny had never told anyone of this meeting, but her sensitive nature had -been deeply hurt by the cold, disdainful expression in the woman's eyes. -She had sincerely hoped she never again would encounter the owner of -Rocky Point, nor had she done so. Time, even, had erased from her memory -just what Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had said, since, at the time, the words -had conveyed no real meaning to the child. All that was left in her heart -was a dread of the woman, and she had been glad, glad that she lived far -away to the north instead of next door. - -Suddenly the impulsive girl drew rein. "Dobbin," she exclaimed joyfully, -"stand still a moment. I want you to look at that wonderful stone wall -around the Bixby estate. Isn't it the most beautiful thing that you ever -saw with the pink and white cherokee roses, star-like, all over it?" Then -she waved her hand toward an acacia tree beyond the wall that was golden -with bloom, and called out to an invisible mocking bird that was -imitating one lilting song after another, "I don't wonder that you shout -hosannas of praise. It's such a wonderful world to live in. Trot along, -Dobbin! We must get the eggs to the seminary before five." - -The tree-shaded, lane-like road they were following had many a bend in it -as it ascended higher and higher into the foothills, and, as they turned -at one of them, Jenny again addressed her four-footed companion. - -"Dobbin, do hurry! There's that poor forlorn Etta Somebody who pares -potatoes at the seminary. I see her all crouched down over a pan of -vegetables every time I go into that kitchen to deliver eggs and honey, -but not once has she looked up at me. I know she's terribly unhappy about -something. I don't believe she even knows that she's living in a -wonderful world where everything is so beautiful that a person just has -to sing. Please do hurry, Dobbin. I may never get another chance to speak -to her and I want to ask her if she wouldn't like to ride." - -Jenny slapped the reins on the back of the old dusty-white horse, and, -although he at first cast a glance of indignation over his right -shoulder, he decided to humor his young mistress, and did increase his -speed sufficiently to overtake the tall angular girl who shuffled as she -walked and drooped her shoulders as though the burden upon them was more -than she could bear. She wore an almost threadbare brown woolen dress, -though the day was warm, and a queer little hat which suggested to Jenny -pictures she had seen of children in foreign lands. She had one day heard -the cook address the girl as Etta in a voice that had expressed -impatience, and so, pulling on the rein, Jenny called cheerily, "Etta, -are you going up to the seminary? Won't you ride with me? I'm taking the -eggs a day early." - -The girl, whose plain, colorless face was dully expressionless, climbed -up on the seat at Jenny's side. "You look awfully fagged and dusty. Have -you been walking far?" the young driver ventured. - -The strange girl's tone was complaining--"Far? Well, I should say I have. -All the way to Santa Barbara railway station and back. Folks enough -passed me goin' and comin', but you're the first that offered me a lift." - -"Eight miles is a long walk," the young driver put in, "on a day as warm -as this" Etta's china blue eyes stared dully ahead. She made no response -and so Jenny again started Dobbin on the upward way. - -From time to time she glanced furtively at her companion, wondering why -she was so evidently miserable. - -At last she said, "I suppose everyone was in a hurry. I mean the folks -who passed you." - -But her companion, with a bitter hatred in her voice, replied, "Don't you -believe it. Most of 'em don't have nothin' to do that has to be done. -Rich folks ridin' around in their swell cars, but do you s'pose they'd -give me a lift. Not them! They'd think as how I'd poison the air they -breathed if I sat too close. I hate 'em! I hate 'em all!" - -Hate was a new word to Jenny and she did not like it. "I suppose some -rich folks are that way, but I don't believe they all are." Then she -laughed, her happy rippling laugh which always expressed real mirth. -"Hear me talking as though I knew them, when I don't. I never spoke to -but one rich person in all my life, and just a minute ago I was wishing -that I never would have to speak to her again." Jenny wondered why Etta -had walked to the railway station. As they turned the last bend before -their destination was to be reached, she impulsively put her free hand on -the arm of her companion and said, "Etta, would it help any if you told -me why you are so dreadfully unhappy? I don't suppose I could do -anything, but sometimes just talking things over with someone who wishes -she could help, makes it easier." - -The china blue eyes of the rebellious girl at her side were slowly turned -toward the speaker and in them was mingled amazement and doubt. Then she -remarked cynically, "There ain't nobody cares what's making me -miserable." But when Jenny succeeded in convincing the forlorn girl that -she, at least, really did care, the story of her unhappiness was -revealed. - - - - - CHAPTER IV. - A PITIFUL PLIGHT - - -"There ain't much to tell," Etta said bitterly, "but I haven't always -been miserable. I was happy up to the time I was ten. I lived with my -grandfolks over in Belgium. My mother left me there while she came to -America. She'd heard how money was easy to get, and, after my father died -in the war and the soldiers had robbed my grandfolks of all they had on -the farm, we had to get money somewheres. That's why she came, takin' all -that she'd saved for her passage. How my mother got away out here to -Californy, I don't know, but anyway she did. She was a cook up in Frisco. -Every month she sent money to my grandfolks. My mother kept writing how -lonesome she was for me and how she was savin' to send for me. The next -year I came over with a priest takin' charge of me, but when I got here -they told me my mother had died and they put me in an orphanage. My -grandfolks tried to save money to send for me to go back to Belgium, but -what with sickness and they bein' too old to work the farm, it's seven -years now, an' the money ain't saved. Last year, me bein' sixteen, I got -turned out o' the orphanage and sent here to work parin' vegetables. I -don't get but three dollars a week and board, and I've been savin' all I -can of it. But 'tain't no use. That's why I walked to the railway station -over to Santa Barbara to ask how much money I'd have to save to take me -home to my grandfolks." The girl paused as though too discouraged to go -on. - -Jenny had been so interested that she had not even noticed that Dobbin -had stopped to rest at one side of the steep road. - -"Oh, you poor girl, I'm so sorry for you!" she said with a break in her -voice. "I suppose it takes a lot of money for the ticket to New York and -then the passage across the Atlantic in one of those big steamers." - -The tone in which her companion answered was dull and hopeless. "'Tain't -no use tryin'. I never can make it. Never! It'd take two hundred dollars. -An' I've only got a hundred with what my grandfolks have sent dribble by -dribble." The dull, despairing expression had again settled in the -putty-pale face. "'Tain't no use," she went on apathetically. "I can't -save the whole three dollars a week. I've got to get shoes an' things. -Cook said yesterday how she'd have to turn me out if I didn't get some -decent work dresses; a fashionable seminary like that couldn't have no -slatterns in the kitchen." Then, after a hard, dry sob that cut deep into -the heart of the listener. Etta ended with "I don't know what I'm goin' -to do, but it's got to be done soon, whatever 'tis." - -Jenny felt alarmed, she hardly knew why. "Oh, Etta, you don't mean you -might take----" She could not finish her sentence. Her active imagination -pictured the unhappy girl going alone to the coast at night and ending -her life in the surf, but to her surprise Etta looked around as though -she feared she might be overheard; then she said, "Yes, I am. I'm going -to take one hundred dollars out of the school safe, and after I've got -over to Belgium I'm going to work my fingers to the bone and send it -back. That's what I'm goin' to do. I've told 'em at the station to keep -me a ticket for the train that goes out tomorrow morning." Then, when she -felt, rather than saw, that her companion was shocked, she said bitterly, -"I was a fool to tell you. Of course you'll go and blab on me." To the -unhappy girl's surprise she heard her companion protesting, "Oh, no, no! -I won't tell, Etta. Never, never! But you _mustn't_ steal. They'd put you -in prison. But, most of all, it would be very, very wrong. You can't gain -happiness by doing something wicked. I just _know_ that you can't." - -Then, after a thoughtful moment, Jenny amazed her companion by saying, "I -have some money that is all my very own. If Granny and Granddad will let -me, I'll loan you a hundred dollars, because I _know_ you'll pay it -back." - -Radiant joy made Etta's plain face beautiful, but it lasted only a moment -and was replaced by the usual dull apathy. "They won't let you, an' they -shouldn't. I just told you as how I was plannin' to steal, and if I'd do -that, how do you know I'd ever send back your hundred dollars?" - -"I know that you would," was the confident reply. Jenny then urged Dobbin -to his topmost speed, and since he had rested quite a while, he did spurt -ahead and around a bend to the very crest of the low foothill where stood -the beautiful buildings of the seminary in a grove of tall pine trees. -The majestic view of the encircling mountain range usually caused Jenny -to pause and catch her breath, amazed anew each time at the grandeur of -the scene, but her thoughts were so busy planning what she could do to -help this poor girl that she was unconscious of aught else. - -They turned into the drive, which, after circling among well-kept gardens -and lawns, led back of the main building to the kitchen door. - -"I'm awful late and I'll get a good tongue lashin' from the cook but what -do I care. This'll be the last night she'll ever see me." Jenny glancing -at her companion, saw again the hard expression in the face that had been -so radiant with joy a few moments before. - -"She doesn't believe that I'm going to loan her my money," Jenny thought. -"And maybe she's right. Maybe Granny and Granddad will think I ought -not." But what she said aloud was: "Etta, let me go in ahead and I'll fix -things up if you're late and going to be scolded." And so, when they -climbed from the wagon, it was the girl from Rocky Point Farm who first -entered the kitchen. "Good afternoon, Miss O'Hara," she called cheerily -to the middle-aged Irish woman who was taking a roast from the huge oven -of the built-in range. - -"Huh," was the ungracious reply, "so _you_ had that lazy good-for-nothing -out ridin', did you?" The roast having been replaced, the cook turned and -glared at Etta, her arms akimbo. "Here 'tis, five o'clock to the minute -and not a potato pared. How do you suppose I'm going to serve a dinner -for the young ladies at six-thirty and all that pan of peas to shell -besides." - -Etta was about to reply sullenly when Jenny, who had placed her basket of -eggs on one end of a long white table, turned to say: "Miss O'Hara, I -want to ask you a favor. If I stay and help Etta get the vegetables -ready, will you let her come over to my house to supper? Won't you -please, Miss O'Hara?" - -Jenny smiled wheedlingly at the middle-aged Irish woman who had always -had a soft spot in her heart for "the honey girl," and so she said -reluctantly, "Wall, if it's what you're wishin', though the Saints alone -know what _you_ see in Etta Heldt to be wantin' of her company." - -Ignoring the uncomplimentary part of the speech, Jenny cried joyfully: -"Oh, thank you, thank you, Miss O'Hara! Now give me a big allover apron, -please, for I mustn't soil my fresh yellow muslin." - -Miss O'Hara's anger had died away, confident that the peas would be -shelled and the potatoes pared on time. She went about her work humming -one of the Irish tunes that always fascinated Jenny. - -Etta, without having spoken a word, took her customary place and began to -pare potatoes, jabbing out the spots as though she were venting upon them -the wrath which she felt toward the world in general, but even in her -heart there was dawning a faint hope that somehow, some way, she had come -to a gate on the other side of which, if only she could pass through, a -new life awaited her. - -She looked up and out of the window by which they were seated, when -Jenny, pausing a moment in the pea-shelling, exclaimed: "Oh, Etta, do see -those pretty girls. Aren't they the loveliest? Just like a flock of -butterflies dancing out there on the lawn. There are eight, ten, twelve! -Oh, my, more than I can count! How many girls are there now at the -seminary, Miss O'Hara?" - -"With the three that came in today, there's thirty-one," the cook -answered as she broke a dozen eggs into a pudding which she was stirring. - -"Did three new pupils come today? Isn't it late in the year to start in -school? Only two months more and the long vacation will begin," Jenny -turned to inquire. - -"It is late," Miss O'Hara replied, then suddenly she stopped stirring the -batter and stared at Jenny with a puzzled expression in her Irish blue -eyes. "When I saw one of 'em, a haughty, silly minx, I thought to myself -as I'd seen her before somewhere's though I knew I hadn't. Now I know why -I thought that. There's something about you, Jenny Warner, as looks like -her. Folks do look sort of like other folks once in a while, and be no -way related." - -Jenny agreed brightly. "Yes, Miss O'Hara, that's absolutely true. My -teacher has often said that the reason she has kept on tutoring me is -because I look like a sister she once had. That makes two folks I -resemble, and I suppose likely there are lots more. What is the new -pupil's name. Miss O'Hara?" - -Then it was that the cook recalled something. "Begorrah, and maybe you -know her being as her ma owns the farm you're living on." - -Jenny looked up with eager interest. "Oh, no, I didn't even know Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones had a daughter. But I do know the son Harold. That is, I -met him for a few moments once two years ago, and now I do recall that he -mentioned having a sister." Then, returning to the shelling of the peas, -she concluded with: "You know they have not lived in Santa Barbara -lately. I never saw the mother, that is, only once." - -"Well, you're not likely to do more than see the daughter. She wouldn't -speak civil to a farmer's granddaughter." Jenny's bright smile seemed to -reply that it troubled her not at all. - -For another ten minutes the girls worked silently, swiftly; then Jenny -sprang up, removed her apron and, as she donned her hat, she exclaimed: -"Miss O'Hara, you just don't know how grateful I am to you for having -said that Etta might go home to supper with me." - -Although the cook regretted having given the permission, she merely -mumbled a rather ungracious reply. - -Etta went up to her room to put on her "'tother dress," as she told -Jenny, but on reaching there she bundled all her belongings into an -ancient carpet bag, stole out of a side door and was waiting in the buggy -when Jenny reached it. - -"Well, I sure certain don't see how 'twas the ol' dragon let me go along -with you," Etta Heldt declared, seeming to breathe for the first time -when, high on the buckboard seat at Jenny's side, old Dobbin was actually -turning out of the seminary gates that had for many months been as the -iron-barred doors of a prison to the poor motherless, fatherless and -homeless girl. And yet not really homeless, for, far across the sea on a -small farm in Belgium there was a home awaiting her, and a dear old -couple (Jenny was sure that they were as dear and loving and lovable as -were her own grandparents) yearning for the return of their only -grandchild. - -Jenny, who always pictured in detail anything and everything of which she -had but the meagerest real knowledge, was seeing the old couple going -about, day by day, planning and striving to save enough to send for their -girl, but failing because of the privation that had been left blightingly -in the trail of the cruel world war. Then her fancy leaped ahead to the -day when Etta would arrive at that far-away farm. - -Jenny's musings were interrupted by a querulous voice at her side. - -"Don't you hear nothing I am saying? What do you see out there between -your horse's ears that you're starin' at so steady?" - -Jenny turned a pretty face bright with laughter. "I didn't see the ears," -she confessed, "and do forgive me for not listening to what you were -saying. Oh, yes, I recall now. You wondered what the old dragon would say -when she found you were really gone." - -Then, more seriously: "Truly, Etta, Miss O'Hara isn't dragony; not the -least mite. I have sold eggs and honey to her for two years, long before -you came to be her helper, and she always seemed as glad to see me as the -dry old earth is to see the first rains." - -Then, hesitating and slowly thinking ahead that her words might not hurt -her companion, she continued: "Maybe you didn't always try to please Miss -O'Hara. Weren't you sometimes so unhappy that you let it show in your -manner? Don't you think perhaps that may have been it, Etta?" - -"Oh, I s'posen like's not. How could I help showin' it when I was so -miserable?" - -Then, before Jenny could reply, Etta continued cynically: - -"Well, I'm not goin' to let myself to be any too cheerful even now. -'Tisn't likely your grandfolks'll let you loan me a hundred dollars. -How'll they know but maybe I'd never return it. How do you know?" - -Jenny turned and looked full into the china blue eyes of her companion. -The gaze was unflinchingly returned. Impulsively Jenny reached out a -slender white hand and placed it on the rough red one near her. - -"Etta Heldt," she said solemnly, "I know you will return my money if it -lies within your power to do it. I also know that when it came to it, you -would not have stolen money from the Granger place safe. There's -something in your eyes makes me know it, though I can't put it into -words." - -As the other girl did not reply, Jenny continued: "I'm _not_ sure certain -that I _can_ loan you my money, of course. I have been saving and saving -it for two years so that I could add it to the money grandpa had if we -needed it to buy Rocky Point Farm, but the farm hasn't been put on the -market, granddad says, and so I guess we can spare it for awhile." - -Suddenly and most unexpectedly the girl at her side burst into tears. -"Oh, oh, how sweet and good you are to me. Nobody, nowhere has ever been -so kind, not since I came to this country looking for mother. When they -told me she was dead and had been buried two days before I got here, and -all her belongings sold to pay for the funeral, nobody was kind. They -just tagged me with a number and sent me with a crowd of other children -out to an orphan asylum. And there it was just the same: no one knew me -from any of the rest of the crowd." - -There were also tears in her listener's eyes. - -"Poor, poor Etta, and here I've been brought up on love. It doesn't seem -fair, someway." Then slipping an arm comfortingly about her companion, -Jenny said brightly: "Let's keep hoping that you can borrow my money. -Look, Etta, we're coming to the highway now, and that long, long lane -beyond the barred gate leads right up to my home. Don't cry any more, -dearie. I just _know_ that my grandfolks will help you, somehow. You'll -see that they will." - -Thus encouraged, the forlorn Etta took heart and, after wiping away the -tears which had brought infinite relief to her long pent-up emotions, she -turned a wavering smile toward Jenny. - -"I'll never forget what all you're trying to do for me. Never. Never," -she ended vehemently. "And I'm hoping I'll have the chance some day to -make up for it." - -"All the reward that I want is to have you get home to your grandfolks -and be as happy with them as I am with mine," Jenny called brightly as -she leaped out of the wagon to open up the barred gate. - - - - - CHAPTER V. - FRIENDS IN NEED - - -Grandma Sue had been often to the side porch nearest the lane and had -gazed toward the highway wondering why her girl did not return. The -supper had been ready for some time and the specially ordered chocolate -pudding was done to perfection. At last the old woman hurried back into -the kitchen to exclaim: "Wall, I declare to it, if Jenny ain't fetchin' -someone home to supper. I reckon its Mis' Dearborn, her teacher, as she -sets sech a store by." - -But, as Dobbin approached at his best speed (for, was he not nearing his -own supper?) the old woman, peering from behind the white muslin curtains -at a kitchen window, uttered an ejaculation of surprise. "Silas Warner," -she turned wide-eyed toward the old man, who, in carpet slippers, had -made himself comfortable in his tipped back arm chair to read the _Rural -News_. - -"Yeap, Susan?" his tone was one of indifferent inquiry. He presumed that -his spouse was merely going to affirm what she had already suspected. -Well, even if that were true, all he would have to put on was the house -coat Jenny had made for him. It never would do to go to the table in -shirt sleeves if teacher--he rose to carry out this indolently formed -decision when he saw his wife tip-toeing across the room toward him, her -finger on her lips. "Shh! Don't say nothin', Si!" she whispered. "Jenny's -left the horse hitched and she's comin' right in and trailin' arter her -is a gal totin' a hand satchel. Who do you cal'late it can be?" - -The old man hastily slipped on the plaid house coat and stood waiting, -trying not to look too curious when their girl burst in with, "Oh, -Granny, Granddad, this is my friend Etta Heldt. You know I told you about -the girl who pares vegetables up at the seminary and who always looked -so--so unhappy." Jenny did not want to say discontented as she had that -other time. "Well, I've found out what makes her unhappy and I've fetched -her over to supper. Etta, this is my Grandmother Sue and my Granddaddy -Si." - -The strange girl sent a half appealing, half frightened glance at each of -the old people and then burst into tears. - -Jenny slipped a protecting arm about her new friend, as she said by way -of explanation: "Etta's all upset about something. I'll take her into my -room to rest a bit, and then I'll come back and tell you about it." - -Left alone, the elderly couple looked at each other in amazement. - -"I reckon that poor girl is like the stray kittens and forlorn dogs our -Jenny fetches home so often," the old woman said softly. "I never saw -such a hungerin' sort of look in human eyes afore." - -The old man dropped back into his armed chair and shook his head as much -as to say that their "gal's" ways were beyond his comprehension. A moment -later that same "gal" reappeared and, going at once to her grandfather, -she knelt at his side and held his knotted work-hardened hand in a -clinging clasp. - -"Tut! Tut! Jenny, you're all a-tremble." The old man always felt deeply -moved when the girl he loved seemed to be troubled. He placed his free -hand on her curls. - -"I reckon you'd better start at the beginnin'. Me'n your grandma here is -powerful curious." - -The girl sprang up. "Granny dear," she pleaded, "you sit here in your -rocker and I'll be close between you on this stool. Now I'll tell you all -and please, please, please say yes." - -The two old people looked lovingly into the eager, uplifted face of their -darling and wondered what the request was to be. They never had denied -their "gal" anything she had asked for in the past, but they had always -been such simple desires and so easily fulfilled. However, there was an -expression in the girl's lovely face that made them both believe that -this was to be no ordinary request. - -Jenny glanced from one to another of her grandparents anxiously, eagerly. -Then, taking a hand of each, she fairly clung to them as her words rushed -and tumbled out, sometimes incoherently, but the picture was clearly -depicted for all that. The two old people could see the forlorn little -Belgian girl coming alone to America to join the mother who had died and -been buried only two days before the child reached San Francisco. Then -the long dreary years in a crowded city orphanage where no one really -cared. - -Grandma Sue began to wipe her eyes with one corner of her apron at that -part of the story. She was thinking that their own darling might have -been brought up in just such a place had not Grandpa Si happened to see -the canopied wagon on that long ago day. The girl felt the soft wrinkled -hand quivering in her clasp, and she looked up almost joyfully, for she -believed she had an ally. Then she told of the time when Etta had reached -an age where she could no longer be kept in the institution and how work -had been procured for her paring vegetables at Granger Place Seminary. -Food and a place to sleep were about all that orphan girls were given, -and so, although she had tried and tried to save the little money she -earned, she could not, for she had to buy shoes and clothes. - -The old woman nodded understandingly. "What was she savin' for, dearie? -Anything special?" - -"Oh, yes, Grandma Sue, something very special." Then Jenny told about the -feeble old grandparents far across the sea whose little farm had been -laid waste by the war and how they longed for their granddaughter to be a -comfort in their last days. At this point Grandpa Si took out his big red -bandana handkerchief and blew his nose hard. He was thinking what it -would mean to them if their Jenny was far away and couldn't get back. -Then, looking at their "gal" shrewdly, he asked, "Jenny, darlin', what be -yo' aimin' at? Yo' ain't jest tellin' this story sort of random-like, be -yo'?" - -The girl shook her head. "No! No!" Her tear-brimmed eyes implored first -one and then the other. Then she explained that it would take one hundred -dollars to pay for Etta's transportation in the steerage. - -How the girl pleaded, her sensitive lips quivering. "Think of it, Grandma -Sue, Granddad, only one hundred dollars to take that poor girl to her old -grandparents who love her so. Won't you let me loan her that much from -the money I've made selling eggs and honey? Please, please say that you -will. You've always told me that it is mine and oh, I do so want to help -Etta." Then, as her surprised listeners hesitated, she hurried on: -"She'll pay it back, every cent, and only the other day, Granddad, you -said you didn't think the farm was going to be sold, because nothing more -had been heard about it." - -The old man's eyes questioned his spouse. Still tearful, Grandma Sue -nodded. Then drawing the girl to her, she held her close as she said, -"Silas, I reckon we owe it to the good Lord to help one of His poor -little children." - -"O, Granny! O, Grandpa! However can I thank you?" The flushed, happy girl -sprang up, kissed each of them and ran toward the bedroom to tell the -wonderful news to the waiting Etta. - - - - - CHAPTER VI. - WANTED, A WAITRESS - - -Such a supper as that had been. Etta's expression had so completely -changed that Grandma Sue decided that she was almost pretty with her -corn-colored hair and china blue eyes. It was the first time that Jenny -had seen her smile and she found herself wishing that Miss O'Hara could -see it also. They made their plans. Etta was to remain with them all -night. Then early in the morning Granddad would drive both of the girls -to Santa Barbara and take the money from the bank, then they would go to -the railway station and buy a ticket, both for the train and the steamer. -Jenny was sure that there were such tickets because she had heard her -teacher, Miss Dearborn, tell about one that she purchased all the way -through to Liverpool. Then there would be no fear that Etta would lose -the money. When she reached Belgium, Etta promised, oh, so faithfully, -that each month she would send back part of the hundred. She was so -strong. She would work the farm again. The women over there all worked in -the fields. She knew she would have money to send. Every time she thought -of the great joy in store for the old couple, she began to cry and laugh -at the same time. But once she had a thought which brought only -frightened tears. What if this voyage should be like the other? What if -her loved ones would be dead? - -But Jenny had said that she must not think of that, though they all knew -that she would, poor girl, till the very moment that she reached the farm -and saw her grandparents. - -"You'll write us all about it, won't you, dearie?" Grandma Sue said. - -The chocolate pudding was eaten, but no one seemed conscious of it. They -were all thinking the same thing and yet with wide variations. Grandma -and Grandpa were being so thankful because they had Jenny, and that -little maid was deciding how she would tell Miss O'Hara when Etta was -gone. - -Everything happened just as they had planned. The next day dawned in the -silvery mist that so often veils the seaside mornings in California, but -later it burst into a glory of sunshine, as golden as the oranges, and -sweetly, spicily fragrant with the breath of the lemon groves they passed -as they drove to Santa Barbara. The money was drawn from the bank, the -ticket, a very long ticket, was procured. Etta, hardly able to believe -that she was really awake, had expressed her thanks in all the ways that -she knew, and the train at last bore her away. - -It was not until Jenny was back in her own farm home that she told what -she planned doing next. "I must drive right over to the seminary and tell -Miss O'Hara what has become of Etta. Of course she hasn't worried yet, -because she knew that Etta was with us over here, but she'll be getting -impatient if there's no one to pare the vegetables and help her get -lunch." - -Grandmother Sue's eyes were opened wide. "But, dearie, this is your very -own Saturday. The one that's for you to do with as you please. I thought -you and Miss Dearborn were goin' to drive way up into the foothills. -Wasn't that what you'd planned?" - -The girl nodded brightly. "Yes, it was," she said, "and maybe there'll be -time for that later, but first, I must tell Miss O'Hara about Etta's -having gone back to Belgium. I suppose she'll send up to the orphanage -for another helper, but that will take a day or two, maybe more." - -Granny Sue said no more and as Dobbin was not needed on the farm, Jenny -again drove up the winding tree-shaded lane to the crest of the low hill -on the broad top of which stood the picturesque buildings and grounds of -the fashionable school for girls. This time Jenny drew rein before she -entered the gate and gazed far across the valley to the range of circling -mountains, gray and rugged near the peaks, but green and tree-clad lower -down. Jenny always felt, when she gazed at those majestic mountains, the -same awe that others do in a great cathedral, as though she were in the -real presence of the Creator. "Father, God," she whispered, "I thank Thee -that at last Etta is really going home." Then she turned in at the gate. - -As Jenny had feared, Miss O'Hara was becoming very wrathful because of -the delayed return of her helper, and when the kitchen door opened, she -whirled about, a carving knife in her hand and a most threatening -expression on her plain Irish face. When she saw who had entered, the -expression changed, but her sharp blue eyes were gazing back of the girl -as though to find one whom she believed was purposely lingering outside -until a just wrath were somewhat appeased. But when Jenny turned and -closed the door, Miss O'Hara demanded: "Where's that wench? Are you -tryin' to shield her? You can't do it! She'd ought to've been here two -hours back. Me with all the silver to clean and the vegetables to pare." -Then, noting a happiness like a morning glow in the face of the girl, the -woman concluded: "Well, say it out, whatever 'tis! But first let me tell -you, I'm _through_ with that ne'er-do-well. I set myself down right in -the middle of the mornin' and wrote to that orphanage place tellin' 'em -they'd have to find work elsewhere for Etta Heldt, and I'd be obliged to -'em if they'd send me another girl as soon as they could. An' what's -more, I made it plain that I didn't want any sour face this time. I want -someone who's willin' and agreeable, that's what! So, if that minx is -waitin' to hear what I'm sayin', you might as well fetch her in and let's -have it out." - -To the amazement of the irate woman, Jenny clapped her hands girlishly -and then, skipping forward, gave Miss O'Hara an impulsive hug as she -cried: "Oh, oh, I'm so glad you feel that way about it! Then you won't -mind so terribly because Etta Heldt is gone--gone for good, I mean?" - -Miss O'Hara stared blankly. "Gone?" she repeated. "Where's she gone to?" - -Jenny glanced at the clock. It was nearing noon and she knew that the -cook had little time for idle visiting, and so she said briskly: "I've -come over to help. I'll put on Etta's apron and do anything you want -done, and while we're working, I'll tell you the whole sad story, -because, Miss O'Hara, it is awfully sad, and I do believe if you had -known it, you would have been sorrier for Etta, and maybe, a little more -patient." Then, fearing that this might offend her listener, the tactful -girl hurried on with: "I know how kind you can be. No one knows better." - -The cook, who had turned back to the slicing of cold meat, which had been -the reason for the carving knife, merely grunted at this. She was not -sure but that a little of her own native blarney was being applied to -her. But she answered in a pleasanter voice to the girl's repeated -inquiry: "What shall I do to help?" - -"Well, you might be fixin' the salad. You'll find the mixin's for it all -in the icebox up top." - -"Oh, goodie!" Jenny skipped to the box as she spoke: "I adore making -things pretty, and salads give one a chance more than most anything else, -don't you think so, Miss O'Hara?" She had lifted the cover and was -peering in where, close to the ice, lay the cheesecloth bag of crisped -lettuce and a bowl of tiny cooked beets. These she carried to the long -white table as she asked: "May I prepare it just as I want to, Miss -O'Hara, or have you some special way of doing it?" - -"Fix it to suit yourself," was the ungrudgingly given response. "You'll -find all sort of bowls for it in the pantry, you'll need four, there -being four tables." - -Jenny chose pretty glass bowls and set about making as artistic a salad -as she could, and, while she worked, she told the whole story to a -listener who at first was merely curious, but who gradually became -interested and finally sympathetic. "Well, I sure certain wish I'd known -about her comin' to this country and findin' her mother dead. Like as not -I'd have tried some to cheer her up. As I look back on it now, I wasn't -any too patient with her. It'll be a lesson to me, that's what it will. -When the next orphan comes to this kitchen, I'll try to make it as -home-like for her as I can." Then the cook recalled her own troubles. -"How-some-ever, I wish Etta Heldt had given me notice. Here I'll be -without a helper for no one knows how long, a week maybe." - -Jenny, having heaped a glass bowl with a most appetizing salad, stepped -back to admire it. Then she revealed her plan. "Miss O'Hara, if you'll -let me, I'll come right over after school every day and do Etta's work -until you can get another helper." - -Miss O'Hara again turned, another knife in her hand, as she had been -cutting bread. "Jenny Warner, are you meaning that? Will you help out for -a few days? Well, the Saints bless the purty face of you as they've done -already. I only wish I could have a helper all the time as cheery as you -are. I could get on with after-school help. I'm thinkin', on a scratch." - -Then, glancing at the clock, she continued: "Well, if 'tisn't -eleven-thirty all ready. Here, cut the bread, will you, Jenny, while I go -upstairs and see if one of the maids won't help with the servin' today? I -can't be in the kitchen dishin' up, an' in the dinin' room at the same -time." - -Jenny, glad to assist in any way, finished the task, and then wandered to -a window near to await further orders. She heard a gong ringing somewhere -in the big school. Then a side door opened and a bevy of girls, about her -own age, trooped out on the lawn for a half hour of recreation before -lunch. How pretty they were, nearly all of them, the watcher thought. By -their care-free, laughing faces she concluded that they had none of them -known a sorrow or felt a feather weight of responsibility. They had come -from homes of wealth, Jenny knew, where they had had every pleasure and -luxury their hearts could desire. But she did not envy them. Where in all -the wide world was there a home more picturesque than her very own old -adobe farmhouse, overgrown with blossoming vines, with the ever-changing -ocean and the rocky point in front, and at the back the orchard, which, -all the year round, was such a delight. And who could they have in their -rich homes more lovable than Granny Sue and Grandpa Si? There couldn't be -any one more lovable in all the land. Then the watcher wondered which one -of the girls was Harold P-J's sister. "Proud and domineering," Miss -O'Hara had said that she was. Maybe she was that tall girl who had drawn -apart from the rest with two companions. She carried herself haughtily -and there was a smile on her face that Jenny did not like. It was as -though she were accompanying it with sarcastic comment about the other -girls. The two who were with her glanced in the direction which their -leader had indicated. Jenny did also and saw a shy-looking girl dressed -far simpler than the others, whose light brown hair hung straight down, -fastened at her neck by a plain brown ribbon. "She must be a new pupil, -too," Jenny decided, "for she doesn't seem to be acquainted with any of -the girls." - -At that moment Miss O'Hara returned, more flustered than she had been an -hour earlier, if that were possible. "The de'il himself is tryin' to fret -me, I'm thinkin'," she announced. "That silly Peg Hanson's had a letter -and there's somethin' in it that upset her so, she took a fit of cryin' -and now she's got one of her blind headaches and can't stand. The other -maid's in the middle of the upstairs cleanin', being as she had to do -Peg's work and her own. Now, I'd like to know _who_ is to wait on that -parcel of gigglin' girls this noon? That's what!" - -"O, Miss O'Hara, won't you let me? I'm just wild to have a chance to be -near enough to them to hear what they say. It would be awfully -interesting to me. Please say that I may?" - -The cook stared her amazement. "Well, now, what do _you_ know about -waitin'?" she inquired. - -"Nothing at all," was the merry reply, "but my teacher has often said -that I have a good intelligence, and I do believe, if you'd tell me what -ought to be done, I could remember enough to get through." - -The cook's troubled face broke into a pleased smile. "Jenny Warner," she -commented, "you're as good as a pinch of soda in sour milk. Somehow -mountain-sized troubles dwindle down to less'n nothin' when you take a -hand in them." She glanced at the clock. - -"Lunch is served at twelve-thirty," she continued. "We'll have to both -pitch in and get things on the table, and, while we're doin' it, I'll -tell you what you'll have to know about servin'." - - * * * * * * * * - -Jenny was in a flutter of excitement half an hour later as she donned the -white cap and apron of the waitress uniform. They were really very -becoming, and soft brown ringlets peeped out from under the dainty -band-like cap which was tied about her head. - -"There's very little waitin'-on to be done at noon, thanks for that," -Miss O'Hara said. "Most things are on the table, but you'll have to go -around and pour the chocolate and do the things as I told you. There now! -The bell's ringing and I hear those silly girls laughing, so they're all -in the dining room. Here's the chocolate pot. I haven't filled it full, -fearin' it might be too heavy. You'll have to come back and get more when -that's gone." - -With cheeks flushed and eyes shining, as though she were about to do -something which pleased her extremely, Jenny entered the dining room, -where four tables, surrounded by girls, stood along the walls. Few there -were who even noticed her as she went from place to place filling the -dainty cups with steaming liquid. - -At the first table the girls were chattering about a theatre party to -which they were going with Miss Granger, and not one of them gave the -waitress more than a fleeting glance. But at the second table Jenny found -the girl she sought. The sister of Harold P-J, and the daughter of the -proud owner of Rocky Point Farm. - -The little waitress knew at once which she was, for a companion spoke her -name. Jenny was disappointed when she heard her speak. There was a -fretful, discontented note in her voice. And why should there be, she -wondered, as she slowly approached the end of the table where Gwynette -Poindexter-Jones sat with an intimate friend from San Francisco at each -side. - -Surely she had everything her heart could desire. But evidently this was -not true, for, as Jenny drew nearer, she could hear what was being said. - -"Patricia Sullivan, you make me weary! You certainly do!" she addressed -the girl on her right. "How can you say that this is a pleasant place? -When I think of my mother in France luxuriating in the sort of life I -most enjoy, it makes me rebellious. Sometimes I feel that I just can't -forgive her. What right has a mother to send her daughter to an -out-of-the-way country boarding school if the girl prefers to be educated -abroad?" - -The friend who had been called "Patricia" now put in, almost -apologetically: "But I merely said that it is a beautiful country, and I -repeat that it is. I think that it is wonderful to be so high up on a -foothill and have a sweeping view of the ocean from one side of the -school and a view of the mountains from the other side." - -A shrug, accompanied by an utterance of bored impatience, then Gwynette's -reply: "Scenery isn't what I want, and if I did, I prefer it in France." - -After glancing critically from one table to another, she continued: - -"There isn't a single girl in this room who belongs to our class, really. -They are all our social inferiors." - -But Beulah Hollingsworth, the friend on Gwynette's left, leaned forward -to say in a low voice, which was audible to Jenny merely because she had -reached the trio and was filling Patricia's cup: - -"I've heard that there is a girl in this school whose father is a younger -son of some titled English family. She ought to be in our class, don't -you think?" - -Patricia, whose back was toward the room, could not turn to look at the -other pupils, but suddenly she recalled one of them, and so, leaning -forward, she also said in a low voice: - -"Look at Clare Tasselwood. She's stiff enough at least to be a somebody." -Gwynette and Beulah agreed. - -They both glanced at a tall blonde girl at the table across the room, -whose manner was neither disagreeable nor pleasant, expressing merely -bored endurance of her present existence. Gwynette's face brightened. "I -believe you are right. Let's cultivate her!" - -Jenny could hear no more of their conversation as she had to go back to -the kitchen to refill the silver pot, and when she returned she began to -fill cups at a third table, the one at which sat the supposed daughter of -a "younger son." Clare Tasselwood was so deeply engrossed in her own -thoughts that she seemed scarce aware that the timid girl at her left was -offering her a platter of cold meat. She took it finally with a brief -nod; absently helped herself to a slice and passed it to the neighbor on -her right. - -Jenny found herself feeling sorry for the little girl whom she had -noticed at the recreation hour; the one so simply dressed in brown with -whom no one had been talking, and about whom Gwynette and her friends had -evidently been making uncomplimentary comment. When the new waitress -poured that girl's cup full of chocolate, the little maid smiled up at -her and said, "Thank you." - -More than ever Jenny's heart warmed toward her. "Poor thing! I'd like to -be friends with her if she were not a pupil of this fashionable school. -She looks more like real folks than some of them do." - -Then, having completed the round with the chocolate pot, the waitress -went out to the kitchen to get the tray on which were to be heaped the -plates after the first course had been finished. Jenny really dreaded -this task, fearing that she would break something, and was relieved to -find that the upstairs maid who had been cleaning had come down and was -ready to assist. - -"Here, Jenny," Miss O'Hara said, "you follow and give each girl her -dessert. Then you come out and eat your own lunch. After that you can go. -Tomorrow, being Sunday, I can get along alone, and probably by Monday the -new helper'll be here." - -An hour later Jenny drove away, laughing to herself over her amusing -adventure and eager to tell Grandma Sue and Granddad Si all about it. - - - - - CHAPTER VII. - JENNY'S TEACHER - - -It was two o'clock when Jenny skipped to the side porch of the Rocky -Point farmhouse. Her grandmother, who was sitting there with her mending -basket at her side, looked up with the welcoming smile that she always -had for the girl. Dropping down on the wooden bench, back of which hung a -blossom-laden garland of Cecil Brunner rose vine, Jenny took off her -wide, flower-wreathed straw hat and began fanning her flushed face. The -sparkle in her soft brown eyes told the watcher at once that something of -an unusual nature had occurred. The old woman dropped her sewing on her -lap, pushed her spectacles up under her lavender-ribboned cap and then -said with a rising inflection: "Well, Jenny dearie, what have you been up -to?" - -A peal of amused laughter was the girl's first answer, followed by a -series of little chuckles that tried to form themselves into words but -couldn't. Mirth is contagious and the old woman laughingly said: "Tut! -Tut! Jenny, don't keep all the fun of it to yourself. What happened over -to the seminary that was so amusing? I reckoned you'd have sort of a hard -tune making things straight with Miss O'Hara, if she's as snappy as poor -Etta Heldt said she was." - -Jenny became serious at once, and, leaning forward, she began earnestly: -"Miss O'Hara is kindhearted, Granny Sue, but she does seem to have a -powerful lot to worry her. Etta didn't try to be real helpful, I know -that, although I was so sorry for her, and when I told Miss O'Hara all -about the poor orphan, there were tears in her eyes, honestly there were, -Granny, and she said that when the next orphan came, she'd try to make -that kitchen more homelike." - -Her listener was pleased and nodded many times, as she commented: "Well, -well, that's somethin' now that my Jenny gal has brought to pass, but it -wasn't about that you were having such a spell of laughin', I reckon." - -Again there were twinkles in the brown eyes as the girl confessed: "No, -Granny Sue, it wasn't, and in as many years as Rip Van Winkle slept, you -couldn't guess what it was." - -The old woman looked puzzled, as she always did when Jenny quoted from -some of her "readin' books." "Wall, I reckon I couldn't, bein' as I don't -know how long the lazy fellow slept, so I reckon you'd better tell me -what you've been up to over to the seminary." - -She had replaced her glasses and was again sewing a patch on an old shirt -of Grandpa Si's, but she looked up when the girl said: "You'll be -astonished as can be, because you never even guessed that your -granddaughter knew how to wait on table, stylish-like, with all the -flourishes." - -Down went the sewing, up went the glasses, and an expression of shocked -displeasure was in the sweet blue eyes of the old woman. - -"Jenny Warner, am I hearin' right? Are yo' tellin' me that my gal waited -on table over to the seminary?" - -The girl looked puzzled. Grandma Sue was taking almost tragically what -Jenny had considered in the light of a merry adventure. - -"Why, yes, Granny, I did. You don't mind, do you? You have always wanted -me to help where help was needed, and surely poor Miss O'Hara needed a -waitress. If we hadn't spirited Etta away, she would have been there. You -see, don't you, Grandma, that I just had to help?" - -"Yes, yes, I reckon like as not you did, but don't do it again, Jenny, -don't! Promise, just to please your old Grandma Sue." - -The girl placed her hat on the bench and went to her grandmother's side -and knelt, her head nestled lovingly against the old woman's shoulder. -"Why, Granny, dearie," she said contritely, "I didn't suppose you'd mind. -Why is it that you do?" She was plainly perplexed. - -But the old woman had no intention of telling the girl she so loved that -she could not bear the thought of having her act as a servant to her own -sister, Gwynette. And so she replied with an assumed cheeriness: "Just a -notion, dearie, like as not. I feel that our gal is as good, and heaps -better'n a lot of them seminary pupils, and I guess I sort of don't like -the idea of you waitin' on 'em." Then anxiously: "It won't happen again, -will it, Jenny?" - -The girl kissed her grandmother lovingly. Then rising, she put her hat on -her sun-glinted head as she replied: "It won't be necessary, because Peg, -the real waitress, will be well again tomorrow. She had one of her blind -headaches today, but I did promise to go over Monday after school and do -Etta's work, preparing vegetables. You don't mind that, do you, Granny -dear. The new orphan will be there by Tuesday surely." - -"Well, well, you do whatever you think right. That heart o' yourn won't -take you far wrong. You're goin' over to your school-teacher's now, -aren't you, dearie? She'll be expectin' you." - -The girl nodded, skipped into the house to get a book, returned, saying -as she went down the path: "This is our mythology lesson day. Good-bye, -Granny dear. I'll be home in time to get supper." - -As Jenny drove Dobbin along the coast highway, she wondered why her -grandmother had objected so seriously to the act of kindness that she had -done. Her teacher, Miss Dearborn, had so often said: "Jeanette, it isn't -what we do that counts, it is what we are." Surely Jenny had been no -different from what she really was when she had been filling cups with -steaming golden brown chocolate. Moreover, Granny Sue hadn't minded in -the least that time, last year, when Jenny had gone over to the cabin -home of the poor forlorn squatter family in the sycamore woods and had -cleaned it out thoroughly. - -She had found the mother sick in bed and the three children almost -spoiling for a bath. Jenny smiled as she recalled how she had taken them, -one after another, down to the creek in the canon below the cabin, and -had washed them, showing the oldest, Rosa, who was eight, how to give -future baths to Sara, aged five, and Elmer, aged two. And after that she -had driven, at Miss Dearborn's suggestion, into Santa Barbara to tell the -Visiting Nurse's Association about the poor squatter family. Grandma Sue -had been pleased, then, to have Jenny serve others. Why did she object to -a similar service for Miss O'Hara? This being unanswerable, the girl -decided to drive through the Sycamore Canon Road, as it was really but a -little out of her way, and see how the squatter's family was progressing. - -It became very cool as she turned out of the sunshine of the broad -highway, and the deeper she drove into the canon, the damper and more -earth fragrant the air. Great old sycamore trees that had grown in most -picturesque angles were on either side of the narrow dirt road, and -crossing and recrossing, under little rustic bridges, rambled the brook -which in the spring time danced along as though it also were brimming -over with the joy of living. The cabin in which the Pascoli family lived -had been long abandoned when they had taken possession. It stood in a -more open spot, where, for a few hours each day, the sunlight came. It -was partly adobe (from which its former white-washed crust had broken -away in slabs) and partly logs. A rose vine, which Jenny had given to the -older girl, was bravely trying to climb up about the door, and along the -front of the cabin were ferns transplanted from the brookside. - -When Jenny hallooed, there was a joyful answering cry from within, and -three children, far cleaner than when they had first been found, raced -out, their truly beautiful Italian faces beaming their pleasure. They -climbed up on the sides of the wagon shouting, in child-like fashion, "O, -Miss Jenny, did you fetch us any honey?" - -"No, dearies. I didn't! And I don't believe you've eaten all that I -brought you last week, have they, Mrs. Pascoli?" the girl looked over -Sara's head to the dark-eyed woman who appeared in the open door carrying -a wee baby wrapped in a shawl. She replied: "No, ma'am! The beggars they -are!" Then came a rebuking flow of Italian which had the effect desired, -for the three youngsters climbed down and said in a subdued chorus, -"No'm, we ain't et it, and thanks for it till it's gone." the latter part -of the sentence being added by Sara alone. Jenny smiled at them, then -said to the woman: - -"You're quite well again, Mrs. Pascoli. I'm so glad! Grandpa tells me -that your husband is working steadily now. Next week I'll bring some more -honey and eggs. Good-bye." - -The girl soon turned out of the canon on to a foothill road and after a -short climb came suddenly upon a low built white house that had a -wonderful view of the ocean and islands. - -She turned in at the drive, the gate posts of which were pepper trees, -and at once she saw her beloved teacher, Miss Dearborn, working in her -garden. - -The woman, who was about thirty-five, looked up with a welcoming smile -which she reserved for this her only pupil. "Jenny Warner, you're an hour -late," she merrily rebuked. "Hitch Dobbin and come in. I have some news -to tell you." - -"O, Miss Dearborn, is it good news? I'm always so dreading the bad news -that, some day, I just know you are going to tell me. It isn't that, -yet?" - -The woman, whose strong, kind, intelligent face was shaded with a -wide-brimmed garden hat, smiled at the girl, then more seriously she -said: "Shall you mind so very much when the call comes for me to go back -East?" - -Jenny nodded, unexpected tears in her eyes. "East is so far, so very far -away, and you've been here for--well--for as many years as I have been -going to school." - -"Ten, to be exact," was the reply. "But that isn't my news today. It is -something about you, and you'll be ever so excited when you hear it." - -Miss Dearborn led the way into a long, cool living room which extended -entirely across the front of the house. In one end of it was a large -stone fireplace, on either side of which were glassed-in book shelves. -There were Navajo rugs on the hardwood floor, a piano at the opposite -end, deep, cozily cushioned seats under the wide plate-glass windows that -framed such wonderful views of sea, rocky promontory and islands, -mist-hung. - -In the middle was a long library table and everywhere were chairs -inviting ease. Great bowls of glowing yellow poppies stood in many places -about the long room. This had been Jenny Warner's second home, and Miss -Dearborn a most beneficial influence in her development. - -Having removed her garden hat, a mass of soft, light brown hair was -revealed. Seating herself at one end of the table, the older woman -motioned the girl to a chair at her side. - -For a long moment she looked at her earnestly. "Jenny," she said at last, -"I believe you are old enough to be told something about me, but since it -is not nearly as important as the something about you, I will begin with -that." - -Jenny, not in the least understanding why, felt strangely excited. "Oh, -Miss Dearborn, if only it hasn't anything to do with your going back -East." - -A strong white hand was placed over the smaller one that was lying on the -table, and for a searching moment the gray eyes met the brown. "I -believe, after all, I will have to tell you the part about myself first -in order that you may more clearly understand the part about you," Miss -Dearborn said. "I never told you why I came West ten years ago. It was -this way. When I was fifteen, I went to a boarding school in Boston and -met there a girl, Beatrice Malcolm, who became, through the four years -that followed, as dear to me as an own sister would have been. She was -not strong and she never had been able to bear disappointment. I always -gave in to her and tried to shield her whenever I could. She clung to me, -depended on me and loved me, if not quite as devotedly as I loved her, at -least very dearly. When we left boarding school we visited each other for -weeks at a time. She came to my Cape Cod home in the summer, and I went -to her New York home in the winter, and so we shared the same friends and -were glad to do so, until Eric Austin came into our lives. Eric and I -were unusually companionable. He loved books and nature and especially -the sea. He had come to Cape Cod to write a group of poems and I met him -at our Literary Club. He came often to my home and we read together day -after day. Then Beatrice came for her annual summer visit, and, after -that there were three of us at the readings. Eric's voice was deep, -musical and stirringly expressive. I began to notice that Beatrice hung -on every word that he uttered as though he were a young god. There was -something poetically beautiful about his fine face. Then, one day, she -confessed to me that if she could not win Eric Austin's love, she would -not care to live. This was cruelly hard for me, because I also loved Eric -and he had told me that my love was returned. Indeed, I had not allowed -myself to really care, until I knew that he cared, but I had told him -that I wanted to wait until we had known each other at least through one -summer." - -Miss Dearborn paused and gazed out of the window at the blue sea -shimmering in the distance, then turned and smiled into the sensitive, -responsive face of the girl at her side. Almost tearfully, Jenny said: -"Oh, Miss Dearborn, I know what you did. You gave up the man you loved -for that selfish girl." - -The woman shook her head. "Not selfish! Just spoiled, and I had helped, -for I had always given up to her, and that is what I did. I pretended not -to care. I left them much alone, and then, when the summer was over, I -closed my Cape Cod home and came West. Eric was deeply hurt, and wrote me -that, although he never could care for anyone as he did for me, he was -going to marry Beatrice and would try to make her as happy as he had -hoped to make me. That was all. They were married while I was settling in -this new home. Year after year Beatrice has written that some day she -wants me to come and visit them, and she has named her oldest girl after -me. Little Catherine is now eight. That is all about me. Now I will tell -the something about you." - -Jenny, deeply affected by what she had heard, said with a little half -sob: "Oh, Miss Dearborn, it makes my heart ache to think that you have -lived all these years so alone when you might have had the companionship -of that man who really loved you. I just know he never could have loved -your friend Beatrice. She must have known you cared and she let you make -that cruel sacrifice." - -Before answering the older woman took the girl's hand and held it in a -close clasp as she said earnestly: "Jenny, dear, I gave up much, very -much, but think what I won. You, for instance. I had thought that I might -have a daughter, as I suppose all girls, growing into young womanhood, -dream that, some day, they will marry and have children, and that -daughter, I now believe, would have been like you. So you see I gained -something very precious." There were tears in Jenny's tender brown eyes -as she replied: "Oh. Miss Dearborn, I am the one who has gained. I just -can't picture life without you. I remember so well when you first came. -You heard that our little schoolhouse down on the coast highway was to be -closed because the board of education was not allowed to pay a teacher's -salary unless there were eight pupils to attend the school. There were -only five of us, the four from the Anderson Bean Ranch and me. You -offered to teach us for nothing, saying that you wanted to do something -for children. I didn't know that until long afterwards, then Grandma told -me how it had all come about. We were too little to go on the bus to the -big schools in Santa Barbara." - -"I'm glad indeed that I did it," Miss Dearborn put in, "but, of course, -when the Andersons moved back to their Iowa farm and you were the only -pupil we closed that coast highway school and had our lessons here, and -such an inspiration as they have been to me, Jenny Warner! I just know -that you are leading up to an expression of gratitude. I've heard it time -and again and I do appreciate it, dear girl, but now that you know the -great loneliness that was in my heart when I came West, you will readily -understand that having you to teach filled a void, filled it beautifully, -and so, I also have a deep sense of gratitude toward you." - -"And two years ago," Jenny continued retrospectively, "when we completed -the work of the sixth grade, you can't think how unhappy I was, for I -supposed that at last I would have to leave you and go by bus each day to -the Santa Barbara Junior High, and I never shall forget that wonderful -day when you told me you had received permission to teach me through the -eighth grade." - -Miss Dearborn laughed happily. "What I never told you, Jenny, was that -the board of education insisted that I take an examination at their State -Normal to prove to them that I knew enough to teach one lone pupil the -higher grade work. I brushed up evenings and passed creditably." - -Impulsively the girl pressed the woman's hand to her cheek. "Oh, Miss -Dearborn," she exclaimed tremulously, "to _think_ that you did _all_ that -_just_ for me." - -"Wrong you are, Jenny girl!" the woman sang out. "I did it first of all -for Catherine Dearborn. I felt a panic in my heart I had not dreamed -possible when I thought that I was to be left all alone, day in and day -out, with only memory for company. I wanted to keep you, to teach you, to -love you, and I did keep you, but now along comes a letter from the same -board of education. If we thought they had forgotten us, we are mistaken. -That's my news about you." - -Opening a small drawer in the end of the table, Miss Dearborn took out a -letter and read: - -"Miss Jenny Warner will be required to take the entrance examination in -all the subjects at the High School of Santa Barbara during the week of -June 10th. The results of these tests will determine where she is to -continue her studies." - -The girl's lovely face was the picture of dismay. "Oh, Miss Dearborn, I -can't! I can't! I'd be simply frightened to death to even enter the door -of that imposing building, and if any of the pupils as much as spoke to -me, I'd simply expire." Her teacher laughed. "Nonsense!" she declared. -"Not only must my pupil enter the door but she must pass the tests with -high grades if I am to be permitted to teach her another year." - -Then to change the girl's thought, Miss Dearborn continued brightly: -"Saturday is our mythology day, isn't it? But since you came late and we -have spent so much time visiting, we will not go up into the hills as we -usually do for this lesson. Let me see. Weren't you to write something -about Apollo, Diana and Echo that I might know if you fully understand -just what each stands for in poetry and art?" - -"Oh, Miss Dearborn," Jenny laughed as she drew a paper from her book, "I -don't know what you will say about the composition I tried to write. It -isn't good, I know, but I ever so much wanted to write it in verse. Shall -you mind my trying?" The girl's manner was inquiring and apologetic at -the same time. - -"Of course not," was the encouraging reply. "We all reach an age when we -want to write our thoughts in rhyme. Read it to me." - -And so timidly Jenny began: - - - At Sunrise - - Gray mists veil the dawn of day, - Silver winged they speed away, - - When across a road of gold - In his shining chariot rolled - - Young Apollo. Day's fair King - Bids the birds awake and sing! - - Robin, skylark, linnet, thrush - From each glen and flower-glad bush - - Burst their throats with warbles gay - To welcome back the King of Day. - - Diana, huntress, Apollo's twin, - Standing in a forest dim, - - A quiver on one shoulder fair - Filled with arrows. (In her hair - - A moonlike crescent.) Calls her hounds - To new adventures with them bounds, - - While lovely Echo in the hill, - Though grieving for Narcissus still, - - Must need call back their song or bay, - And so is dawned a glad new day. - -Miss Dearborn smiled as she commented: "Dear girl, there is no need to -blush about this, your first effort at verse. I am going to suggest that -you write all of your compositions on this poetical subject in rhyme. -Keep them and let us see how much better the last will be than the -first." Then after a thoughtful moment: "Dawn is a subject much loved by -the poets." - -Then she quoted from Byron: - - "The morn is up again, the dewy morn, - With breath all incense and with cheek all bloom; - Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn - (Living as if earth contained no tomb) - And glowing into day." - -"Oh, Miss Dearborn," was Jenny's enthusiastic comment, "how happy I will -be when my memory holds as many poems as you know. It will add to the -loveliness of every scene to know what some poet has thought about one -that was similar." - -"You are right, dear, it does." Then rising, Miss Dearborn said: "Come -with me to the porch dining room. I hear the kettle calling us to -afternoon tea." - - - - - CHAPTER VIII. - AN ADVENTURE FILLED DAY - - -It was late afternoon when Jenny returned from Miss Dearborn's home high -in the foothills. As she drove up the long lane leading to the farmhouse, -she saw three young ladies from Granger Place Seminary on horseback -cantering along the highway toward the mansion-like home of Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones. She was too far away, however, to be sure that among -them was the girl whom she believed to be the daughter of the rich woman -who owned the farm. - -Going to the barn, Jenny unhitched Dobbin, patting him lovingly and -chatting in a most intimate friendly manner as though she were sure that -he understood. - -"We've had a red letter day, haven't we, Dob? First, early this morning -we drove that poor Etta Heldt to the station and loaned her money to help -her buy a ticket to Belgium." Then, in silent meditation, the girl -thought: "How I wish I had a magic carpet like that of The Little Lame -Prince. I would love to be over on that quaint Belgian farm when the old -people first see their granddaughter arriving." - -Then as she led the faithful horse out to the watering trough under a -blossoming peach tree, another thought presented itself. "Dobbin." she -again addressed her companion, "now that we have loaned part of the honey -and egg money, wouldn't it be dreadful if Mrs. Poindexter-Jones should -decide to sell this farm?" She sighed. "Though I suppose that hundred -dollars wouldn't go very far toward buying it." For a contemplative -moment the girl gazed across the meadow where a pale green of early grain -was beginning to show, and then at the picturesque old adobe partly -hidden by the blossoming orchard. It was all the home she had ever known -and it was hard to even think of moving to another. "Don't climb over a -stile till you get to it," Grandpa Si had often told her. Remembering -this, she turned her attention to her companion, who had lifted his -dripping head. "My, but you were thirsty, weren't you, Dob? Come on now -into your nice cool stall. I'm eager to tell Grandma about that dreadful -examination I am to take." - -Later, as she walked along the path which led past the rows of beehives -where there was ever a cheerful humming, through the orchard and to the -side porch, her thoughts were varied. "How I wish I could tell Grandma -Sue about Miss Dearborn's romance, but _that_ was meant just for me. -Maybe it's wrong, but I can't help wishing that something will happen -_some day_ which will make it possible for that romance to end happily, -as stories always should, whether they are real or in books." - -At the corner of the porch she stopped to breathe in the fragrance of the -heliotrope blossoms that grew on a riotous bush which seemed to be -trying, vine-fashion, to reach the roof. - -"Home again, after a day crowded full of unusual happenings," her -thoughts hummed along. "I don't suppose that anything more _can_ happen -in it." - -But Jenny Warner was mistaken, for something of vital importance to her -(though she little guessed it) was yet to happen on that day. - -Skipping into the kitchen, the girl beheld her grandmother busy at the -ironing board. Self rebukingly she cried: "Oh, Grandma Sue, why did you -iron today? You promised me faithfully, since I had to go over to the -seminary, and then to my teacher's, that you wouldn't iron until next -week, when I could help. Now you look all hot and tired, and as thirsty -as Dobbin was. Please stop and rest while I make us some lemonade." - -The flushed face of the old woman was smiling contentedly as she -protested: "I like to iron, dearie. I'm not doing much, just pressin' out -our church-goin' things. Grandpa Si needed a fresh shirt and I reckoned -as how, mabbe, you'd like to wear that white muslin o' yourn with the -pink flowers on the bands, so I fetched it out an' washed it an' ironed -it, an' there 'tis, lookin' as purty again this year as it did when it -was furst made. Shouldn't you think so. Jenny?" This a little -anxiously--"or do you reckon we'd better buy you a new Sunday dress for -this comin' summer?" - -Jenny whirled toward the clothes-horse where hung the pink sprigged -muslin which had been "church goin'" dress for the past three summers. -The hem had twice been let down, but, except that the pink had somewhat -faded, it was as pretty as it ever had been. "Oh, it's a love of a -dress." The girl was sincere. "I hope I never will have to give it up. -I've been so happy in it, and then it matches that sweet parasol Miss -Dearborn gave me and the wreath on my white leghorn hat. I'm glad I may -begin wearing it tomorrow, Grandma Sue, and it was mighty nice of you to -iron it for me, but now, as soon as we've had our drink, I'm going to -iron your Sunday go-to-meeting lavender dress. Please say that I may. -I'll do the ruffles just beautifully. You will be so vain!" - -"Tut! Tut! dearie." Susan Warner sank down in Grandpa's armed chair to -wipe her warm face and rest while her beloved Jenny made lemonade. "It -wouldn't do to wear that dress to meetin' if it's goin' to make me vain." - -How the girl laughed as she squeezed the juicy lemons that grew on the -big tree close to the back porch. Nearly all the year round that tree was -laden with blossoms, green and ripe fruit at the same time. "The most -obliging kind of tree," Jenny had often said. "It provides a perfume, -delicious lemon pies and a refreshing drink whenever its owners wish." - -"There now, Granny Sue, if only we had ice to clink in it as Miss -Dearborn has we'd think that we were rich folks, but it's real nice as it -is." The girl drank her share with a relish. - -"That was mighty good tastin'," Susan Warner commented. "I wish your -Grandpa could have a drink of it. He's cultivatin' close to the high -hedge. That's a hot place when the sun is beatin' down the way it has -been all day. Couldn't you carry a little pailful over to him, dearie?" - -"Of course I can and will, Mrs. Susan Warner, if you will promise me one -thing." The girl gazed down into the smiling face of the old woman. "I -have my suspicions that you're trying to get rid of me so that you may -iron the lavender dress. Is that the truth?" - -"Maybe 'tis," was the smilingly given confession, "but if you'll let me -iron that one while you're gone, you can do Grandpa's best shirt when you -come back." - -Filling a quart pail with the lemonade, Jenny snatched her garden hat -from its nail by the door and skipped away, although she had to walk more -carefully when the ploughed ground was reached. "It makes me think of -Robert Burns, and how, in far-away Scotland, his plough turned over the -home nest of a poor little old field mouse," she thought. "Oh, how glad, -glad I am that Miss Dearborn is teaching me to love poetry. I can just -see that tender-hearted young poet leaning over, ever so sorry because he -had destroyed the little creature's home and telling it not to be -frightened. - - "'Wee, sleekit, cowrin', tim'rous beastie, - O, what a panic's in thy breastie! - Thou needna start awa' sae hasty - Wi' bick'ring brattle. - I wad be laith to rin and chase thee - Wi' murd'ring prattle.'" - -"Jenny gal, what air yo' sayin', talkin' to yourself that a-way?" The -girl suddenly looked up, realizing that she had neared the high hedge -that separated the farm from the mansion-like home and its grounds. -Laughing happily, she replied: "What you'd call up to my old tricks, -Granddad, reciting poetry that Miss Dearborn has had me learn. See, here -is a pail brimming full of cool lemonade, if it hasn't warmed while I -crossed the field. I'm sure you must be as thirsty as Grandma and Dobbin -and I were." For answer the old man pushed his wide brimmed straw hat to -the back of his head, lifted the pail to his lips and drank it all -without stopping. Then said gratefully: "I reckon I kin keep on now fer a -spell longer. I was most petered out an' I do want to finish this field -afore I quit." - -The girl left at once, as she wished to hurry home to help with the -ironing. She followed the hedge, as the walking was easier, but suddenly -she paused and her hand went to her heart. She had heard the voices of -girls talking on the other side of the evergreens and what one of them -was saying greatly startled the listener. - -"Oh, yes, indeed," a proud voice was saying, "we own about one hundred -acres, Ma Mere, brother Harold and I. Our property extends along the -seacoast to the highwater mark, then back across the highway up into -Laurel Canon, and includes the farm just beyond the hedge." - -Another voice commented, "If your mother should die, you and your brother -would be very rich." - -"Oh, yes, fairly," this with a fine show of indifference. "But if I had -my way, all of our country property would be turned into money, then we -could live abroad ever after. Mother promised that when she comes in July -she will consider selling the farm and the canon property at least. She -would have sold the farm two years ago had it not been for my brother -Harold. For some reason, which Ma Mere and I cannot in the least -understand, he pleaded to have the farm kept. He even offered to take it -as part of his share, that and the canon acreage, and let me have the -home and estate." - -"What did your mother say to that?" a third voice inquired. - -"Too utterly ridiculous to consider, and that, since she wishes to turn -something into cash, if we are to live abroad, she will sell one or the -other, and, of course, there will be a more ready market for the farm. -It's a most picturesque old place. That is, from a distance. I have never -really been there. You see, we have practically lived away from our -country home ever since I was born. I have always supposed that, because -of our father's long lingering illness here, Ma Mere has dreaded -returning to stay, so imagine my surprise when she wrote that we were all -three to spend this summer at the old place." - -Jenny, who had stood transfixed, listening, though against her will, for -she scorned eavesdropping, started to run across the ploughed field, -stumbling and almost falling in her haste. Oh, what should she do? Should -she tell Grandma and Grandpa the terrible possibility that, after all, -Rocky Point Farm might be sold, and that very summer? No! No! She -couldn't do that. Oh, if only she had not loaned Etta Heldt part of the -honey and egg money, and yet, with a crushing sense of depression, Jenny -realized that it did not in the least matter about that paltry sum. If -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones wished to sell part of her land, all that her -grandfather had saved or could procure would be no inducement to her. - -When the orchard was reached, she stood very still for a moment, her hand -again on her heart, as though to quiet its anxious beating that was -almost a pain. "Jenny Warner," she said to herself, "you _must_ not let -Grandma suspect that anything is wrong because, perhaps, nothing really -is. If Harold does not want the farm sold, his mother may heed his -wishes." - -Two moments later a smiling girl entered the kitchen, hung her hat on its -nail by the door as she said, "Well, Granny Sue, I was longer than I -expected to be and you have started on the shirt. Let me have the iron. -I'll promise not to scorch it, the way I did that towel you let me iron -when I was just head above the ironing board. Do you remember it? You -were so sweet about it when I cried. I recall, even now, how you -comforted me by saying that the two ends of the towel would make such -nice wash cloths, hemmed up, and that it was lucky the scorch was in the -middle of the towel because that would make the wash cloths just the -right size." The old woman had relinquished the iron, and, sitting near -in Grandpa's armed chair, she smiled lovingly at the girl, who continued: -"That's just the way you've overlooked all the mistakes I ever made. I do -wish that every girl in all the world had a grandmother like you." Jenny -was purposely chattering to keep from telling what was uppermost in her -mind. - -"What a proud, vain girl that Gwynette Poindexter-Jones must be!" Jenny's -thoughts were very different from her spoken words. "How cold and -superior the tone of her voice when she informed her friends that she had -never visited the farm, but that it looked very picturesque from a -distance." Jenny's cheeks flushed as she indignantly told herself that -she certainly hoped that the farm never would be visited by----. Her -thought was interrupted by her exclamation of dismay. "Grandmother Sue. -_Here_ they come!" - -The old woman rose hastily from the armed wooden chair. "Who, dearie? Who -is it you see?" No wonder she asked, for the girl with the iron safely -upheld, that it might not scorch the shirt front, was staring with a -startled expression out of the window toward the long lane. - -Susan Warner had not seen the missionary's older daughter in many years, -and so she did not recognize her as being the young lady in the lead -mounted on a nervous, high-stepping black horse. Following were two other -girls in fashionable riding habits on small brown horses. But the old -woman did not need to be told who the visitor was, for at once she knew. -There was indeed a resemblance to her own Jenny in the face and the very -build of the girl in the lead. However, a stranger who did not know the -relationship would think little of it because of the difference in the -expressions. One face indicated a selfish, proud, haughty nature, the -other was far more sensitive, joyous and loving. Jenny was again ironing -when the old woman turned from the window to ask, "Do yo' know who they -be?" - -"Why, yes, Granny; the one ahead is Gwynette Poindexter-Jones, and the -two others are her best friends, the ones who came to Granger Place with -her from San Francisco. You know I saw them all close up this noon when I -waited on table over at the seminary." - -Susan Warner had stepped out on the side porch when the young lady in the -lead drew rein. She wanted to close the door, shutting Jenny in, but -since the door stood open from dawn until sunset each day, she knew that -such an act would arouse suspicion. But _how_ she did wish she could -prevent Jenny's meeting her very own sister and being treated as an -inferior. - -The girl at the ironing board listened intently, strainingly, that she -might hear if the selling of the farm was mentioned. - -Gwynette was saying, "My mother told me to ride over to our farm some day -and ask you to see that the big house is put in readiness for occupancy -by the first of July. Ma Mere said that you could hire day labor to have -the cleaning done, but that she prefers to engage our permanent servants -after she arrives." - -How unlike her dear grandmother's voice was the one that was coldly -replying: "I reckon your ma'll write any orders she has for me. She -allays does." - -If Gwynette recognized a rebelliousness in the remark and manner of the -farmer's wife, she put it down to ill-breeding and ignorance, and so said -in her grandest air, "Kindly bring us each a drink of milk." Then, -turning to her friends, she added, "All of the produce of the farm is for -our use, but since we are seldom here, it is, of course, sold in the -village. I suppose Ma Mere receives the profits." - -"Aren't you being unnecessarily rude?" Beulah Hollingsworth inquired. -Gwynette shrugged. "Oh, nobody heard," she said in a tone which implied -that she would not have cared if they had. But she was mistaken, for -Jenny had heard and her cheeks flamed with unaccustomed anger. - -"Are the bees yours also?" Patricia Sullivan inquired, glancing back at -the orchard where a constant humming told that swarms of tiny winged -creatures were gathering sweets. - -"Why, of course," was the languidly given reply. "We'll take some of the -honey back with us. These people have to do as I say. They are just our -servants." To the amazement of the three, a flashing-eyed girl darted out -on the porch as she cried, "You shall _not_ call my grandmother and my -grandfather your servants. And those bees _do not_ belong to you. I -bought them, and the white hens, with my _very own_ Christmas and -birthday money." - -Susan Warner, coming from the cooling cellar with three goblets of milk, -was amazed, for very seldom had she seen a flash of temper in the sweet -brown eyes of her girl. - -"Never mind, dearie, whatever 'twas they said," she murmured in a low -voice. "Go back to your ironin', Jenny; do, to please your ol' granny." - -Obediently the girl returned to the kitchen, but she felt sure, from the -fleeting glance she gave the companions of Gwynette, that _they_ were not -in sympathy with her rudeness. - -After drinking the milk, the three rode away, and from the indignant -tones of one of them the listeners knew that the proud daughter of Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones had been angered by the attitude of her mother's -servants. - -Jenny's heart was indeed heavy as she contemplated the dreary possibility -that her angry words might hasten the day when her loved ones would lose -their home. - -Sadly she finished her task and put away the ironing board. Then she -recalled that an hour before she had assured herself that nothing else of -an unusual nature was apt to happen in that day already crowded with -events, but she had been mistaken. She had met Harold's sister and had -quarreled with her. Then, and for the first time, she realized that she -had half hoped that the daughter of their next door neighbor and she -might become friends. Jenny had never had a close girl friend, and like -all other girls she had yearned for one. - -"Dearie," her grandmother was making an evident effort at cheeriness, "if -you'll be settin' the table, I'll start the pertatoes to fryin'. Here -comes your grandpa. He looks all petered out, and he'll want his supper -early." - -Jenny smiled her brightest as she began the task of consoling herself -with the thought that Harold Poindexter-Jones was their true friend, and -how she did wish that she might see _him_ and ask him if the farm was to -be sold. - - - - - CHAPTER IX. - AN OLD FRIEND APPEARS - - -The next morning, while Jenny was standing in front of her mirror in her -sun-flooded bedroom nearest the sea, she reviewed in memory the events of -the day previous. She found it hard to understand her own anger or why it -had flared so uncontrollably. After all Grandpa Si _was_ the farmer in -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones' employ and, what was more, Grandma Sue _had_ been -housekeeper over at the big house for years before Jenny had been born, -and there was no disgrace in that. The girl challenged the thought that -had recalled this almost forgotten fact. Didn't Miss Dearborn say that it -is not your occupation but what you are that really counts? - -Determinedly she put from her the troubling memory and centered her -attention for the first time on the reflection before her. She did indeed -look pretty in the ruffled white muslin with the pink sprig embroidery, -and tender brown eyes looked out from under a wide white hat, pink -wreathed. There was no complaining thought in her heart because both -dress and hat were many summers old. - -Opening a drawer in her old-fashioned bureau, Jenny took out her prized -pink silk parasol and removed its soft paper wrappings. - -A mocking bird just outside her open window poured one joyous song after -another into the peaceful sunlit air. For a thoughtful moment the girl -gazed out at the shimmering blue sea. "I'm sorry I flared up at Harold's -sister," she said aloud. Then hearing her grandmother calling from the -side porch, she sang out: "Coming, Granny Sue." - -Jenny could not have told why everything and everyone revolved around -Harold P-J. She thought of the proud woman, whom she had once seen in the -long ago, as "Harold's mother," and of the girl whom she had defied as -"Harold's sister," yet she had not seen the boy since that stormy day two -years before. - -Skipping to the side porch, she found Grandma Sue looking very sweet in -her lavender muslin, and tiny black bonnet with lavender ribbons, already -up on the wide seat of the buggy. Breaking a few blossoms from the -heliotrope at the corner of the house, Jenny handed them up to her. "Put -them on, somewhere," she called merrily, "and I shall have a cluster of -pink Cecile Brunner roses for my belt. Granddad, how dressed up you look -in the shirt that I ironed. Do you want a buttonhole bouquet?" - -"Me?" the old man's horrified expression amused the girl. Standing on -tiptoe, she kissed his brown, wrinkled cheek, then clambered up beside -her grandmother. - -Silas Warner climbed over the wheel and took up the loose rein. Dobbin -was indeed a remarkable horse. He seemed to know that on Sunday he was to -turn toward the village, and yet he stopped after having cantered about -two miles and turned down a pine-edged lane that led to St. -Martin's-by-the-Sea. It was the only church in all that part of the -country, and so was attended by rich and poor alike. The seminary girls -attended the service all together and filled one side of the small -church. Jenny, near the aisle, close to the back, was kneeling in prayer -when a late arrival entered and knelt in front of her. It was a young man -dressed in a military school uniform. - -Grandpa Si was the first to recognize the stranger and he whispered to -his companion: "Ma ain't that little Harry?" - -Discreetly the good woman nodded, her eyes never leaving the face of the -preacher who was beginning his sermon. Jenny's heart was in a flutter of -excitement. Surely it was her friend Harold P-J, and yet, two years -before he had been just a boy. Now he was much taller with such broad -shoulders and how straight he stood when they rose to sing a hymn. She -had not seen his face as she was directly behind him. Perhaps, after all, -she was mistaken, she thought, for she had plainly heard his sister tell -her friends that Harold was not expected until the mother returned from -France in July and it was only the first week in May. But she had not -been wrong, as she discovered as soon as the benediction had been said, -for the young man turned with such a pleased expression on his good -looking face, and, holding out his hand to the older woman, he said with -ringing sincerity in his voice. "It's great, Mrs. Warner, to see you -looking so well." Then, after giving a hearty handshake, and receiving -two from the farmer, the boy turned smilingly toward Jenny. "You aren't, -you _can't_ be that little, rubber-hooded girl whom I picked up two years -ago in the storm!" - -"I am though." Jenny's rose-tinted cheeks were of a deeper hue, "But you -also have grown." - -Standing very straight and tall, the boy looked down beamingly upon all -three. "I'll say I have," he agreed, "but honestly I do hope I'm not -going up any higher." Then after a quick glance across the aisle, where -the Granger Place Young Ladies were filing out, he said hastily. "Mrs. -Warner, won't you invite a stranded youth to take dinner with you today? -I've got to see sister this afternoon, and return to the big city -tonight, but I'm pining to have a real visit with you." Then to Jenny, by -way of explanation. "Perhaps you never heard about it, but your Grandma -Sue took care of me the first three years of my life and so I shall -always consider her a grandmother of mine." Susan Warner's mind had flown -hastily back to the home larder. What did she have cooked that was fine -enough for company. But the youth seemed to understand. "Just anything -that you have ready is what I want. No fuss and feathers, remember that. -I'll be there in one hour. Will that be time enough?" - -Grandpa Si spoke up heartily. "I reckon you'll find a dinner waitin' -whenever you get there, Harry-boy." - -Gwynette received her brother with a sneering curve to her mouth that -might have been pretty. "Well, didn't you know that everyone in the -church was watching you and criticizing you for making such a fuss over -our mother's servants," was her ungracious greeting. A dull red appeared -in the boy's cheeks, but he checked the angry words before they were -uttered. Instead he said: "Gwynette, may I call at the seminary this -afternoon? I have had a letter from Mother and I want to talk it over -with you." - -"This afternoon?" a rising inflection of inquiry. "Aren't you going to -take me to The Palms to dine? I'm just starved for a real course dinner -and the minute I saw you I made up my mind that was what we would do." - -The boy hesitated. His conscience rebuked him. He knew that their mother -would expect him to be chivalrous to his sister. He also knew that a -vision in pink and white, a pair of appealing liquid brown eyes had, for -the moment caused him to forget his duty. "All right, sis," he said, -trying not to let the reluctance in his heart show in his voice. "Ask -your chaperone if you may go with me now." - -As soon as he was alone, Harold hurried around the vine-covered church to -the sheds where he hoped to find the Warner family. They were just -driving out of the lane, but the old man drew rein when he saw the lad -hurrying toward them. - -"I'm terribly sorry, Mrs. Warner," he began with a ring of sincerity in -his voice, which carried conviction to the listeners. "Gwynette wants me -to take her to The Palms for dinner, and, of course, _that_ is what our -mother would wish me to do." - -"Wall, wall, that's all right, Harry," Grandpa Si put in consolingly. -"'Taint as though you can't come again. You're welcome over to the farm -whenever you're down this way." - -Harold's last glance was directed at the girl as also was his parting -remark. "I'm going to run down from the city real soon. Good-bye." - -Jenny was truly disappointed as she had hoped to have an opportunity to -ask the lad if it were true that his mother planned selling the farm -during the summer. - -She consoled herself by recalling his promise to come back soon. And then -as Dobbin trotted briskly homeward, the girl fell to dreaming of the -various things that might happen during the summer. - - - - - CHAPTER X. - BROTHER AND SISTER - - -"The Palms," architecturally a Mission Inn, was gorgeously furnished and -catered only to the ultra-rich. It was located picturesquely on a cliff -with a circling palm-edged drive leading to it. - -Santa Barbara was both a winter and summer resort and its hostelries were -famed the world over. - -Gwynette led her brother to the table of her choice in the luxurious -dining room, the windows of which, crystal clear, overlooked the ocean. -She was fretful and pouting. Harold, after having drawn out her chair, -seated himself and looked almost pensively at the shimmering blue -expanse, so close to them, just below the cliff. - -"You aren't paying the least bit of attention to me," Gwynette -complained. "I just asked if you weren't pining to be over in Paris this -spring." - -The lad turned and looked directly at the girl, candor in his clear grey -eyes. - -"Why no, sister, I do not wish anything of the sort," he replied -sincerely. "What I _do_ hope is that our mother will be well enough to -return to us, and that the quiet of our country home will completely -restore her health." - -Gwynette shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing, until their orders had -been given; then she remarked: - -"I don't see why our mother needs to rusticate for three months in this -stupid place. If _we_ could have a house party, of course, that would -help to make it endurable for _me_, but in her last letter Ma Mere -distinctly said that we were to invite no one, as her nerves were in need -of absolute quiet." - -The boy, who had folded his arms looked at his sister penetratingly, -almost critically. Suddenly he blurted out: - -"Do you know, Gwynette, sometimes I think you do not care, really care, -deep in your heart for our mother as much as I do. In fact, I sometimes -wonder if you care for anyone except yourself." - -The girl flushed angrily. "Your dinner conversation is most ungracious, I -am sure," she flung at him, but paused and looked at a young man also in -uniform, who was hurrying toward their table with an undeniably pleased -expression on his tanned face. Harold rose and held out his hand, glad of -any interruption. - -"Well, Tod, where did you drop from?" Then to the girl he said: "Sister -Gwynette, this is a chap from the same San Francisco prison in which I am -incarcerated--Lieutenant James Creery by name." - -The girl held up a slim, white hand over which the youth bent with an -ardor which had won for him the heart of many a young lady in the past -and probably would in the future, but in the present he was welcomed as a -much-needed diversion from a most upsetting family quarrel. Having -accepted their invitation to make a third at the small table, apart from -the others, the young man seated himself, saying to the girl: "Don't let -me interrupt any confidences you two were having. I know you don't see -each other often, since we poor chaps have but one free Sunday a month." - -Gwynette smiled her prettiest and even her brother conceded that if Gwyn -would only take the trouble to smile now and then she might be called -handsome. - -"Our conversation was neither deep nor interesting to anyone but me. I -was wishing that we were to spend the summer--well, anywhere rather than -in our country home four miles out of this stupid town." - -"Stupid?" the young man, nicknamed Tod, glanced about at the charmingly -gowned young women at the small tables near them. "This crowd ought to -keep things stirring." - -Gwynette shook her head. "Nothing but weekend guests motored up from Los -Angeles or down from San Francisco. From Monday to Friday the place is -dead." - -And so the inconsequential talk flowed on, until at last James Creery -excused himself, as he had an engagement. Again bowing low over -Gwynette's hand, he departed. The smiling expression in the girl's eyes -changed at once to a hard glint. - -"Well, you said that you came down especially to talk over a letter from -our mother. You might as well tell me the worst and be done with it." - -The lad made no attempt to hide his displeasure. "There was no worst to -it, Gwynette. I merely hoped that you would wish to plan with me some -pleasant surprise as a welcome to our mother's homecoming. I find that I -was mistaken. Shall we go now?" - -The girl rose with an almost imperceptible fling of defiance to her -shapely head. "As you prefer," she said coldly. "I really cannot say -honestly that I feel any great enthusiasm about we three settling down in -humdrum fashion in our country place, but, if it is my duty, as you seem -to infer, to _pretend_ that I am overjoyed, you may plan whatever you -wish and I will endeavor to _seem_ enthusiastic." - -They were again in the small car before the lad replied: "Do not feel -that it is incumbent on you in any way to co-operate with me in welcoming -_my_ mother." There was an emphasis on the my which did not escape the -notice of the girl, and it but increased her anger. She was convinced -that her brother meant it as an implied rebuke, and she was right. - -Gwynette bit her lips and turned away to hide tears of self pity. When -the seminary was reached, the lad assisted the haughty girl from the car -with his never-failing courtesy, accompanied her to the door, ventured a -conciliating remark at parting, but was not even rewarded with a glance. - -Harold was unusually thoughtful as he rode along the highway. He passed -the gate to the lane leading to the farm, assuring himself that he was in -no mood for visiting even with friends. - - - - - CHAPTER XI. - VIEWS AND REVIEWS - - -Monday morning dawned gloriously, but it was with great effort that Jenny -made her mood match the day. Often her grandparents glanced at her and -then at one another as they ate their simple breakfast. At last her -grandfather asked: "What be yo' studyin' on so hard, dearie? Is it -anything about yo're schoolin' that's frettin' you?" - -The girl, who had been gazing at the bowl of golden poppies on the middle -of the table with unconscious abstraction, looked up with a bright smile. -Luckily her grandfather's remark gave her a suggestion to enlarge upon. -Turning to the little old woman whose sweet blue eyes were watchfully -inquiring, the girl said: "Something has happened, or rather it is going -to happen." She paused a moment, but her grandfather urged: "Do go on, -Jenny. Don't let's stop for no guessin' contest this time. I've got to -get out early to the cultivatin'." - -Jenny told how the Board of Education had required Miss Dearborn to take -a teacher's examination before she had been permitted to continue -instructing her one lone pupil. - -"Tut! Tut! Wall now, yo' don' tell?" Grandma Sue was much impressed. "Did -Miss Dearborn go an' take them teachin' examinations jest so she could -keep on helpin' yo' wi' your studies?" - -The girl nodded. "She must set a power by you," the old woman concluded. -Grandpa Si spoke up. "Huh, how could she help it? I reckon every critter -as knows Jenny sets a power by her, but thar must be more to the yarn. I -don' see anything, so far, for you to fret about." - -"Yes, there is more," Jenny agreed, "Miss Dearborn has had a letter from -the Board of Education saying that I must take the high school -examinations next month. Think of it, Granny Sue! I've got to go to that -big new high school over in Santa Barbara where I don't know a single -soul, and take written examinations, when I never have had even one in -all my life." - -Again the grandfather's faith in his "gal" was expressed. "It's _my_ -notion when them examinations are tuk, _your's_ 'll be leadin' all the -rest. Thar ain't many gals as sober minded as _yo'_ be, Jenny, not by a -long ways." - -The girl's merry laughter pealed out and the twinkle in her liquid brown -eyes did not suggest sober-mindedness. Rising she skipped around the -table kissing affectionately her grandfather's bald spot. - -"Here's hoping that you won't be disappointed in your granddaughter. But -really she isn't half as wise as you think she is." Then turning toward -the smiling old woman, she concluded, "Is she, Mrs. Susan Warner?" - -The sweet blue eyes told much more than the reply. "Wall, I reckon yo' -won't come out tail-end." - -Again the girl laughed, then donning her hat and taking her books, she -merrily called "Good-bye." But her expression changed when she reached -the lane and started walking briskly toward the highway. - -The real cause of her anxiety returned to trouble her thoughts. "Oh, I -_must_ study so hard, so hard," she told herself. "Then I will be able to -be a teacher and make a home for my dear old grandparents. How I hope the -farm will not be sold until then." - -Jenny did not follow the highway, but took a short cut trail to Miss -Dearborn's hillside home. It led over a rugged upland where gnarled live -oaks twisted their rough barked branches into fantastic shapes. Jenny -loved low-growing oaks and she never climbed through this particular -grove of them, however occupied her thoughts might be as they were on -this troubled morning, without giving them a greeting. "I'm glad that -Miss Dearborn is teaching me mythology, for otherwise I wouldn't know -that each of these trees is really the home of a dryad, beautiful, -slender graceful sprites, born when the tree is born and dying when the -tree dies. How I would love to come here some moon-lit night in the -spring and watch them dance to the piping of Pan. They would have wide -fluttering sleeves in their garments woven of mist and moonbeams and they -would be crowned with oak leaves, but how sad it would be if a -woodchopper came and chopped down one of the trees, for that night there -would be one less dryad at the dance on the hill." - -Beyond the trees there was a long sweep of meadowland down the hill side -to the highway, and beyond to the rocky edge of the sea. On this bright, -spring morning it was a glittering, gleaming carpet of waving poppy cups -of gold. - -Joyfully the girl cried, pausing on the edge of it, "O, I know the poem -Miss Dearborn would quote. I thought of it right away." Then she recited -aloud, though there was no one to hear. - - "I wandered lonely as a cloud - That floats on high o'er vales and hills, - When all at once I saw a crowd, - A host of shining daffodils - Beside the lake, beneath the trees - Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. - - Continuous as the stars that shine, - And twinkle on the milky way, - They stretched in never ending line, - Along the margin of the bay. - Ten thousand saw I at a glance - Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. - - The waves beside them danced, but they - Outdid the sparkling waves in glee. - A poet could not but be gay - In such a jocund company. - I gazed and gazed, but little thought - What wealth to me the show had brought. - - For oft when on my couch I lie - In vacant or in pensive mood, - They flash upon that inward eye - Which is the bliss of solitude. - And then my heart with rapture fills - And dances with the daffodils. - -"If only Wordsworth had lived in California," she thought as she -continued on her way, "he would have written just such a poem about these -fields of golden poppies." - -Ten minutes later, the girl, feeling an inward glow from so close a -communion with Nature, the greatest of artist-poets, skipped between the -two graceful pepper trees that were the gate posts of Miss Dearborn's -attractive hillside home. - -"Well, dearie, how bright you are this morning," was the greeting the -woman, digging about in her garden, sang out. Then, standing her hoe -against a rustic bench, she began taking off her gloves, as together they -walked toward the house. "I am indeed glad," she concluded, "for you are -to have a hard testing today." - -Instantly the morning glow faded from the girl's face and a troubled -expression clouded her eyes. "Miss Dearborn, what now?" - -The older woman laughed. "No need of high tragedy," she said. "It's only -that I have paid a visit to the principal of the high school, and have -obtained from him the questions used on examinations for several years -past, and today I am going to give you your first written test. We have -nearly a month for review, and each week I shall ask you one complete set -of questions of previous years and then, at least, you will be familiar -with written examinations." - -"Oh, Miss Dearborn, how kind, how wonderfully kind you are to me. It -would be most ungrateful of me to fail." - -"Fail? There is no such word for the earnest student who has worked -faithfully day by day all through the term as my pupil has. There will be -no need of that nerve-racking system called cramming for you." Then, as -they ascended the steps to the wide veranda, Miss Dearborn exclaimed, -"See, I've put a table in the glassed-in corner. I'm going to shut you in -there until noon with the questions, and I shall expect your average to -be 90 at least." - -Jenny felt a little thrill of excitement course over her, and she started -at her new task with a determination to try her best to be worthy of the -faith placed in her by the three who loved her so dearly. - - - - - CHAPTER XII. - PLOTS AND PLAYS - - -Meanwhile a very different scene was being enacted in the Granger Place -Seminary. - -Gwynette Poindexter-Jones occupied the largest and most attractively -furnished room on the second floor of the dormitory building, and her two -best friends shared the one adjoining. There was a bath between with -doors opening upon a narrow private corridor. - -Gwynette had not liked the room when she first arrived, as it was, she -declared, too "barnlike" in its barrenness. Miss Granger regretted this, -as she assured the daughter of her richest patron, but she really could -not furnish the rooms to please the young ladies, and there was no other -apartment available at that late period of the term. - -The haughty Gwynette had then requested that the furniture in the room be -removed. After this had been done, she brought from her mother's home by -the sea handsome mahogany pieces upholstered in rich blue. There were -portieres and window hangings to match and priceless pictures adorned the -walls. The furnishing in the room of her friends had remained unchanged -and was far more appropriate, in that it suggested studiousness rather -than indolence and luxury. - -Gwynette, in a velvet dressing robe of the same rich blue embroidered -with gold in chrysanthemum design, was lying at full length on a -many-cushioned lounge, a blue and gold slipper dangling from the toe of -one foot. She was reading a forbidden novel, and eating chocolate creams, -when there came a soft tap on the door leading into the main corridor. -Gwynette always kept it locked that she need not be surprised by the -appearance of Madam Vandeheuton, monitor of the dormitory, or by one of -the infrequent visits of Miss Granger herself. Sitting erect, the girl's -eyes narrowed as she pondered. - -Should she keep very still and pretend that she was out, or---- - -Her thought was interrupted by a low voice calling: "Gwyn, let us in, -can't you!" Languidly the girl rose and, after unlocking the door, she -inquired of the two who entered: "What's the idea? You know the door -between our rooms is always unlocked. Couldn't you come in that way?" - -Beulah Hollingsworth reached down to the little blue velvet stool near -the couch and helped herself to a chocolate. "Of course we could have -come the usual way, only we were passing through the corridor and so this -door was nearer." - -"Well, don't do it again. I implore." Gwynette once more stretched at -full length and ease as she remarked indolently, "It's easier for you to -go around than for me to get up. Well?" - -She looked inquiringly at Patricia Sullivan. "Did you call on the sphynx -and get at her secret? Sit down, do! It makes me tired to see you -standing so stiffly as though you had ramrods for backbones." - -Both of the girls sat down, one on a Louis XVI chair and the other on one -of recent and more comfortable design. Beulah began-- - -"Yes, we called and found Clare Tasselwood as uncommunicative as she was -when we met her in the garden and tried to draw her out." - -Patricia continued-- - -"But I am more than ever convinced that the secretive Clare is the -daughter of a younger son of a noble English family. My theory is that -she is going to keep quiet about it until the older son dies, and then -those who befriended her when she was unknown will be honored as her -guests when she takes her rightful place." - -"Well, I for one shall cultivate her. An invitation to visit the castle -home of Lord Tasselwood would be most welcome to me. You girls may do as -you please about it." Gwynette was again in a sitting posture and she -glanced inquiringly at her companions. They both declared that they -wished to be included. "Then, firstly, we must obtain permission to give -a spread worthy of her presence, at The Palms, no less, even if it costs -our combined allowances for a month." - -Then they planned together what they would wear and whom they would -invite. "We'll ask my brother to bring down as many cadets as we have -girls," was Gwyn's final decision. - -When Clare Tasselwood received the gilt-edged invitation, there was a -little twist to one corner of her month which was her way of smiling when -she was amused, and cynical. She had overheard a conversation the day -they had met in the garden. "The Lady Clara of Tasselwood Manor accepts -with pleasure," she told her reflection in the mirror. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII. - FERNS AND FRIENDS - - -True to her promise, Jenny Warner went to the seminary on Monday, after -her lessons were over, to see if she could be of assistance to Miss -O'Hara. - -The kindly Irish woman saw the girl coming and met her at the open -kitchen door with so beaming a face that the newcomer was convinced that -something of a pleasant nature had occurred, nor was she wrong. - -"Colleen, it's true blue you are, keepin' your word so handsome, but -there's no need for you to be stayin'. Another of them orphans blew in -along about noon-time, and it did me heart good to set eyes on the bright -face of her. She went to work with a will, not wishin' to rest even. Her -name's Nora O'Flynn, and her forebears came from the same part of old -Ireland which gave birth to mesilf. 'Twon't be hard to be makin' the -kitchen homelike for _this_ orphan," she concluded. - -Jenny went away joyfully. Things had turned out wonderfully for them all. -Miss O'Hara could never have been happy with Etta Heldt, who was of a -race she could not understand, but now that she was to have with her one -of her own people, her long days of drudgery would be lightened and -brightened. - -As Jenny tripped down the box-bordered path leading from the seminary to -a canyon trail that would be a short-cut to the farm, she passed the -tennis courts, where several games were in progress. She glanced at the -players, wondering if any of them might be the haughty sister of Harold -P-J. But tennis was altogether too strenuous a pastime for the ever -indolent Gwynette. - -The back trail led along the Sycamore Canyon creek, where ferns of many -varieties were growing; some were as tall as the girl who was passing -them, while, among the moss-covered rocks, close to the brook, were the -more feathery and delicate maiden hair ferns. It had been very warm in -the sun, but there was a most welcome damp coolness in the canyon. For a -moment Jenny stood still at the top of the trail gazing down, listening -to the quietness, broken only by the constant gurgling rush of the water. -Then she started walking slowly along the trail, picking her way -carefully, as it was rough and rocky, and at places very narrow. It -amused her to note the different sounds of the brook. At one spot there -was a whirling little eddy, then a sudden fall over a steep rock, then a -hurried rushing till a broad pool-like place was reached. There the -waters were deeper and quieter, as though pausing for a moment's rest -before taking a plunge of many feet to the lower part of the canyon. Just -above the Maiden-hair Falls, a rustic bridge crossed from one great -boulder to another, and, as Jenny came in sight of it, she stopped, -amazed, for there, sitting on one end of the bridge and leaning against -the bending trunk of a great old sycamore tree, was a girl of her own -age. Who could she be? Jenny had not heard of anyone new moving into the -neighborhood. In fact, there were no houses in the canyon except the one -occupied by the Pascoli family. - -A small stone, disturbed by Jenny's foot, rattled noisily down the trail, -struck the bridge and bounded away into the lower canyon. - -The stranger glanced up with an expression that was almost startled and -Jenny saw that it was the girl in brown whom she had twice noticed: once -in the yard of the seminary, when she had been left so alone, and again -in the dining hall when she had passed a dish, almost shyly, to the grand -appearing Clare Tasselwood. Jenny remembered that this girl had said -"Thank you," and had smiled pleasantly when her cup had been filled with -chocolate. She was smiling again, a bright welcoming smile, which assured -Jenny that the stranger wished to speak to her, nor was she wrong, for, -as soon as the bridge was reached, the girl in brown exclaimed: "Isn't -this a wonderful place that I've found? It's the first time since I came -to this school that I haven't been depressingly lonesome." - -Jenny's heart rejoiced. This girl must also love nature if she could feel -real companionship in an almost silent canyon. Impulsively, she said, -"Shall you mind if I sit here with you for a time?" - -"Mind?" The other girl's brown eyes gladdened. "I was hoping that you -would." - -Jenny seated herself on the rustic bridge directly over the rushing -falls. "Oh, hadn't you better move over near this end?" her companion -asked anxiously. "Won't the hurrying whirl of the water underneath make -you dizzy?" - -Jenny shook her head. "We're old friends," she explained. "I am -acquainted with Sycamore Canyon brook from its very beginning way up in -the foothills, and it flows into the sea not far from the farm where I -live." - -"Oh, good!" Again the bright upward glance. "I'm so glad you live on a -farm, for I do also, when I'm at home in Dakota. My father is a farmer. I -haven't told it before, fearing the seminary girls might snub me if they -knew. Not that I would care much. All I ask of them is to let me alone, -and they certainly do that." Then in a burst of confidence, "I really -don't know what to say to girls, nor how to act with them. I have lived -so many years on an isolated farm and, would you believe it, I never, -actually never, had a flesh and blood girl friend. I've had steens and -steens of book-character friends, and I honestly believe, on the whole, I -like them best." Then with a shy side glance, "Do you think I am queer? -Tell me so truly if you do." - -Jenny moved closer to the girl in brown as she exclaimed, "Yes, I do -think you are queer, if queer means different from those other girls." -Then she laughingly confessed, "The truth is I never had a girl friend -either, not one, but I have lots of make-believe friends, so, you see, I -also am queer." - -The girl in brown beamed, "O, I am so glad, for maybe, do you think -possibly you and I might become friends, being both queer and all that?" - -Jenny nodded joyfully. "Why, of course we can be friends if you wish. -That is, if Miss Granger would want you to be friendly with any but the -gentry. Perhaps she doesn't allow the pupils of her school to make -acquaintances on the outside." - -This thought was not at all troubling to the strange girl. "You see," she -began seriously, "I am not subject to the rules governing the other -pupils." - -Then, noting the puzzled expression in the listener's eyes, she leaned -back against the tree as she laughingly continued: "Suppose I begin at -the beginning and then you will understand about me once for all." - -"We don't even know each other's names," Jenny put in. "Mine is Jeanette -Warner. I have always lived with my grandparents on Rocky Point farm, -which belongs to the estate of the Poindexter-Jones family." A shadow -passed over the speaker's face, which, a moment before, had been so -bright. "I want to be real honest before we begin a friendship. We are -not farmers in our own right. We are hired to run a farm, therefore we -are servants in the employ of the mother of one of your classmates. At -least that is what Gwynette Poindexter-Jones calls us." - -The observant listener saw the flush mounting to her new friend's cheeks, -and, impulsively, she reached out a hand and placed it on the one near -her. "What does _that_ matter? I mean so far as our friendship is -concerned," she asked. - -Jenny was relieved. "Doesn't it really? Well, then I'm glad. Now please -tell me all about yourself from the very beginning." - -Jenny noticed that her companion looked frail and so she was not -surprised to hear her say that she had been very ill. "Lenora Gale is my -name," she began, "and my family consists of an unequalled father, and of -a brother who is just as nice only younger. My dearest mother died of -lung trouble years ago, and every time since then when I have caught -cold, it has taken my vitality to an alarming extent, and last fall, when -the bitter winter weather set in, and oh, how cold our northern winters -are, father wanted me sent to California, but he could not come himself. -Brother Charles wished to attend an agricultural college near Berkeley -and so I was put in a boarding school up there, just as a place to stay -and be well cared for. I was not to attend classes unless I desired. But -the rainy season continued for so long that Brother thought best to bring -me farther south, and that is why I am now in the Granger Place -Seminary." - -Jenny rose and held out a hand. "Lenora Gale," she said seriously, "the -damp coolness of this canyon will not do at all for you. I'm going to -walk back with you to the top of the trail. I can see quite plainly that -you need a friend to look after you." And evidently Jenny was right, for -the rough upward climb was hard for the girl who had not been well, and -she scarcely spoke until they said good-bye at the side door of the -seminary. Then she turned and clung to the hand of her new friend as she -said imploringly, "You won't just disappear and forget me, will you? I do -so want to see you again." - -"Indeed not," Jenny assured her. "I'll come up and get you tomorrow, if I -may have Dobbin, and take you home to supper. I want you to meet Grandma -Sue and Grandpa Si." - -Lenora's pale face brightened. "Oh, how wonderful that will be. I wish -today were tomorrow." - -Again Jenny descended the Sycamore Canyon brook trail, but this time she -skipped along that she need not be late to help get supper. At the -bridge, though, she stopped for one moment as at a shrine. "Here," she -said aloud, "is where I met my first girl friend." A lizard on a stone -near lifted its gray head and looked at her with bright black eyes, but -Jenny, with a song of gladness, passed on down the trail, for once -without noticing the wild life about her. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV. - DEAREST DESIRES - - -On the day following the meeting of the two girls on the rustic bridge -over Maiden Hair Falls, Jenny, true to her promise, drove to the seminary -ostensibly to deliver an order of honey and eggs, but a girl in brown -rode with her on the high front seat when Dobbin turned out of the school -gates. Another girl was watching them from her wide, upper window. -Turning back into the room, she remarked to two others who were trying to -study: "That Lenora Gale must belong to the bourgeoise. She is actually -going for a ride with the granddaughter of my mother's servants." - -Patricia Sullivan turned a page in the book she was conning and remarked -without looking up: "Gwyn, how can you expect to win honors if you never -open your books?" - -The girl addressed sank languidly into a comfortable chair, picked up her -novel and replied, as she found her place: "_Me_, win honors? _Why should -I_, pray? Does it make one a more winsome debutante? You must know that -this is to be my last year of confinement within the walls of a seminary. -Ma Mere has promised to give me a coming-out party when I am eighteen -which will dazzle even blase San Francisco." - -Beulah arose, as she said rather impatiently: "Well, Gwyn, just because -_you_ do not wish to learn is no reason why Pat and I should follow in -your footsteps. I'm going to our own room where I can study -uninterrupted." - -"I'll go with you." Patricia arose to accompany her friend. "_Au -revoir!_" - -Gwynette, having found her place, was too absorbed in her story to reply. - -Meanwhile Jenny and Lenora were having the happiest kind of time riding -down the gently sloping hill, now in the sunlight and again in the shadow -of great overhanging trees. - -"Has anything pleasant happened since yesterday?" Lenora asked with a -side glance at the beaming face of the driver. - -"Yes, indeed," the other girl nodded gleefully. "I passed 100 per cent in -two subjects and over 90 per cent in all the others." - -The brown eyes of her companion were questioning. "Why, I didn't know you -were going to have examination. In fact, I didn't know anything about -your school. Is there one near or do you have to go to Santa Barbara?" - -Jenny told the story of her schooling from its beginning to a most -interested listener. "Oh, how I do envy you." Lenora exclaimed. "If I had -had a teacher like your Miss Dearborn, I would be wiser than I am. We -always lived too far away from a school for me to attend one. Dad has -tutored me when he had time and so has Brother during his vacations." -Then the girl's face brightened. "But my best teachers have been books -themselves. How I have enjoyed them! Dad ordered all of the books in a -graded reading course for me, and I have shelf after shelf filled with -them around the walls of my room. I especially like nature poetry." - -Jenny flashed a bright smile at her companion. "Oh, I am so glad!" she -cried. "Miss Dearborn is teaching me to love it. She wants me to be able -to quote some poem that will describe every beautiful thing in nature -that I see. Of course, I can't always think of one, but then I store the -scene away in my memory and ask Miss Dearborn what poem it would suggest -to her." - -"I would love to know your teacher," Lenora said. "I believe I could -learn rapidly if I had her to teach me." - -"It's almost the end of the school year," Jenny commented, as she looked -up and down the Coast Highway before crossing it, "and, anyway, I suppose -it would hardly do for a pupil of the seminary to be taught by someone -outside when they have special teachers there for all subjects." - -"No, of course not," her companion agreed. Then, as they started down the -long narrow lane leading to the farmhouse, the girl in brown exclaimed: -"Oh, Jenny, do you live in that picturesque old adobe house so near the -sea? I adore the ocean and I haven't been real close to it since I came. -It's so very warm today, don't you think we might go down to the very -edge of the water and sit on the sand?" - -Jenny nodded brightly: "We'll go out on Rocky Point," she said. "You'll -love it, I'm sure." Then impulsively, "Oh, Lenora Gale, you don't know -what it means to me to have a girl friend who likes the same things that -I like." - -"Yes, I do know," the other girl replied sincerely, "for it means the -same to me." - -Grandma Warner was delighted with Jenny's new friend, and, as for Lenora, -she was most enthusiastic about everything around the farm. She thought -the old adobe house with its heavy beams simply fascinating, and when she -saw Jenny's very own room with its windows opening out toward the point -of rocks and the sea, she declared that she knew, if only she could sleep -in a room like that, she would not be troubled with long hours of -wakefulness as she had been since her last illness. "The ocean sings a -lullabye to you all of the time, doesn't it?" she turned to say. - -Jenny, who was indeed pleased with her friend's phrase, nodded, then she -laughingly confessed that sometimes, when there was a high wind or a -storm, the song of the sea was a little too wild and loud to lull one to -slumber. But her listener's eyes glowed all the more. "How I would love -to hear it then. I would want to stay awake to listen to the crashing of -the waves." Then she said: "I suppose you think me foolishly enthusiastic -about it, but when one has lived for years and years on an inland -prairie, the sea is very strange and wonderful." - -Jenny nodded understandingly. "I don't believe I could live far away from -the coast," she commented. "I would feel as though a very important part -of my life had been taken from me. I have always lived within sound of -the sea, but come, I want to take you down to the Rocky Point." The girls -went again through the kitchen, and Jenny said to the dear little old -lady who was sitting on the vine-hung side porch, busy, as always, with -her sewing, "Grandma Sue, please let Lenora and me get the supper. We -won't be gone more than an hour and after that will be plenty of time." - -Lenora's face brightened. "Oh, Mrs. Warner, how I wish you would let us. -It would be such a treat to me. I love to cook, but it has been perfect -ages since I have been allowed in a kitchen, and yours is so homey and -different." - -Susan Warner nodded a pleased consent. "I reckon you may, if it's what -you're wantin' to do," she said. Then she dropped her sewing in her lap, -pushed her spectacles up among the lavender ribbons of her cap and gazed -after the two girls as they went hand in hand down the path that led -toward the Rocky Point. "It's a pleasant sight," the old woman thought, -"Jenny having a friend of her own kind at last, and her, being a farmer's -gal, makes our darlin' feel right at home wi' her. Not one of the -upstandin' sort like Gwynette Poindexter-Jones." There was seldom a hard -expression on the loving old face, but there was one at that moment. The -spectacles had been replaced and Susan Warner began to stab her needle -into the blue patch she was putting on a pair of overalls in a manner -that suggested that her thoughts were of no gentle nature. - -"What _right_ has _one_ of 'em to be puttin' on airs over the other of -'em? That's what I'd like to be told. They bein' flesh and blood sisters -even if one of 'em has been fetched up grand. But I reckon there's a -justice in this world, an' I can trust it to take keer o' things." - -Having reached this more satisfactory state of mind, the old woman again -glanced toward the point and saw the two girls climbing out on the -highest rock. Jenny was carefully holding her friend's hand and leading -her to a wide boulder against which the waves had crashed in many a storm -until they had cut out a hollow resembling a canopy-covered chair wide -enough for two to sit comfortably. - -It was low tide at that hour, and, when they were seated, Lenora -exclaimed joyfully: "Oh, isn't this the nicest place for confidences? -Let's tell each other a secret, shall we? That will make us intimate -friends." - -Jenny smiled happily. "I don't believe I have any secrets, that is, none -of my own that I could share." Miss Dearborn's secret was the only one -she knew. - -"Then let's tell our dearest desires," Lenora suggested, "and I will -begin." - -Then she laughingly confessed: "It will not take long to tell, however. I -want to grow strong and well that I may become father's housekeeper. It -is desperately lonely for him with both Mother and me away, and yet, -since his interests are all bound up in our Dakota farm, he cannot leave -it, and so, you see, I must get well as soon as ever I can." - -Jenny nodded understandingly. "My dearest desire is to find a way by -which I can help Grandpa Si buy Rocky Point farm. I have thought and -thought, but, of course, just thinking doesn't help much. There are ten -acres in it, from the sea back to the highway, and then to the tall hedge -you can see over there. That is where the Poindexter-Jones' grounds -begin, and in the other direction to where the canyon brook runs into the -ocean." - -"It is a beautiful little farm. I wish you could buy it. How much do you -suppose it will sell for?" Lenora asked, but Jenny did not know. Then she -sighed as she added that she supposed they would know soon, for the -daughter of Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had said that it was to be sold in the -summer when her mother returned from France. But, as it was not natural -for Jenny to be long depressed, she smilingly announced that she had two -other desires that were very dear. One was that she did so want her -wonderful teacher to remain in California another winter. "If she -doesn't, if Miss Dearborn goes back East, I will have to go to the Santa -Barbara High School next year, and no one knows how I would dread that. I -even dread going there for a few days next month to take the written -examinations." - -Jenny had one more desire, which she did not mention, but, as she glanced -across the green field and saw the turrets of the deserted -Poindexter-Jones home, she thought of Harold and wondered when he would -come again. He had said that he would run down some time soon and have -dinner with them. Then, surely, she would have an opportunity to be alone -with him long enough to ask about the farm. - -Arousing herself from her thoughts, Jenny glanced at her companion and -saw, on the sweet face, an expression of infinite sadness. Impulsively -she reached out a strong brown hand and placed it lovingly over the frail -one near her. - -"Lenora, aren't you happy, dear?" - -The brown eyes that were lifted were filled with tears. "There is -something sad about the ocean and Tennyson's poem makes me think of my -dear mother. No one can ever know how I miss her. We were more like two -sisters, even though I was so very young. Mother died when I was twelve." - -"What poem is it, dear? Shall you mind repeating it to me? I haven't had -any of Tennyson's poetry yet." Then Jenny added hastily, "but don't, if -you would rather not." - -"I would like to." In a voice that was almost tearful, Lenora began: - - "Break, break, break - On thy cold gray stones, O Sea. - And I would that my tongue could utter - The thoughts that arise in me. - - O well for the fisherman's boy - That he shouts with his sister at play! - O well for the sailor lad - That he sings in his boat on the bay! - - And the stately ships go on - To their haven under the hill! - But O for the touch of a vanished hand - And the sound of a voice that is still! - - Break, break, break - At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! - But the tender grace of a day that is dead - Will never come back to me." - -Then, before Jenny could comment on the poem, Lenora said, smiling -through her tears, "That is what the poets do for us: they express our -emotions better than we could ourselves." Not wishing to depress her -friend, she arose, held out a hand as she entreated: "Please help me down -to that shining white sand." - -Such a happy half hour as they spent and when at last they started back -toward the house, Jenny, in the shelter of the rocky point, impulsively -kissed her companion. "I love you," she whispered. "I have always wished -that I had a sister. I'd like to adopt you if you will let me." - -"Of course I will let you. I would rather have you for a sister than -anyone I ever knew." Then, mischievously, Lenora inquired, "Now, what -relation is my brother Charles to you?" "We'll let _him_ decide when he -comes," was Jenny's practical answer. "He may not want to be adopted." -Then, as the house had been reached, she added impulsively, "but Grandma -Sue and Grandpa Si would love to be, so I will let you share them. Now, -Sister Lenora, it's time for us to get supper." - - - - - CHAPTER XV. - PEERS OR PIGS - - -The day of the party to be given in honor of Clare Tasselwood arrived and -the three most interested were in Gwyn's room dressing for the occasion. -"There is something very queer about Clare," Beulah announced. "I just -passed her room a moment ago. The door was open and I saw her sitting in -front of the mirror brushing out that mass of long yellow hair of hers, -and I am positive that she was laughing. She saw my reflection, I -suppose, for the moment I had passed she got up and closed the door so -quickly that it sounded like a slam." - -Gwynette, bemoaning the fact that they were not permitted to have maids -assist them with their dressing, said impatiently: "Pat, you'll simply -_have_ to help me with these hooks." Then, to Beulah: "What are you -driving at? Why do you think it is queer that Clare Tasselwood should be -laughing? You laugh sometimes yourself, don't you?" - -"Why, of course I do, if I think of something funny," Beulah agreed, "but -what I can't understand is why Clare Tasselwood should laugh all alone by -herself when she is dressing to go to our party. Of course she can't have -any idea that we are giving it because we believe her to be the daughter -of a younger son of the English nobility, can she?" - -"Of course not!" Gwyn declared. "We three are the only ones who know that -and we have not told. I am more than ever convinced that it is true, for -yesterday, when Madame Vandeheuton asked me to take Clare's mail to her -room there was a letter with what appeared to be a crest on it." - -Patricia, having finished hooking up the blue satin gown of her friend, -remarked with energy: "Well, I'm certainly glad to hear that. I've had -'ma doots' lately about the whole thing, and now and then a faint idea -penetrates my brain that we're idiots whichever way it is. Here we are -squandering not only this month's spending money but next month's as -well, and what is to come of it?" - -Beulah sat on a low stool to put on her gilt slippers. "Oh, we'll have to -take a gambler's chance. Pat, be a sport. We know for a fact that there -is a pupil at this seminary who is the daughter of a younger son of a -noble English family. Miss Granger was only too glad to let _that_ much -be known. I've no doubt it brought her several pupils whose vain mothers -wished them to be associated with such a girl even if they could not know -which one she was." - -Pat agreed. "And didn't we study the qualities of every girl in this -establishment, beginning with Clare and ending with that timid, -sickly-looking creature who always wears brown?" - -"And who associates, by choice, with the granddaughter of my mother's -servants," Gwyn scoffed as she surveyed her beautiful party gown in the -long gilt-framed mirror. "Wasn't it adorable of Ma Mere to send me this -creation from Paris? She knows how hurt I am because she put me in this -detestable prison instead of permitting me to accompany her to France, -and so she sends me presents to sooth my wounded spirits, I suppose." - -"Your mother is mighty good to you," Pat remarked in rather a critical -tone, "better than I think you deserve. I have never yet heard you say -that you wish you could do something to add to _her_ pleasure." - -Gwynette crossed the room, watching the swing of the soft satin folds in -the mirror over one shoulder. Her lips were pressed together as though -she were trying to keep from retorting to her friend's speech, but her -mounting anger caused her to stop in front of Pat's chair and flare at -her. "I can't understand _why_ you continue to associate with me at all, -since you disapprove of me so entirely. If you feel that it is an idiotic -thing for us to try to do homage to the daughter of nobility, why didn't -you say so at first? It is too late now to make any changes in our plans, -but after tonight I shall no longer expect you to be one of my intimate -friends." - -Beulah said conciliatingly: "Gwyn, we aren't any of us perfect, and we -certainly don't want our friends to pretend they think we are, do we?" -Then, in an entirely different tone, she continued: "For myself, Gwyn, -since your brother and fifteen other cadets are coming to our party, I -shall consider my money well spent. I'm pining for a dance. And, as for -the Lady Clare Tasselwood, I don't care a fig whether she is or isn't. -Hark, what's the commotion without?" - -The palatial bus from The Palms was arriving and on the high seat with -the driver, resplendent in his gold-trimmed blue uniform, sat Cadet -Harold. - -Beulah, who had skipped to the front window, hurried back to don her -cloak and tie a becoming cherry colored scarf over her short light brown -curls. "Gwyn, I wish you would be the one to tell Lady Clare that the -hour of departure has arrived. Pat and I will round up the other twelve." -Gwynette lifted her eyebrows as she adjusted her swansdown-trimmed cloak -about her slim shoulders. "Sometimes, Beulah, from your choice of -English, I might think you a cowgirl." - -The rebuked maiden chuckled mischievously. "I ain't, though," she said -inelegantly, "but if ever there was a romance of the Wild West written -that I haven't read, I hope I'll hear of it soon. I'm daffy about the -life. Truth is, I'd heaps rather meet a cowgirl than I would a younger -daughter of----" - -But Gwynette, with a proud toss of her handsome head, had swept from the -room, leaving Beulah to mirthfully follow, accompanied by Pat, whose dark -looks boded no good. Beulah drew her friend back and closed the door. -"Child," she remonstrated, "don't take Gwyn's loftiness so much to heart. -I think she is just as superlatively selfish as you do, and I also think -she treats her invalid mother shamefully, but you know we can't go around -this world telling everyone _just_ what we think of them. It isn't done -in the best society. Gwyn has her good points, too, otherwise we wouldn't -have been chumming with her, would we?" - -"Well, take it from me. I've chummed my last. After tonight I'll choose -my friends, not have them chosen for me." - -"Meaning what?" - -"You know as well as I do that because our three mothers were in the same -set at home, we were all packed off here together, but come, I'll try to -get some pleasure out of this idiotic party." - -When they reached the lower hall, they found all of the girls who had -been invited waiting for Madame Vandeheuton, who was to be the evening's -chaperone. She was a timid little French woman who felt that the girls -were always making fun of her efforts at speaking English, and so she -usually kept quiet, except when she was teaching her dearly loved native -tongue. Gwynette had especially asked that Madame Vandeheuton be -permitted to accompany them, since they could not go without one of the -teachers. - -Clare Tasselwood was gorgeously arrayed in a brocaded gold velvet gown -with a crownlike arrangement of pearls bound about her mass of soft -yellow hair. She looked more than ever regal. Gwynette sat beside her in -the bus and was her constant companion throughout the evening. The -ballroom of The Palms had been reserved for this party and the fifteen -cadets were charmed with the pretty girls from the select seminary, but -handsome Clare was undeniably the belle. - -Each time that a dance was concluded, Gwyn asked her partner to take her -to that part of the salon to which Clare's partner had taken her. - -Harold Poindexter-Jones noticed this after a time and asked slangily: -"What's the big idea, Sis? Is the tall blonde a new crush?" - -Gwyn's haughty reply was: "Harold, I consider your language exceedingly -vulgar. If you wish to know, this party is being given in honor of Clare -Tasselwood, whose father is a younger son of English nobility." - -Her brother looked at her in wide-eyed amazement, then burst into a -laugh. Indignantly Gwyn drew him through an open door, out upon a -deserted porch. - -"What do you mean by such an ill-mannered explosion?" she inquired wrath -fully. - -Harold became very sober. "Sis," he said, "are you in dead earnest? Has -that girl been telling any such yarn about her family?" - -"Why no," Gwyn had to confess, "she didn't tell it, but----" - -Again the boy laughed: "That's too good to keep. I'll have to tell the -fellows. Old Hank Peters, the chap who has danced with her so much, comes -from her part of the globe--Chicago, to be accurate, and he said that her -father made his pile raising pigs--and they aren't English at all. They -are Swedes." - -Gwynette was angry with herself and everyone else. "Don't you dare to -tell; not a single soul!" she flared. "If you do, I'll get even with you -some time, some way." - -The boy, suddenly serious, took his sister's hand. "Gwyn," he said, "I -have no desire to make this a joking matter with the fellows. Of course -I'll keep it dark, but I do hope it will teach you a lesson." - -Beulah and Pat wondered at Gwynette's altered manner toward the guest of -honor, but, not even to them did she confide the humiliating information -she had received. - -On the ride back to the seminary in the bus Gwyn had very little to say -and the others attributed it to weariness. - -Gwynette noticed a merry twinkle in the blue eyes of Clare Tasselwood -when she effusively bade the three hostesses good-night, assuring them -that she had spent a most delightful evening. Gwyn went sulkily to her -room almost _sure_ that the daughter of that pig-raising Westerner had -known all along _why_ the party had been given. She had indeed learned a -lesson she decided as she closed her room door far less gently than she -should have done at that hour of night. Before retiring she assured -herself that even if she found out who _really was_ the daughter of a -younger son of English nobility, she wouldn't put _herself_ out to as -much as speak to her. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI. - GOOD NEWS - - -Sunday morning dawned gloriously, and although the sun rose at an early -hour, Jenny was out on the Rocky Point to watch the crimson and gold -shafts of light flaming up back of the mountain peaks; then she looked -out at the sea with its opalescent colors. Turning, she saw someone -walking along the beach from the house beyond the high hedge. - -It was not hard to recognize the military bearing of the youth. As the -girl had not known of the party given on the previous evening at The -Palms, she had no knowledge of the near presence of the lad whom she had -so longed to see, that she might ask about the farm. Harold had said -nothing to his sister Gwynette of his determination to remain over night, -but when his comrades had departed for the big city far to the north, he -had climbed into his little gray speeder and had gone to the deserted -mansion-like home belonging to his mother. - -Being without a thought of fear, the lad had not in the least minded the -ghastliness of the spacious rooms where the furniture wore coverings of -white and where his footsteps awakened echoes long silent. He had slept -in his own bed, but had aroused early, meaning to breakfast with his old -nurse and her family. - -When he saw the girl standing on the highest rock of the points with the -shining morning sky back of her, he snatched off his cap and waved it, -then broke into a run, which soon took him scrambling up the rocks to her -side. - -Holding out a strong brown hand, he exclaimed, real pleasure glowing in -his eyes: "Why, little Jenny Warner, how tall you are, and graceful, like -a flower on a slender stem." - -The girl laughed merrily. "Do boys always feel that they must say pretty -things to their girl acquaintances?" she asked. - -As he gazed into her liquid brown eyes with their tender depths, the lad -suddenly found himself wishing that he were a poet, that he might say -something truly fitting, but as words failed him, he confessed that most -girls seemed to like to receive compliments. How innocent was the -expression of the sweet face that was lifted toward his. - -"Really, do they?" Then she confessed: "I don't know many girls, only -one--a farmer's daughter who is over at Granger Place Seminary." - -The lad raised his eyebrows questioningly. Then he began to laugh. - -"A farmer's daughter, is she? Well, I'm glad there is _one_ pupil at that -school who is honest about her family." - -Then noting that his companion was looking at him as though wondering -what he meant, he explained in an offhand way, not wishing to break his -promise to his sister: "Oh, I just heard that some one of the girls in -that school is supposed to be the daughter of a younger son of the -English nobility." Adding quickly: "You say that you are acquainted with -only one girl. Hasn't my sister Gwyn been over to call on the Warners -yet, and haven't you met her?" - -A color that rivaled the rose in the sky flamed into Jenny's face. Harold -saw it and correctly concluded that the girls _had_ met, and that Jenny -had been rudely treated. - -"Gwyn is a snob," was his mental comment. Aloud he said: "Do you suppose -that your grandmother will invite me to stay to breakfast? I'll have to -start for the big town by ten, at the latest, and so I cannot be here for -dinner." - -"Of course she will." Jenny glanced back at the farmhouse as she spoke -and saw that the smoke was beginning to wreath out of the chimney above -the kitchen stove. "They're up now, and so I'll go in and set the table." - -But still she did not move, and the lad watching her expressive face -intently, exclaimed impulsively: "Jenny, is something troubling you? -Can't I help if there is?" - -That Harold's surmise had been correct the lad knew before the girl -spoke, for her sweet brown eyes brimmed with tears, and she said in a -low, eager voice: - -"Oh, how I have wanted to see you to ask about the farm. I heard, I -overheard your sister telling her two friends from San Francisco that -when your mother comes from France the farm is to be sold, and if it is, -dear old Grandpa and Grandma will have no place to go." - -An angry color had slowly mounted the tanned face of the boy, and he said -coldly: "My sister presumes to have more knowledge of our mother's -affairs than she has. The farm is _not_ to be sold without my consent. -Mother has agreed to that. I have asked for Rocky Point and the Maiden -Hair Falls Canyon for my share of the estate." - -He looked out over the water thoughtfully before he continued: "Mother, I -will confess, thinks my request a strange one, since the home and the -fifteen acres about it are far more valuable, and she will not consent to -the making of so unequal a division of her property, but she did promise -that she would not sell the farm until I wished it sold. I believe she -suspects that when I finish my schooling I may plan to become a gentleman -farmer myself." - -The lad laughed as though amused, but as he looked intently at the lovely -girl before him, he became serious and exclaimed as though for the first -time he had thought of considering it: - -"Perhaps, after all, I might do worse. I simply will not go into the -army. I should hate that life." - -Then, catching the girl's hand, he led her down the rocks as he called -gayly: "Come on, little Jenny Warner, let's ask your grandfather if he -will begin this very summer to teach me how to be a farmer." - -And so it was a few moments later, when Grandpa Si came from the barn -with a pail brimming with foamy milk, that he was almost bumped into by a -girl and boy who, hand in hand, were running joyfully from the other -direction. - -"Wall, I'll be dod-blasted!" the old man exclaimed, "if it ain't little -Harry!" - -Then he called: "Grandma Sue, come an' see who's here!" - -The bright-eyed old woman appeared in the open door, fork in hand. The -lad leaped up the porch steps and kissed her on a flushed, wrinkled -cheek. - -"Grandma Sue," he asked merrily, "have you room for a starved beggar boy -at your breakfast table?" - -"Room, is it?" was the pleased response. "Thar'll allays be that, sonny, -whenever you're wantin' a bite to eat." - -Such a merry meal followed. No one could make pancakes better than Susan -Warner, and when the first edge was taken from his appetite, Harold -insisted on helping Jenny turn the cakes for the other two. He wondered -what Gwynette would think and say, if she could see him, but for that he -cared not at all. Then, when they were seated, the boy astonished the -farmer by asking if he were willing to take him on that coming summer as -a helper. - -"Tush! Nonsense it is yo're talkin' now, Harry boy. Yo' wouldn't want to -be puttin' on overalls, would ye, an' be milkin' ol' Brindle?" - -But Harold was in dead earnest, they were finally convinced, and when at -last he started away along the beach it was with the understanding that -he was to return the first of June to be Farmer Warner's "helper." - - - - - CHAPTER XVII. - PRIDE MEETS PRIDE - - -"Well, thanks be there are only two more weeks of incarceration in this -prison." - -Gwynette Poindexter-Jones was in no pleasant mood as her two companions -could easily discern. "I would simply expire of ennui if I had to remain -here one day longer. When I think that Ma Mere, after having had a -wonderful winter in France, is now arriving in San Francisco, where I -suppose she will remain for a time, I feel as though I never can stand -the stupid routine of this place even a fortnight longer. And the truth -is, I don't know as I will. I wrote Mother that I had refused to take the -final tests. I cannot see why I should care for a diploma from this -seminary, or any other, since I am next year to become a debutante in San -Francisco's best society. One doesn't have to pass an examination in -history, thank heavens, to make an eligible marriage. Beauty is far more -requisite." - -"And I suppose you are quite satisfied with yourself on that score." It -was Beulah Hollingsworth who made this sarcastic remark. The three girls -were seated in the summer-house on the lawn of the seminary waiting for -the arrival of the rural postman. A box of chocolates lay open on the -table before them, and, spread about it, were books and magazines. -Patricia Sullivan, to the displeasure of at least one of her friends, was -reading a romance of the West. She had not heard the remarks of her -companions until the last sentence had been uttered and the tone in which -it had been said made her look up and exclaim: "What is the matter, -Beulah? Your disposition used to be quite amiable, but it certainly is -changing. Are you living on vinegar?" - -Gwynette tossed her head. "Her favorite pastime seems to be finding -something to be sarcastic about. Of course I know that I am no rare -beauty, but I do believe that I can hold my own." - -Beulah reached over and took an especially luscious looking chocolate. As -she did so, the driveway for a moment was in her vision. A crunching of -wheels attracted her attention and she saw an old-fashioned wagon drawn -by a heavy white horse. A girl, dressed in yellow and wearing a -wide-brimmed hat wreathed with buttercups, was the driver. Beulah said: -"If you would like to see a girl who has real claim to beauty, cast your -glance out of the summer-house." - -Patricia closed her book and, rising, sauntered to the rose-hung doorway. -Turning, she said in a low voice: "Gwyn, isn't that the girl we saw at -your Rocky Point Farm?" - -Indignant, because Jenny Warner's beauty had been compared with her own, -Gwynette replied with great indifference, as she purposely turned her -back: "I neither know nor care. I have no interest in my mother's -servants." - -But it was quite evident by Jenny's manner that she had some interest in -the summer-house, for she drew rein, and called in her prettiest manner: -"Can you tell me where I will find Miss Poindexter-Jones? I have a -message for her." - -Patricia good-naturedly replied: "You won't have far to hunt. Her -highness is holding court in this very summer-house." - -Gwynette's groundless anger against the world in general but increased -when she heard the inquiry, and she snapped as Patricia turned toward -her: "If that girl has a message for me, tell her to bring it to me at -once, though I am sure I cannot conceive what it can be." - -Jenny, who had clearly heard every word that had been spoken, as indeed -Gwynette had intended that she should, replied, not without pride in her -tone: "Kindly tell Miss Poindexter-Jones that I will send the message to -Miss Granger and she may receive it from her." - -But this was not all pleasing to the haughty girl. She did not wish to -have a needless audience with the woman who disapproved of her conduct as -she well knew. Appearing in the doorway, she said angrily: "Why don't you -bring me the message, if you have one for me? I shall report your -behavior to my mother." - -Jenny said nothing, but, picking up the reins, she was about to drive on -to the school when Gwynette stepped out of the summer-house saying: -"Kindly give me whatever message you have for me. I do not wish it taken -to Miss Granger." Jenny took from her basket a letter, which she handed -to the girl, and for one moment, and for the first time, they looked -straight into each other's eyes. - -Gwynette glanced at the envelope, then, handing it back toward the girl -on the high seat of the wagon, she said disdainfully: "You are mistaken, -this letter is addressed to your grandmother and not to me." - -Jenny, undisturbed, nodded her agreement. "That is why it came to the -farm, but Mrs. Poindexter-Jones made a mistake. The message is for you." -The girl, standing in the drive, flushed angrily when she found that this -was true. "Well, I certainly hope your grandmother was not snooping -enough to read it," she flashed, desiring to hurt someone's feelings in -an endeavor to relieve her own. - -It was Patricia who protested, as she saw the flaming color in the face -Beulah had called beautiful. "Gwyn," she said sharply, "I hope the time -will come when you meet someone who will hurt your feelings as you so -enjoy hurting other people's." - -Jenny Warner made no response, but drove around to the kitchen door to -deliver the honey and eggs. When she returned, Gwynette was not in sight, -as she had at once gone to her room to be alone when she read the letter. -She instinctively knew that it contained a message that would increase -her already belligerent mood. - -As she was passing the summer-house, Jenny saw Patricia Sullivan leap out -of the doorway and beckon to her. "Miss Warner," she called, "won't you -have a few of my chocolates? They're guaranteed to be sweet clear -through." - -Beulah appeared at her side. "That's more than can be said of Gwynette -Poindexter-Jones. No one knows how glad I am that at the expiration of a -fortnight I shall have no further need to associate with her. You, Miss -Warner, will be the unfortunate victim, as you are to have her for a -neighbor all summer, I believe." - -Jenny, seeing that these girls evidently wished to be friendly, had again -drawn rein and had taken one of the proffered candies. - -Patricia looked rather longingly at the old-fashioned wagon and then at -the placid old white horse. Her gaze returned to the driver and she said -in her impulsive way: "Maybe you won't believe that it can be true, but -it is! I have never ridden in a conveyance of this kind, and I'd just -love to try it. Should you mind if I rode down the canyon road part way -with you?" - -"Of course I wouldn't mind," Jenny replied with her brightest smile. -"There is plenty of room for both of you." She included Beulah in her -invitation. Then added with a glance at the seminary, "if you are sure -that Miss Granger will not mind." - -Patricia scrambled up as she merrily replied: "Why should she care?" - -Beulah remarked: "It does seem to me that there is some archaic rule -about not going beyond the gates without a chaperone, but we each have -one. Miss Warner may chaperone me and I will chaperone Pat." - -They laughed gleefully as though something really clever had been said. -"But who will chaperone Miss Warner?" - -"Dobbin will," the driver replied. "He usually does." - -"This is jolly fun," Patricia declared a few moments later when she had -requested to drive. Beulah burst into unexpected merriment. "Oh, don't I -hope her beautiful highness saw us when we drove away. Her wrath will -bring down a volcano of sparks on our heads when we get back." - -Patricia retorted: "Beulah, I sometimes think that you like to stir up -the embers in Gwyn's nature, even when they are smouldering and might die -if they were let alone." - -Instead of replying, the other girl exclaimed after a glance at her wrist -watch: "Great moons! I must go back on a run! I have a French test at 4." - -Jenny took the reins and brought Dobbin to a stop. When they were in the -road, Patricia asked: "May we come down and see you some day? I wanted to -go out on that rocky point when we were there before, but when Gwyn's -along, everything has to be done her way." - -"I'd be glad to have you," was Jenny's sincerely given reply. - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII. - A NEW EXPERIENCE - - -May was a busy, happy month for Jenny. Never had she studied harder and -her teacher, Miss Dearborn, rejoiced in her beloved pupil's rapid -advancement. Then, twice a week, on Wednesday and Saturday afternoons, -when she drove around to the beautiful country homes of the rich -delivering eggs and honey, on the high seat at her side rode her very -first girl friend, Lenora Gale. Jenny was jubilantly happy on these -occasions, and, as for Lenora, she spent the hours in between the rides -in anticipation of the next one or in dreaming over the last one. She -wrote long letters to her far-away farmer father or to her nearer -brother, Charles, telling all about this new friend who seemed to the -readers of those letters to be a paragon indeed. - -"I just know that you will love my dear Jenny when you see her," she -wrote indiscriminately in either letter, and Charles smiled to himself. -He might like this Jenny Warner in a general way, but he was not at all -afraid that he would "love" any girl in particular, soon or ever. He was -convinced of that. He had met many girls, but he had never felt strongly -appealed to by any of them, and since he would be twenty-one on his next -birthday he decided that he was immune, but of this he said nothing in -his letters to his beloved little sister, for he well knew that she did -not refer to romantic love when she so often prophesied that her brother -would love Jenny Warner. - -But, as the weeks passed, Charles found that he was looking forward with -a new interest to the middle of June, when he was to go to Santa Barbara -to get his sister and take her, if she were well enough to travel, back -to their Dakota farm for the summer. - -As for Harold P-J. he had returned to the military academy jubilantly -eager for the beginning of his duties as Farmer Warner's "helper." He -wrote a long, dutiful letter to his mother each week, and, after that -visit to Rocky Point, he told his plan for the summer not without -trepidation and ended with a description of the flower-like qualities of -the granddaughter: "Mother mine, there's a girl after your own heart. -You'll just love Jenny Warner." - -Perhaps it was because of this letter that Mrs. Poindexter-Jones changed -her plans and decided to leave for Santa Barbara at an earlier date. - -At last there came a day when Jenny did not look about her at the gnarled -old oaks or at the carpet of wild flowers in the uplands as she walked -along the familiar trail which led to Miss Dearborn's pepper-tree guarded -gate, for she was conning over and over a lesson. Nor was her teacher in -the garden where she so often busied herself as she awaited her pupil. -Instead she stood in the drive with her hat and jacket on. - -When at last the girl lifted her eyes from her book, she stopped--an -expression of dread and consternation in her eyes. "Miss Dearborn," she -exclaimed, "you aren't going back East, are you?" - -The pleasant-faced woman laughed. "Not yet," she replied. "How you do -dread that event, which I can assure you is not even a remote -possibility. Why should I go East, dear?" - -Jenny Warner could not explain why she seemed so often to be oppressed by -that dread. "Do you believe that coming events cast their shadows -before?" she asked, putting her hand to her throat. "Honestly, Miss -Dearborn, I feel as if something terribly awful is about to happen. And -seeing you just now with your hat and jacket on made me think that you -might have had a telegram and that you were just leaving." - -Miss Dearborn merrily put in: "I _am_ just leaving, and for that matter -so are _you_. I received a telephone message half an hour ago that the -date of the first examination had been changed and is to take place at 10 -o'clock _this morning_." - -Jenny's books fell to the path and her look of consternation would have -been comical if it had not been tragic. "Miss Dearborn, I knew it! I have -felt just perfectly miserable as though I had lost my last friend with -fifty other calamities added. Now I know coming events cast their shadows -before. I thought we were going to have all this day for review." - -Miss Dearborn's reply was cheerfully optimistic. "I'm glad that we are -not. I object to the system of cramming. You would tire your brain and be -less able to answer questions tomorrow than you are today. Now take your -books into the house, dear, and leave them on the library table, then -hurry back. We are to catch the nine o'clock stage." - -Poor Jenny's heart felt heavily oppressed. Together they went down to the -Coast Highway, and, as they had a few moments to wait for the bus in the -rustic little roadside station, Jenny ventured, "Don't you think, Miss -Dearborn, it would be a good plan for you to ask me questions or explain -to me something that you think I do not understand very clearly?" - -"No, I do not." Miss Dearborn was emphatic in her reply. Then she -inquired: "How is your little friend Lenora Gale? You promised to bring -her up to have a tea-party with me soon. You haven't forgotten, have -you?" - -A shade of sorrow passed over the girl's pretty face. "Miss Dearborn," -she said earnestly, "Lenora isn't as well as she was. I am ever so -troubled about her. She seemed so much better after we met, and then, -last week, she caught another cold. Now she is worse again, and has to -stay in bed. I was up to the seminary Saturday to take the eggs and -honey, and I asked if I might see her. Miss O'Hara went to inquire of -Miss Granger, but she came back without the permission I wanted. The -doctor had requested that Lenora be kept perfectly quiet. Oh, I just know -that she is fretting her heart out to see me, and she doesn't like it at -the seminary. It's such a cold, unfriendly sort of a place. The girls -never did take to Lenora, partly because she is retiring, almost timid, I -suppose, and, besides, they may have heard that her father is only a -farmer." - -Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the bus. Then, when -they were seated within, Jenny continued, almost with bitterness: "Rich -girls are haughty and horrid, that is, if they are all like Gwynette -Poindexter-Jones." - -"But they aren't, dear. Don't judge the many by the few. I had many -wealthy classmates and they were as simple and sweetly sincere as any -poor girl could be." - -Miss Dearborn purposely kept Jenny's thoughts occupied with her friend -Lenora. Then she asked if Etta Heldt had been heard from. Jenny shook her -head. "We should have heard, at least two weeks ago. Grandpa Si thinks we -never will hear. He said the best way to lose a friend is to loan him -money, but I have faith in Etta Heldt. I just know she will write some -day soon if she reached Belgium alive." Miss Dearborn had visited Belgium -and she described that interesting little country, and at last the bus -reached the high school in Santa Barbara. Jenny, with a glance of terror -at her teacher, took one of her hands and held it hard. - -Throngs of bright-eyed girls, many of them in short sport skirts and -prettily colored sweater coats, trooped past the two who were strange. -Some few glanced at Jenny casually as though wondering who she might be, -but no one spoke. - -Fragments of conversation drifted to her. "Gee-whiliker!" a -boyish-looking girl exclaimed. "I'd rather have the world come to an end -than take the geom exam from Seer Simp." - -Professor Simpson, as Jenny knew, was the instructor in charge of that -morning's exams. - -"Say! Wouldn't I, though?" her companion replied with a mock shudder. -Then these two passed and another group hurried by. The leader turned to -fling over her shoulder: "O-o-h!! My hands are so cold now I won't be -able to hold a pen, but if Monsieur Simpson so much as looks at me with -his steely blue eyes, I'll change to an icicle." - -A moment later Jenny found herself confronted by that same dreaded -professor. Miss Dearborn was introducing her and a kindly voice was -saying: "Miss Warner, we are expecting much of you since you have had the -advantage of so much personal instruction." - -The eyes of the small elderly gentleman were, it is true, a keen -grey-blue, but there was friendliness in their expression. - -Then it was that Jenny realized that since her tutor had done so much for -her, she, in turn, must do her best, and be, if only she could, a credit -to her beloved friend. - -A gong was ringing somewhere in the corridor. As one in a dream, Jenny -bade good-bye to Miss Dearborn, who promised to return at noon. Then the -girl followed her new acquaintance into a room thronged with boys and -girls and sat at the desk indicated. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX. - A WELCOME GUEST - - -Three days later, when Jenny entered the farmhouse kitchen, Grandpa Si, -who was washing at the small sink pump, looked up twinkling-eyed to -inquire: "Wall, Jenny-gal, them examinations are over now, ain't they? I -reckon they wasn't nigh so terribul as yo'd figgered, when you got plumb -up to 'em, was they now?" - -Jenny, looking very pale and weary, dropped into the big armed chair -opposite her grandmother, who was shelling peas for supper. - -Then, unexpectedly, she burst into tears. Instantly the pan of peas was -placed on the table and her grandmother had comforting arms about the -girl. "Dearie, what is ailin' yo'? Warn't yo' able to get the right -answers for them examination questions?" - -The distressed grandfather also hovered about, saying huskily: "Now look -a-here, little un, we don't keer, not a farthing's worth, whether you -knowed them answers or didn't know 'em. I reckon you're smarter'n most, -how-so-ever, 'twas." Jenny, who had been clinging to her grandmother, -astonished them by saying between sobs: "'Tisn't the examinations I'm -crying about. It's Lenora. They let me see her for a moment this -afternoon and she is so weak and oh so unhappy. She thinks she will never -get well, not if she has to stay in that cold, dreary old seminary, and -Oh, Grandma Sue, how I do want her to get well. I have always longed to -have a sister, and when I found Lenora Gale, I made believe she was the -sister I had so wanted. No one knows how I love her." - -The old couple were greatly distressed. All these years their "gal" had -so longed to have a sister of her very own, and all that time she had had -one, whom she didn't know. Grandma Sue smoothed the rumpled hair and -kissed Jenny on the forehead. "Go to your room, dearie, and rest till -supper time," she said soothingly. "You're all tired out with them -examinations. You'll feel better after you've had suthin' warm to eat." - -Jenny permitted her grandfather to help her out of the chair and to lead -her toward her room. There she flung herself down on her bed, and the -loving old man drew a cover over her. Then he tiptoed back to the -kitchen. "Ma," he said, "I reckon us and Mis' Poindexter-Jones have got -suthin' to answer for, makin' it so them two gals grew up not knowin' as -they was sisters." - -"Mabbe so," the old woman had resumed her pea-shelling. "Mabbe so, Silas, -but it's too late now. That proud, haughty gal wouldn't thank no one to -tell her she's our Jenny's sister, and she wouldn't be no comfort to our -gal, bein' as she's been fetched up so different. But that sweet Lenora -Gale, her as is a farmer's daughter, she's a friend more suitin' to our -Jenny." For a few moments the old woman's fingers were busy, but she was -silent and thoughtful. When the peas were ready for the pot, she poured -them into the boiling water, then turned and said: "Silas Warner, you and -me keer more to have Jenny happy than anything else, don't we?" - -"I reckon we do, Ma. What be yo' aimin' at? I kin see easy thar's suthin' -yo' want to say. I'm agreeable to it, whatever 'tis." - -The old woman seemed relieved. "I was thinkin' as how it would please our -Jenny if we was to let her invite her friend Lenora to visit her here a -spell. Jenny could sleep on the couch in the livin' room, and let the -sick gal have her bed. I think more'n half what's the matter with Lenora -Gale is that she's pinin' for a place that's home wi' folks in it to keer -for her. Jenny says she's allays speakin' of her ma, lonesome-like, -because she's dead." - -The old man blew his nose hard, then said blinkingly: "Pore little gal! I -was jest a thinkin' how it might o' been our Jenny that was sick up to -that school prison wi' no one as really keered." - -Jenny's joy knew no bounds when she learned that she might invite her -dear friend Lenora Gale to come to her home and make her a real visit. So -sure was she that the sick girl would accept, Jenny was up the next day -with the sun. Tying a towel about her curly light brown hair and donning -an all-over apron, she swept and scoured and dusted her very own room -until it fairly shone. Then she brought in a basket of flowers and put a -tumbler full of them in every place where it would stand, with a big bowl -of roses on the marble-topped center table. When Grandma Sue called her -to breakfast, she skipped to the kitchen and, taking the old couple each -by an arm, she led them to the door of her room, singing out: "What do -you think of that as a bower for the Princess Lenora?" - -"Wall, now," said the old man admiringly, "if our gal ain't got it fixed -up handsome. I reckon your little friend'll get well in no time wi' you -waitin' on her, and so much cheeriness to look at." - -It was not until they were seated about the table eating their breakfast -that Jenny suddenly thought of the possibility that something might -happen to prevent Lenora from coming that day. "Maybe she'll have to -write and ask her daddy or her brother and wait for an answer." For a -moment this fear shadowed the shining face, but it did not last long. As -soon as the breakfast was over she sprang up and began to clear things -away, but her grandmother gently took a dish from her hand. "Thar now, -dearie, you have no need to help. I reckon you're eager to be drivin' -over to the seminary. You'd better start right off." - -Impulsively the girl kissed a wrinkled cheek of the old woman. "Oh, -Granny Sue, was there ever any other person quite so understanding as you -are? I'll go, if you'll promise not to do a single thing but the dishes -while I am away. Please leave the churning for me to do when I come back -with Lenora." - -"Tut! tut!" said her grandfather. "Don't get your heart set on fetchin' -that Lenora gal back with you right to onct. Like as not she won't be -strong enough to ride along of Dobbin today." - -But Jenny would not allow herself to be discouraged. "Time enough for -that when I find Lenora can't come," she confided to Dobbin while she was -harnessing that faithful animal. He looked around at her, not without -curiosity, as though he wondered why it was his little mistress was so -often elated. Impulsively, Jenny hugged him as she said: "Oh, Dob, you -old dear, you have no idea how happy I am, nor who it is you are going to -bring back to Rocky Point Farm. Have you, now?" She peered around his -blinder, but seeing only a rather sleepily blinking eye, she climbed upon -the high seat of the wagon, backed from the barn and, turning to wave -toward the house, she drove out of the lane singing at the top of her -sweet voice. - -No vehicle was in sight as she carefully crossed the wide Coast Highway. -Her granddad had told her always to come to a full stop before driving -across, as there were often processions of high-powered cars passing -their lane. It was, however, too early for pleasure-seekers to be abroad -and so Dobbin started climbing the canyon road leading to the seminary, -and even there they met no one. Jenny's heart was so brimming over with -joy that she could not be quiet. When she was not confiding her hopes to -Dobbin, she was singing. - -Suddenly she stopped, for, having reached a turn in the road, she saw -ahead of her a young man on horseback. He had drawn to one side and was -evidently waiting for the singer to appear. Jenny flushed, for she knew -that he must have heard, as she had been trying some high soprano arias -of her own composing. The young man had a frank, kind face with no -suspicion of a smile, and so the girl decided that he was merely waiting -for someone whom he expected, but, as she drew near, he lifted his cap -and asked: "Pardon me, but can you tell me if I am on the Live Oak Road? -You have so many canyon roads about here leading into the foothills. I am -looking for the Granger Place Seminary, where my sister Lenora Gale is -staying." - -Jenny impulsively put her hand to her heart. "Oh!" she gasped. "Are you -going to take Lenora away? Please don't!" - -Charles Gale, cap in his hand, gazed inquiringly at the girl, who hurried -on to explain: "You see, Lenora and I are best friends and she is so -unhappy up at that school, where she doesn't know anyone, really, and she -has been so sick, my grandmother told me I might bring her over to our -house to make a visit. Granny Sue said just as I left, 'Jenny, tell your -little friend she may stay with us as long as she wants to, until she is -real well, anyway.'" So this was Jenny Warner. - -The girl paused for breath and the young man, smiling at her, said -sincerely: "I am indeed glad to learn that my sister has so true a -friend, indeed, more than one, I judge, since your grandmother sent such -a kind message to her, but I have come to take Lenora back with me." - -Jenny's ever expressive face registered such disappointment and sorrow -that the young man could not but add: "Suppose we go up to the seminary -together and talk the matter over with my sister. Perhaps, if she is not -strong enough to travel, it may be well for her to remain with you for a -week or two. I would be glad to leave her in a pleasant place at least -that long, as I shall not be through at the agricultural college for two -weeks yet. Then I can accompany Lenora back to Dakota where our father so -eagerly awaits her coming." - -Realizing that, as he had not introduced himself he said: "I presume that -my sister has mentioned her brother Charles." - -"Oh, yes, I knew you at once." Jenny's clear brown eyes gazed out at him -with friendly interest. "You look like Lenora, though I can't say just -how." Then, as she again started Dobbin up the hill road, she beamed at -her companion as she said: "This is going to be a happy day for your -sister. How surprised she will be, and how glad! And I'm glad that I met -you, for Miss Granger might have said that Lenora could not visit me, but -if you say that she can, no one else will have any authority." Then -impulsively: "I'm going to be your friend forever and ever." Then with -one of her sudden changes, Jenny flashed a bright look at him, as she -pointed ahead: "There, did you ever see a view like that before?" They -had reached the top of the hill road and were near the seminary gate. - -The view across the valley to the towering mountains was indeed -magnificent. Then Jenny looked back of her and again pointed, this time -toward the sea. "That is Rocky Point, just below the canyon road," she -said, "and that old adobe is our farmhouse." - -Charles was much impressed with the beauty of it all, and, as his gaze -wandered back to the glowing face of the girl, he heard rather than -thought, "You'll just love Jenny Warner." - -Aloud he asked: "And is this the seminary?" His companion nodded and led -the way between the high stone gate posts. - -"Maybe I'd better wait outside while you go in and see Miss Granger," -Jenny suggested when they drew rein at the front of the seminary. - -But Charles Gale would not agree to that. Having dismounted, he fastened -the reins about a hitching post and asked if his companion could safely -leave her horse. - -"Oh, yes, indeed," Jenny replied brightly. "Dobbin wouldn't move until I -came again, if it was never." - -Together they went up the wide stone steps and Charles lifted the iron -knocker. A maid admitted them, staring in amazement when she saw the -girl, who delivered eggs and honey at the kitchen door, arriving at the -front with a fine-looking young man in a golfing costume. - -Charles, not knowing of this, could not understand the surprised -expression directed at his companion. Jenny smiled and said "good -morning" in her usual pleasant way. Having asked to see Miss Granger, he -presented his card. - -"Walk in," the maid said. "I'll tell Miss Granger that you're here, sir." - -When they were alone in the prim little reception room, Jenny confided: - -"Maggie has never seen me coming to the front door. My grandfather raises -chickens and bees, and I often deliver honey and eggs around at the back -door. Perhaps Miss Granger may think it queer if----" - -"Of course it isn't queer!" Charles interrupted with emphasis. "My -sister's best friend has the right to enter the front door of----" He did -not complete his sentence, but rose instead, for a stately, rather -haughty appearing woman had appeared. The visitor was warmly received. - -"Mr. Gale, I am indeed pleased that you have come. Poor little Lenora has -not been at all well of late, and that is why I sent for you. She has -been at perfect liberty to do as she wished, as you requested, but she -contracts frequent colds, and this last one has lingered." - -Miss Granger hesitated, then confessed. "The truth is, your sister does -not seem to be real happy here. She is timid and does not care to mingle -with her schoolmates." - -Then she added frankly: "I find that, on the whole, the young ladies are -rather heartless. They do not make an effort to include in their -pleasures one who is naturally reserved and who, in turn, seems to care -nothing at all about being included." - -Miss Granger, on entering the room, had bowed somewhat distantly to Jenny -Warner, whom she did not recognize, as she had seldom seen her. Charles, -noting this, asked: "Miss Granger, are you acquainted with little Miss -Warner, whose grandfather is a farmer in this neighborhood?" - -The woman, whose manner was rather frigid at all times, lifted her -eyebrows ever so slightly as though marveling that a young man whose -sister attended her select seminary should be found in the companionship -of a hired farmer's granddaughter. - -Their own father, Mr. Gale, might own a farm, but that was very -different, as he had countless acres of wheat lands, she understood, and -was very rich, while the Warners were merely hired to conduct a small -farm belonging to the Poindexter-Jones estate. All this went quickly -through the woman's thoughts and she was astonished to hear the young man -saying: - -"I have decided, Miss Granger, to remove my sister to the farm home of -Miss Warner for the two weeks remaining before I complete my studies at -the Berkeley Agricultural College. My sister is very fond of Miss Jenny, -and I feel that the companionship she will have in that home will do much -to help her recover the strength she will need for the long journey to -Dakota." - -Miss Granger prided herself on being able to hide all emotions, and on -never expressing surprise, but she could not resist saying: - -"I was unaware of this friendship, which is the result, no doubt, of the -freedom of action which you wished your sister to have, but if it is a -friendship sanctioned by Lenora's brother, I, of course, can say nothing -concerning it." - -Rising, she held out her hand: "I will have Miss Gale's trunk packed at -once, and shall I have it sent to the Poindexter-Jones farm?" - -"Yes, if you please, and thank you, Miss Granger, for your many -kindnesses to my sister." - -With a cold nod toward the girl and with a formal reply to Charles' -polite speech, she swept from the room. The lad turned with an amused -smile toward his companion. In a low voice he said: - -"I understand now why Sister never wrote me that I would be sure to love -Miss Granger." - -Charles was shocked indeed at the appearance of the sister who was dearer -to him than life itself. Pale and so wearily she came into the room -leaning on the school nurse. Throwing her arms about her brother's neck -she clung to him. "I've been so lonely for mother lately," she sobbed. "I -dream of her often just as though she were alive and well. Then I am so -happy, but I waken and realize that mother is never coming back." - -The young man, much moved, pressed his cheek close to the tear-wet one of -the girl. "I know, darling, I know." Then, striving to keep a break out -of his voice, he said cheerily: "See who is here, Sister. Someone of whom -you have often written me. And she has a wonderful plan to suggest." - -Lenora smiled wanly and held out a frail white hand. "I love Jenny -Warner," she said as though informing her brother of something he already -knew. Then she asked, looking from one to the other: "Where am I going? -Home to father?" - -"Not quite yet, dear girl," her brother replied. "Jenny's grandmother has -invited you to visit them for two weeks, or rather, until I am through -with my studies, then, if you are strong enough, I will take you home to -Dad." - -Before Lenora could express her pleasure, the ever watchful nurse stepped -forward, saying: "Miss Gale ought not to be kept standing. Miss Granger -has ordered the closed carriage and bade me accompany my patient to her -destination." - -"That's fine." Charles found it hard to keep a note of anxiety out of his -voice when Lenora sank into a near chair and began to cough. He followed -the nurse from the room when she went to get her wraps. "Please tell me -my sister's condition," he said in a low, troubled voice. "Her lungs are -not affected, are they?" - -"No, I am glad to say they are not. The trouble seems to be in her -throat." Then, after a thoughtful moment, the nurse added, glancing about -to be sure that no one was near: "I would not wish to be quoted, but I -believe Miss Gale's recovery depends upon her being in an environment -which she will enjoy. Here she is very lonely and broods continually for -the mother who is gone." - -"Thank you for having told me." Charles was indeed grateful to the nurse, -whose name he did not know. "I shall see that such an environment is -found for my dear sister if it exists anywhere. Our mother has been dead -for several years, but, as time goes on, we miss her more and more." - -"I understand," the nurse said as though she, too, had had a similar -loss, then she glided quietly away. - -On returning to the reception room, Jenny suggested that she would better -go at once to the farmhouse that she might be there to welcome Lenora and -the nurse. Charles agreed that the plan was a good one, and so, tenderly -kissing her friend, Jenny went out; the young man opening the door for -her. - -When she had driven away, Charles returned to his sister, who smiled up -at him faintly as she said: "Wasn't I right, Charles? Isn't Jenny the -sweetest, dearest girl you ever saw?" - -But her brother shook his head. "No, indeed," he said, emphatically, -taking one of the listless hands from the arm of the chair. "The -sweetest, dearest girl in this world to me is your very own self, and, -although I am quite willing to like any girl whom you may select as a -best friend, you will never get me to acknowledge that she is sweeter -than my very own sister. However, I will agree that I am pleased with -Miss Jenny Warner to the extent of being willing, even glad, to have you -in the same house with her until you are strong enough to travel to our -home with me. I'll wire Dad tonight. I have purposely kept your illness -from him. It would be unwise for him to come here at this time of the -year. We cannot both be away from the farm at seeding time." - -The nurse reappeared, saying the coach was waiting. The young giant of a -lad lifted his sister and carried her out of the seminary which she was -indeed glad to leave. - -Jenny and her grandmother were on the side porch of the picturesque adobe -farmhouse when Charles Gale on horseback rode up, immediately followed by -the closed carriage. Susan Warner with tender pity in her face and voice, -welcomed the pale girl, who was lifted out of the conveyance by the -strong arms of her brother. Lenora's sweet gray eyes were brimmed with -tears and her lips trembled when she tried to thank the old woman for her -great kindness. "There, there, dearie. Don't try to be sayin' anything -now. You're all petered out with the ride." Then cheerily: "Jenny'll show -you where to fetch little Lenora, Mister--" she hesitated and the girl at -her side hastened to say: "Grandma Sue, this is Charles Gale, Lenora's -brother. Miss Granger had sent for him." - -The pleasant-faced young man bowed as he apologized for his inability to -remove his hat. His sister having recovered from her first desire to cry, -smilingly did it for him. "Haven't I a giant for a brother?" she asked; -then holding out a frail hand to the nurse, who had descended from the -carriage carrying the wraps and a satchel. Lenora said: "Mrs. Warner, -this is Miss Adelaide Wells, who has been very kind to me." Then, as -memory of the place she had left surged over her, the tears again came: -"Oh, brother," she half sobbed, clinging to him, "promise me I'll never, -never have to be sent to a seminary again." - -"Why, of course not," he assured her. "When I have finished my schooling -you and I will go back to our farm home and stay there forever and -forever. If you need any further instruction, I can help you, so put that -fear quite out of your thought." - -The girl smiled, but seemed too weak to make a reply. Charles followed -Jenny through the kitchen and the cheerful living room into the bedroom -which had been decked in so festive a fashion only that morning. After -the nurse had put Lenora to bed, she returned to the seminary. The weary -girl rested for a while with her eyes closed, then she opened them and -looked about her. - -She found Jenny sitting quietly by her bedside just waiting. Lenora -smiled without speaking and seemed to be listening to the rush of the -waves on the rocks, then she said: "That is the lullabye I once said I -would like to hear in the night. It's like magic, having it all come to -pass." - -She smiled around at the flowers. "How sweet they are! I know that each -one tells me some message of the thoughtfulness and love of my friend." -Holding out a frail hand, Lenora continued: "Jenny Warner, if I live, I -am going to do something to make you glad that you have been so kind to -me." - -A pang, like a pain, shot through the listener's heart. "If I live." She -had not for one moment thought that her dear, dear friend might die. She -was relieved to hear the other girl add in a brighter manner, as though -she felt stronger after her brief rest: "I believe now that I shall live, -but truly, Jenny, I didn't care much when I lay all day up there in that -cold, dreary seminary with no one near to mind whether I stayed or went. -But now that I am here with you in this lovely, cheerful room, somehow I -feel sure that I shall live." Before her companion could reply, she -asked: "Where is brother Charles?" - -Jenny glanced out of the window. "Oh, there he is, standing on that high -rock on the point, the one that canopies over our seat, you know, where -we sat the last time you were at the farm. Shall I call him, dear?" - -Lenora nodded and so Jenny, bareheaded, ran out toward the point of -rocks. Charles, turning, saw her and went to meet her. "Has my sister -rested?" he asked. Jenny said that she had, then anxiously she inquired: -"Mr. Gale, what does the nurse think? Lenora is not seriously ill, is -she?" - -There was a sudden shadowing of the eyes that looked down at her. "I -don't know, Miss Jenny. I sincerely hope not. At my request Miss Wells -will send me a daily report of my sister's condition. The nurse takes a -walk every afternoon, and, if your grandmother is willing, she will stop -here until our little Lenora is much better." - -"I think that a splendid plan. It will be better than having a doctor -call every day." Then brightening: "Oh, Mr. Gale, I am sure Lenora will -get well. She is better, come and see for yourself." And so together they -went indoors. - - - - - CHAPTER XX. - INGRATITUDE PERSONIFIED - - -"What do you suppose is the matter with Gwyn? Ever since Jenny Warner -delivered a note from her mother Saturday afternoon, she has been as glum -as a--well, what is glum, anyway?" Patricia looked up from the book she -was studying to make this comment. - -Beulah mumbled some reply which was unintelligible, nor did she cease -trying to solve the problem she was intent upon. Pat continued: "I have -it figured out that Gwyn's mother wrote something which greatly upset our -never-too-amiable friend. She kept shut in her room yesterday, tight as a -clam in its shell. I rapped several times and asked if she had a headache -and if she wished me to bring tea or anything, but she did not reply." - -"Take it from me, Pat, you waste your good Samaritan impulses on a person -like Gwyn. She is simply superlatively selfish." - -Pat leaped up and put a hand over her friend's mouth. "I heard the knob -turn. I think we are about to be honored with a visit. Don't be -sarcastic, Beulah. Maybe Gwyn has a real trouble." - -This whispered remark had just been concluded when there came an -imperative rapping on the inner door. Pat skipped to open it. Gwynette, -dressed for the street, entered. "What's the grand idea of locking the -door between our rooms?" she inquired. - -"Didn't know it was locked," Pat replied honestly. Beulah was again -solving the intricate problem, or attempting to, and acted as though she -had not heard. - -Patricia, always the more tender-hearted, offered their visitor a chair. -Then solicitously: "What is the matter, Gwyn. You look as though you had -cried for hours. Bad news in the note Jenny Warner brought you?" - -There was a hard expression in the brown eyes that were turned coldly -toward the sympathetic inquirer. Slowly she said, "I sometimes think that -I hate my mother and that she hates me." - -There was a quick protest from Pat. "Don't say that, Gwyn, just because -you are angry! You have told me, yourself, that your mother has granted -your every wish until recently." - -Gwynette shrugged her proudly-held shoulders. "Even so! Why am I now -treated like a child and told what I must do, or be punished?" Noting a -surprised expression in Patricia's pleasant face, Gwyn repeated with -emphasis: "Just exactly that! If I do not take the tests, or if I fail in -them when they are taken, I cannot have my coming-out party next year, -but must remain in this or some other school until I obtain a diploma as -a graduate with honors. So Ma Mere informed me in the note brought by -that despicable Jenny Warner." - -Beulah could not help hearing and she looked up, her eyes flashing. -"Gwynette, if you wish to slander a friend of Pat's and mine, you will -have to choose another audience." - -The eyebrows of the visitor were lifted. "Indeed? Since when have you -become the champion of the granddaughter of my mother's servants?" - -Beulah's answer was defiant. "Pat and I both consider Jenny Warner one of -the most beautiful and lovable girls we have ever met. We went for a ride -with her on Saturday, and this afternoon, if we aren't too exhausted -after the tests, we are going to walk down to her farm home and call on -her and upon little Lenora Gale, who has been moved there from the -infirmary." - -Gwynette rose, flinging over her shoulder contemptuously, "Well, I see -that you have made your choice of friends. Of course you cannot expect to -associate with me, if you are hobnobbing at the same time with our -servants. What is more, that Lenora Gale's father is a wheat rancher in -Dakota. I, at least, shall select my friends from exclusive families. I -will bid you good-bye. From now on our intimacy is at end." The door -closed behind Gwyn with an emphatic bang. Beulah leaped up and danced a -jig. Pat caught her and pushed her back into her chair. "Don't. She'll -hear and her feelings will be hurt." - -"Well, she's none too tender with other people's feelings," Beulah -retorted. - -A carriage bearing the Poindexter-Jones coat-of-arms and drawn by two -white horses was waiting under the wide portico in front of the seminary -when Gwynette emerged. The liveried footman was standing near the open -door to assist her within, then he took his place by the coachman and the -angry girl was driven from the Granger Place grounds. - -She did not notice the golden glory of the day; she did not glance out as -she was driven down the beautiful Live Oak Canyon road, nor did she -observe when the wife of the lodgekeeper opened the wide iron gates and -curtsied to her. She was staring straight ahead with hard, unseeing eyes. - -When the coach stopped and the footman had opened the door, the girl -mounted the many marble steps leading to the pillared front porch. -Instantly, and before she could ring, a white-caped maid admitted her. It -was one who had been with them for years in their palatial San Francisco -home, as had, also, the other servants. "Where is my mother, Cecile?" the -girl inquired with no word of greeting, though she had not seen the trim -French maid for many months. The maid's eyes narrowed and her glance was -not friendly. She liked to be treated, at least, as though she were -human. She volunteered a bit of advice: "Madame is veer tired, Mees Gwyn. -What you call, not yet strong. Doctor, he say, speak quiet where Madame -is." - -Gwyn glared at the servant who dared to advise her. "Kindly tell me where -my mother is at this moment. Since she sent the carriage for me, it is -quite evident that she wishes to see me." - -"Madame is in lily-pond garden. I tell her Mees Gwyn has come." But the -girl, brushing past the maid, walked down the long, wide hall which -extended from the front to the double back door and opened out on a most -beautiful garden, where, on the blue mirror of an artificial pond many -fragrant white lilies floated. There, sheltered from the sea breeze by -tall, flowering bushes, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones reclined on a softly -cushioned chair. Near her was a nurse in blue and white uniform who had -evidently been reading aloud. - -When Gwynette approached, the older woman said in a low voice: "Miss -Dane, I prefer to be alone when I receive my daughter." - -The nurse slipped away through the shrubbery and Mrs. Poindexter-Jones -turned again toward the girl whose rapid step and carriage plainly told -her belligerence of spirit. The pale face of the patrician woman would -have touched almost any heart, but Gwyn's wrath had been accumulating -since her conversation with Beulah and Pat. She considered herself the -most abused person in existence. - -"Ma Mere," the girl began at once, "I don't see why you didn't let me -come to you in France. If you aren't any stronger than you seem to be, I -should have thought you would have remained where you were and sent for -Harold and me to join you there." - -"Sit down, Gwyn, if you do not care to kiss me." There was a note of -sorrow in the weary voice that did not escape the attention of the -selfish girl. Stooping, she kissed her mother on the pale forehead. Then -she took the seat vacated by the nurse. "Of course I am sorry you have -been sick, Ma Mere," she said in a tone which implied that decency -demanded that much of her. "But it seems to me it would have been much -better for you to have remained where you were. I was simply wild to have -you send for me while you were at that adorable resort in France. I can't -see why you wanted to return _here_." The last word was spoken with an -emphasis of depreciation. - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones leaned her head back wearily on the cool pillow as -she said, more to herself than to her listener, "I just wanted to come -home. I wanted to see the trees my husband and I planted when we were -first married. I felt that I would be nearer him someway, and I wanted to -see my boy. Harold wished me to come home. He preferred to spend the -summer here and I was glad." - -The pity, which for a moment had flickered in the girl's heart when she -saw how very weak her mother really was, did not last long enough to warm -into a flame. "Ma Mere," she said petulantly, "I cannot understand why -you never speak of your husband as my father." There was no response, -only a tightening of the woman's lips as though she were making an effort -to not tell the truth. - -"Moreover," Gwyn went on, not noticing the change in her mother's manner, -"why should Harold's wishes be put above mine? Perhaps you do not realize -that he has become interested, to what degree I do not know, but -nevertheless really interested, in the granddaughter of your servants on -the farm." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones turned toward the girl. There was not in her eyes -the flash of indignation which Gwynette had expected, only surprise and -perhaps inquiry. "Is that true?" Then, after a meditative moment the -woman concluded, "Fate does strange things. What was it they called her?" - -Gwyn held herself proudly erect. At least she had been sure that her -mother would have sided with her in denouncing Harold's plan to become a -farmer under the direction of Silas Warner. She hurried on to impart the -information without telling the name of the girl whom she so disliked, -although without reason. - -"I recall now," was the woman's remark. "Jenny Warner. Jeanette was her -name and yours was Gwynette." - -Angrily her companion put in, "Ma Mere, did you hear me say that Harold -has decided to become a farmer, a mere laborer, when you had planned that -he should become a diplomat or something like that?" - -"Yes, I heard." The woman leaned back wearily. "My boy wrote me that was -why he wanted to stay here, although he would give up his own wishes if -they did not accord with mine." Then she added, with an almost pensive -smile on her thin lips, "He is more dutiful than my daughter is, one -might think." - -Gwynette flung herself about in the chair impatiently. "Harold knows you -will do everything to please him and nothing to please me." - -The woman's eyes narrowed as she looked at the hard, selfish face which -nevertheless was beautiful in a cold way. - -The woman seemed to be making an effort to speak calmly. "Gwynette," she -said at last, "we will call this unpleasant interview at an end. The -fault probably is mine. Without doubt I do favor Harold. He is very like -his father, and I seem to feel that Harold cares more for me than you -do." She put up a protesting hand. "Don't answer me, please. I am very -tired. You may go now." - -The girl rose, somewhat ashamed of herself. Petulantly, she said, "But Ma -Mere, must I take the horrid old test? I will fail miserably and be -disgraced. I supposed I was to make my debut next winter and I did not -consider a diploma necessary to an eligible marriage." - -The woman had been watching the girl, critically, but not unkindly. Her -reply was in a softer voice. "No, Gwyn, you need not take the tests. -Somehow I have failed to bring you up well." Then to the listener's -amazement, the invalid added: "Tell the coachman, when he returns from -the seminary, to stop at the farm and bring Jenny Warner over to see me. -I would like to know how Susan Warner succeeded in bringing up her girl." - -Gwynette was again angry. "You are a strange mother to wish to compare -your own daughter with the granddaughter of one of your servants." - -With that she walked away, and, with a sorrowful expression the woman -watched her going. How she wished the girl would relent, turn back and -fling herself down by the side of the only mother she had ever known, and -beg to be forgiven and loved, but nothing was farther from Gwynette's -thought. - -Glad as she was to be freed from taking the tests, she was more than ever -angry because she would have to remain at the seminary until the close of -the term, which was another week. Why would not her mother permit her to -visit some friend in San Francisco? Then came the sickening realization -that she no longer had an intimate friend. Patricia and Beulah had both -gone over to the enemy. Why did she hate Jenny Warner, she wondered as -she was being driven back to the school. Probably because Beulah had once -said they looked alike with one difference, that the farmer's -granddaughter was much the more beautiful. And then Harold actually -preferred the companionship of that ignorant peddler of eggs and honey to -his own sister. Purposely she neglected to mention to the coachman that -he was to call at the farm and take Jenny Warner back with him. But Fate -was even then planning to carry out Mrs. Poindexter-Jones's wishes in -quite another way. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI. - A SECOND MEETING - - -"Lenora, dearie, can you spare Jenny a spell! I want her to tote a basket -of fresh eggs over to Poindexter Arms, and a few jars o' honey. Like as -not the poor sick missus will be glad of somethin' different and tasty. -Don't let her pay for 'em, Jenny-gal. Tell her they're a welcome-home -present from all of us. Tell her how we're hopin' the sea air'll bring -back her strength soon, and that ol' Susan Warner will pay her respects -as soon as she's wanted. Jenny, dearie, can you recollect all that?" - -The girl, who had been seated on the top step of the seaward veranda -shelling peas and reading to her best friend, had leaped up when her dear -old grandmother had appeared. Laughingly she slipped an arm about her, -when she finished speaking, and kissed both of her cheeks. Then she -peered into the faded blue eyes that were smiling at her so fondly as she -entreated, "Granny Sue, wouldn't it do as well if I left the basket at -the kitchen door and asked a maid to give the message?" - -The old woman looked inquiringly into the flower-like face so close to -her own. "Would you mind seein' the missus, if you was let to? I'd -powerful well like to hear the straight of how she is, and when she'd -like to have me pay my respects. You aren't skeered of her, are you, -dearie?" - -"Of course not, Granny Sue. Although I must confess I was terribly scared -of her when I was little. I thought she was an ogress. I do believe I -will put in some of our field poppies to golden up the basket. Would she -like that, Granny, do you think? I gathered ever so many this morning." - -"I reckon she'd be pleased, an' if I was you. I'd put on that fresh -yellow muslin. You look right smart in it." - -Lenora was an interested listener. She had heard all about the proud, -haughty woman who was owner of the farm, and mother of the disagreeable -Gwynette and of the nice Harold. She knew _he_ must be nice by the way -all three of the Warners spoke of him. - -She now put in: "O, Jenny, do wear that adorable droopy hat with the -buttercup wreath. You look like a nymph of sunshine when you're all in -yellow." - -"Very well, I will! I live but to please." This was said gaily. "Be -prepared now for a transformation scene: from an aproned sheller of peas -to a nymph of sunshine." - -In fewer minutes than seemed possible, Jenny again appeared, and -spreading her fresh yellow muslin skirt, she made a minuet curtsy. Then -she asked merrily, "Mistress Lenora, pray tell how a nymph of sunshine -should walk and what she should say when she calls upon the most Olympian -person she knows. Sort of a Juno." - -"Just act natural, dearie," the proud grandmother had appeared with the -basket of eggs, poppies and honey in time to reply to this query, "and no -nymphs, whatever they be, could be sweeter or more pleasin'." Then she -added, "Your grandpa's got Dobbin all hitched an' waitin' for you. -Good-bye, dearie! Harold'll be glad to have you kind to his ma. He sets a -store by her." - -It was the last remark that gave Jenny courage to ask if she might see -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, twenty minutes later, when she had driven around -to the side door of the mansion-like stone house. Cecile looked doubtful. -"Ef eets to give the basket, the keetchen's the place for that." - -Jenny smiled on Cecile, and the maid found herself staring in puzzled -amazement. Who was this girl who looked like that other one who had just -left; looked like her and yet didn't, for she was far prettier and with -such a kindly light in her smiling brown eyes. "Please tell Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones that Susan Warner, on the farm, sent me over and would -like me to deliver a message myself if she wishes to see me." - -There was nothing for Cecile to do but carry the message, and, to her -amazement, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones looked pleased and requested that the -maid show the girl at once to the pond-lily garden. - -Almost shyly Jenny Warner went down the box-edged path. The elderly lady, -not vain and proud as she had been in her younger days, lying back on -soft silken pillows, watched her coming. - -How pretty the girl looked in her simple yellow muslin frock, with her -wide drooping hat, buttercup wreathed, and on her arm a basket, golden -with field poppies. - -As she neared, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones felt a mist in her eyes, for this -girl looked very like the other only there was such a sweet, loving -expression in the responsive face, while Gwynette's habitual outlook on -life had made her proud, critical and cold. The woman impulsively held -out a hand. "Jenny Warner," she said as she lifted the mist-filled eyes, -"won't you kiss me, dear?" - -Instinctively Jenny knew that this invalid mother of Harold was in real -need of tenderness and love. Unhesitatingly she kissed her, then took the -seat toward which Mrs. Poindexter-Jones motioned. The basket she placed -on the table. "Grandmother wished me to bring you some of our strained -honey and fresh eggs and to ask you when you would like her to come and -pay her respects." - -The woman smiled faintly. She seemed very very tired. Thoughtfully she -replied, "Tomorrow, at about this hour, if the day is as pleasant as -this. I will again be in the garden here. Tell Susan Warner I very much -want to see her. I want to ask her a question." Then she closed her eyes -and seemed to be resting. Jenny wondered if she ought to go, but at her -first rustle the eyes were opened and the woman smiled at the girl. -"Jenny," she said, somewhat wistfully, "I want to ask your grandmother -_how_ she brought you up." - -The girl was puzzled. Why should Mrs. Poindexter-Jones care about the -simple home life of a family in her employ. - -But, before she had time to wonder long, the invalid was changing the -subject. "Jenny, do you like to read aloud?" she asked. - -There was sincere enthusiasm in the reply. "Oh, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, I -love to! I read aloud every day to my dear friend Lenora Gale, who is -visiting me. We are reading poetry just now, but I care a great deal for -prose also. Books and nature are the two things for which I care most." - -As she spoke Jenny glanced at the book lying on the small table where she -had placed her basket. Almost shyly she asked. "Were you reading this -book before I came?" - -"My nurse, Miss Dane, was reading it to me. She is a very kind, good -woman, but her voice is rasping, and it is hard for me to listen. My -nerves are still far from normal and I was wishing that I had some young -girl to read to me." Jenny at once thought of Gwynette. Surely she would -be glad to read to her mother while she was ill. As though she had heard -the thought, the woman answered it, and her tone was sad. "My daughter, -unfortunately, does not like to read aloud. She does not care for -books--nor for nature--nor for----" the woman hesitated. She did not want -to criticize Gwynette before another, and so she turned and looked with -almost wistful inquiry at the girl. "Jenny Warner, may I engage your -services to read to me one or two hours a day if your grandmother can -spare you that long?" - -Jenny's liquid brown eyes were aglow with pleasure. This was Harold's -mother for whom she could do a real service. "Oh, may I read to you, Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones? I would be so glad to do something--" she hesitated and -a deeper rose color stole into her cheeks. She could not say for -"Harold's mother." Mrs. Poindexter-Jones would not understand the depth -of the girl's gratitude toward the boy who was making it possible for her -dear old grandparents to remain on the farm. And the woman, gazing at -her, found that just then she could not mention remuneration. - -"Suppose you come to me day after tomorrow at ten." Miss Dane had -appeared to say that it was time for the invalid to go into the house. - -"Is it noon so soon?" the woman inquired, then turning back toward the -girl who had risen, she added: "Seeing you has done me much good. -Good-bye. Tell Susan Warner I want to see her tomorrow." - -Jenny returned home, her heart singing. She was to have an opportunity to -thank Harold, and she was glad. - -When Jenny reached the farmhouse she found her family in the kitchen, and -by the way they all stopped talking when she entered, she was sure that -something had happened during her absence which they had been discussing, -nor was she wrong. - -She looked from one interested face to another, then exclaimed: "You're -keeping a secret from me. What is it, please tell!" - -Lenora, who had been made comfortable with pillows in grandfather's easy -chair, drawn close to the stove, merrily replied: "The secret is in plain -sight. You must hunt, though, and find it." - -Jenny whirled to look at the table, already set with the supper things, -but nothing unusual was there; then her glance traveled to the old -mahogany cupboard, where, behind glass doors, in tidy rows, the best -china stood. There, leaning against a tumbler, was an envelope bearing a -foreign stamp. - -With a cry of joy Jenny leaped forward. Instinctively she seemed to know -that it was the long watched-for letter from Etta Heldt, nor was she -wrong. - -With eager fingers the envelope was opened. A draft fluttered to the -floor. Jenny picked it up, then, after a glance at it, turned a glowing -face toward the others. - -"I knew it!" she cried joyfully. "I knew Etta Heldt was honest! This is -every penny that she owes us." - -The handwriting was difficult to read and for a silent moment Jenny -studied it, then brightly she exclaimed: "Oh, such wonderful news!" Then -she read: - - "Dear Friend: - - "I would have written long ago, but my grandpa took sick and was like - to die when I got here, and my grandma and I had to set up nights, turn - about, and days I was so tired and busy. I didn't forget though. Poor - grandpa died after a month, but I'm glad I got here first. He was more - willing to go, being as I'd be here with grandma. - - "Now I guess you're wondering where I got the money I'm sending you. I - got it from Hans Heldt. He's sort of relation of mine, though not - close, and he wanted me to marry him and I said no, not till I paid the - money I owed. He said he'd give it to me and then we'd make it up - working grandpa's farm together. So we got married and here's the - money, and my grandma wishes to tell your grandma how thankful she is - to her and you for sending me home to her. I guess that's all. - Good-bye. - - Your grateful friend, - - Etta Heldt." - -There were tears in Jenny's eyes as she looked up. "Oh, Grandma Sue," she -ran across the room and clung to the dear old woman, "aren't you glad, -glad, glad we brought so much happiness into three lives?" Later, when -they were at supper, Jenny told about her visit to Poindexter Arms. - -There was a sad foreboding in the hearts of the old couple that evening. -Although they said little, each was wondering what the outcome of their -"gal's" daily readings would be. "Whatever 'tis, 'twill like to be for -the best, I reckon," was Susan Warner's philosophic conclusion, and the -old man's customary reply, "I cal'late yer right, Ma! Yo' be mos' -allays." - - - - - CHAPTER XXII. - REVELATIONS AND REGRETS - - -Susan Warner reached Poindexter Arms at the hour appointed and found her -employer in the lily-pond garden. The old woman curtsied. Her heart was -filled with pity. How changed was her formerly haughty mistress. There -were more lines in the pale, patrician face than there were in the ruddy -countenance of the humbler woman who was years the older. Hesitatingly -she spoke: "I reckon you've been mighty sick, Mis' Poindexter-Jones. It's -a pity, too, you havin' so much to make life free of care an' happy." But -the sad expression in the tired eyes, that were watching her so kindly, -seemed to belie the words of the old woman who had been nurse for Baby -Harold and housekeeper at Poindexter Arms for many years. - -"Be seated, Susan. Miss Dane, my nurse, has gone to town to make a few -purchases for me. Some of them books--" the invalid paused and turned -questioningly toward the older woman. "Did your Jenny tell you that I -wish to engage her services for an hour or two each morning--reading to -me?" - -Susan Warner nodded, saying brightly, "She was that pleased, Jenny was! -She didn't tell me just what she was meaning, but she said, happy-like, -'It will give me a chance to pay a debt.'" - -"A debt." The invalid was perplexed. "Why, Jenny Warner is in no way -indebted to me." Then a cold, almost hard expression crept into her eyes, -as she added, "If Gwynette had said that, I might have understood. But -she never does. She takes all that I give her, and is rebellious because -it is not more." She had been thinking aloud. Before her amazed listener -uttered a comment, if, indeed, she would have done so, which is doubtful, -the younger woman said bitterly: "Susan Warner, I have failed, failed -miserably as a mother. You have succeeded. That is why I especially -wished to talk with you this morning. I want your advice." Then Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones did a very unusual thing for her. She acknowledged her -disappointment in her adopted daughter to someone apart from herself. - -"The girl's selfishness is phenomenal," she continued, not without -bitterness. "She is jealous of the least favor I show my own boy and -wishes all of our plans to be made with her pleasure as our only -consideration." - -The old woman shook her head sympathetically. "Tut! tut! Mis' -Poindexter-Jones, that's most unfeelin' of her. Most!" She had been about -to say that it was hard to believe that the two girls were really -sisters, but, fearing that the comparison might hurt the other woman's -feelings, she said no more. - -The invalid, an unusual color burning in her cheeks, sighed deeply. -"Susan Warner," she said, and there was almost a break in her voice, -"don't blame the girl too much. I try not to. If you had brought her up, -and I had had Jenny, it might have been different. They----" - -But Susan Warner could not wait, as was her wont for a superior to finish -a sentence. She hurriedly interrupted with "Our Jenny wouldn't have been -different from what she is--no matter how she was fetched up. I reckon -she just _couldn't_ be. She'd have been so grateful to you for havin' -given her a chance--she'd have been sweeter'n ever. Jenny would." - -The older woman was not entirely convinced. "I taught Gwynette to be -proud," she said reminiscently. "I wanted her to select her friends from -only the best families. I was foolishly proud myself, and now I am being -punished for it." - -Susan Warner said timidly, "Maybe she'll change yet. Maybe 'tisn't too -late." - -"I fear it is far too late." The invalid again dropped wearily back among -her silken pillows. She closed her eyes, but opened them almost at once -to turn a keenly inquiring glance at her visitor. "Susan Warner, I wanted -to ask you this question: Do you think it might break down Gwynette's -selfish, haughty pride if she were to be told that she is your Jenny's -sister and my adopted daughter?" - -The older woman looked startled. "Oh, I reckon I wouldn't be hasty about -tellin' that, Mis' Poindexter-Jones. I reckon I wouldn't!" Then she faced -the matter squarely. Perhaps the panic in her heart had been caused by -selfish reasons. If the two girls were told that they were sisters, then -Jenny would have to know that she was not the real granddaughter of the -Warners. Would she, could she love them as dearly after that? The old -woman rose, saying quaveringly, "Please, may I talk it over with Silas -first. He's clear thinkin', Silas is, an' he'll see the straight of it." -And to this Mrs. Poindexter-Jones agreed. - -On the day following, at the appointed hour, Jenny Warner, again wearing -her pale yellow dress, appeared in the garden by the lily pond, and was -welcomed by the invalid with a smile that brightened her weary face. - -There were half a dozen new books on the small table, and Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones, without preface, said: "Choose which one you would like -to read, Jeanette." - -She glanced quickly at the girl, rebuking herself for having used the -name of long ago, but it evidently had been unnoticed. The truth was that -Miss Dearborn, her beloved teacher, had often used that longer name. - -"They all look interesting. O, here is one, 'The Morning Star.' I do -believe that is poetry in prose. How I wish Lenora might hear it also." - -"Lenora?" the woman spoke inquiringly; then "O, I recall now. You did say -that you have a visitor who is ill. Is she strong enough to accompany you -to my garden for our readings?" - -"She would be, I think. The doctor said that by tomorrow I might take her -for a drive. I could bring her chair and her cushions." But the older -woman interrupted. "No need to do that Jeanette. I have many pillows and -several reclining chairs." Then she suggested: "Suppose we leave the book -until your friend is with us. There is a collection of short stories that -will do for today." - -Jenny Warner read well. Miss Dearborn had seen to that, as she considered -reading aloud an accomplishment to be cultivated. - -The invalid was charmed. The girl's voice was musical, soft yet clear, -and most soothing to the harassed nerves of the woman, broken by the -endless round of society's demands. - -When the one story was finished, the woman said: "Close the book, please, -Jeanette. I would rather talk. I want to hear all about yourself, what -you do, who are your friends, and what are your plans for the future." - -Jenny Warner told first of all about Miss Dearborn. That story was very -enlightening to the listener. She had felt that some influence, other -than that of the Warners, must have helped in the moulding of the girl -who sat before her. "I would like to meet Miss Dearborn," was her only -comment. - -Then Jenny told about Lenora Gale and the brother, Charles, who was -coming to take her back to Dakota. - -"But Lenora will not be strong enough to travel, perhaps not for a month, -the doctor thinks. I do not know what her brother will do, but Lenora -will remain with me." Such a glad light was shining in the liquid brown -eyes that the older woman was moved to say, "It makes you very happy to -have a girl companion." - -Jenny clasped her hands, as she exclaimed: "No one knows how I have -always longed to have a sister. I have never had friends--girl friends, I -mean--I have been Miss Dearborn's only pupil, but often and often I have -pretended that I had a sister about my own age. I would wake up in the -night, the way girls do in books, and confide my secrets to a -make-believe sister. Then, when I went on long tramps alone up in the -foothills, I pretended that my sister was with me and we made plans -together." - -The girl hesitated and glanced at her listener, suddenly abashed, fearing -that the older woman would think her prattling foolish. She was amazed at -the changed expression. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones was ashen gray and her face -was drawn as though she were suffering. "Dear," she said faintly, "call -Miss Dane, please! I would like to go in. It was a great wrong, a very -great wrong--and yet, every one meant well." - -Puzzled, indeed, the girl arose and hastened toward the house. Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones must have become worse, and suddenly she was even -wandering in her mind. Jenny found the nurse not far away lying in a -hammock, just resting. - -She hurried to her patient. The woman leaned heavily on her companion as -she walked toward the house. The girl, fearing that her chattering had -overtired Harold's mother, followed penitently. - -At the steps the woman turned and held out a frail hand. There were tears -on her cheeks and in her eyes. "Jeanette," she said, almost feebly, "I am -very tired. Do not come again until I send for you. I want to think. I -must decide what to do." - -Then, noting the unhappy expression on the sweet face of the girl, she -said, ever so tenderly, "You have not tired me, dear, dear Jeanette. -Don't think that. It is something very different." Puzzled and troubled, -Jenny returned to the farm. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII. - MOTHER AND SON - - -The news from the big house on the day following was that Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones had had a relapse and was again very weak and ill. The -same doctor who visited Lenora was the physician at Poindexter Arms. The -son, Harold, had been sent for, and, as his examinations at the military -academy were over, he would not return. That, the doctor confided to -Susan Warner, was indeed fortunate, as his patient had longed to see her -boy. "The most curious thing about it all," he concluded, "is that she -has not sent for her daughter, who is so near that she could reach her -mother's bedside in half an hour." - -"Not yet," Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had said. "I wish to talk with my son. -He will know what is best to do." - -Harold, arrived and went at once to his mother's room. With infinite -tenderness they greeted each other. "My dearest mother," the lad's tone -expressed deep concern, "I was so happy when your nurse wrote that you -were rapidly recovering. What has happened to cause the relapse? Have you -been overdoing? Now that I am home, mother, I want you to lean on me in -every way. Just rest, dearest, and let whatever burdens there are be on -my broad shoulders." With joy and pride the sick woman gazed at her boy. - -"Dear lad," she said, "you know not what you ask. The cause of my relapse -is a mental one. I have done a great wrong to two people, a very great -wrong, and it is too late to right it. No, I am not delirious." She -smiled up into his troubled, anxious face and her eyes were clear, even -though unusually bright. - -Then the nurse glided in to protest that Mrs. Poindexter-Jones would -better rest before talking more with her son. But the sick woman was -obstinate. "Miss Dane," she said, "please let me do as I wish in this -matter. I will take the responsibility with the doctor. I want to be -alone with my boy for fifteen minutes. Then he will go away and you may -come." - -The nurse could do nothing but retire, though much against her better -judgment. Harold seated himself close to the bed and held one of his -mother's hands in his cool, firm clasp. - -"What is it, dearest?" he asked. "What is troubling you?" - -Then she told the story, the whole of it, not sparing her own wrong -training of the girl, concluding with her disappointment in her adopted -daughter. The lad leaned over and kissed his mother tenderly. "You meant -so kindly," he said, "when you took an orphan into your home and gave her -every opportunity to make good." - -He hesitated and the woman asked: "Harold, did you know? Did you ever -guess? You do not seem surprised." - -"Yes, dearest. Long ago. Not just at first, of course, for I was only -five when Gwynette came into our home and she was three, but later, when -I was grown, I knew that she was not my own little sister, or she would -have come to us as a wee baby." - -"Of course, I might have known that you would reason it out when you were -older. I wish now that you had spoken to me about it, then I could have -asked your advice sooner." - -"My advice, mother?" - -"Yes, dear lad. It is often very helpful to talk a problem over with -someone whose point of view naturally would be different. You might have -saved me from many mistakes. What I wish to ask now is this: If I can -obtain the permission of the Warners (we made an agreement long years ago -that the secret was never to be revealed by any of us), but if now they -think it might be best, would you advise me to tell Gwynette the truth?" - -The lad looked thoughtfully out of the window near. His mother waited -eagerly. She had decided to abide by his advice whatever it might be. At -last he turned toward her. "Knowing Gwynette's supreme selfishness, I -fear that whatever love she may have for you, mother, would be turned to -very bitter hatred. She would feel that you were hurling her from a -class, of which she is snobbishly proud, down into one that she considers -very little better than serfdom. I hardly know how she would take it. She -might do something desperate." The boy regretted these words as soon as -they were spoken. The woman's eyes were startled and because of her great -weakness she began to shiver as though in a chill. The repentant lad -knelt and held her close. "Mother, dear, leave it all to me, will you? -Forget it and just get well for my sake." Then with a break in his voice, -"I wouldn't want to live without _you_, dearest." A sweet calm stole into -the woman's soul. Nothing else seemed to matter. She rested her cheek -against her son's head as she said softly: "My boy! For your sake I will -get well." - -Harold, upon leaving his mother, went at once to his room, and, throwing -himself down in his comfortable morris-chair, with his hands thrust deep -into his trouser pockets, he sat staring out of a wide picture-window. He -did not notice, however, the white-capped waves on the tossing, restless -sea. He was remembering all that had happened from his little boyhood, -especially all that associated him with the girl he had long realized -could not be his own sister. - -Had he been to her the companion that he might have been, indeed that he -should have been, even though he knew she was not his father's child? No, -he had really never cared for her and he had avoided her companionship -whenever it was possible. Many a time he had known that she was hurt at -his lack of devotion. Only recently, when he had so much preferred taking -Sunday dinner at the farm, and had actually forgotten Gwyn until the -haughty girl had reminded him that it was his duty to take her wherever -she would like to dine, he had recalled, almost too late, that it would -be his mother's wish, and now, that his father was gone, his mother was -the one person whom he loved above all others. His conclusion, after half -an hour of relentless self-examination, was that he was very much to -blame for Gwynette's selfishness. If he had long ago sought her -confidence, long ago in the formative years, they might have grown up in -loving companionship as a sister and brother should. This, surely, would -have happened, a thought tried to excuse him to himself, if she had been -an own sister. But he looked at it squarely. "If my mother wanted -Gwynette enough to adopt her and have her share in all things with her -own son, that son should have accepted her as a sister." Rising, he -walked to the window, and, for a few moments, he really saw the -wind-swept sea. Then, whirling on his heel, he snapped his fingers as he -thought with a new determination. "I shall ask our mother (he purposely -said 'our') to give me a fortnight to help Gwyn change her point of view, -before the revelation is made to her. The fault, I can see now, has not -been wholly her own. Mother has shown in a thousand ways that I am the -one she really loves. Not that she has neglected Gwyn, but there has been -a difference." He was putting on his topcoat and cap as he made the -decision to take a run up to the seminary and see how his sister was -getting on. - -As he neared his mother's room, the nurse appeared, closing the door -behind her so softly that the lad knew, without asking, that the invalid -was asleep. Miss Dane smiled at the comely youth. - -"My patient is much better since you came home. I believe you were the -tonic, or the narcotic rather, that she needed, for she seems soothed and -quieted." - -The lad's brightening expression told the nurse how great was his love -for his mother. She went her way to the kitchen to prepare a -strengthening broth for the invalid to be given her when she should -awaken, and all the while she was wondering why a son should be so -devoted and a daughter seem to care so little. It was evident to the most -casual observer that Gwynette cared for no one but herself. - -Harold was soon in his little gray speedster and out on the highway. He -thought that, first of all, he would dart into town and buy a box of -Gwyn's favorite chocolates. She could not but greet him graciously when -he appeared with a gift for her. On the coast highway, near Santa -Barbara, there was a roadside inn where motoring parties lunched and -where the best of candies could be procured. As he was about to complete -his purchase, a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with the build of a -college athlete, entered carrying a suitcase. He inquired when the next -bus would pass that way, and, finding that he would have to wait at least -an hour, he next asked how far it was to the farm of Silas Warner. Harold -stepped forward, before the clerk could reply, and said, "I am going in -that direction. In fact I shall pass the farm. May I give you a lift?" - -"Thanks." - -Together they left the shop and were soon speeding along the highway, -neither dreaming of all that this meeting was to mean to them. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV. - HAROLD AND CHARLES - - -Harold was frankly curious. He had not heard of the guest at the -Warner's. Indeed, having arrived but that day he had heard nothing except -his mother's anxiety about Gwynette. Could it be possible that the -fine-looking chap at his side was a friend of Jenny's? He could easily -understand that anyone, man or woman, who had once met her would, ever -after, wish to be counted as one of her friends. - -When they were well out in the country, the lad at the wheel turned and -smiled in his frank, friendly way. "Stranger hereabouts?" he inquired. - -"Yes and no," the young man replied. "This is my third visit, though the -other two could hardly be called that. I came here when the rainy season -began up north to put my sister, who is not strong, in the seminary here. -I hoped that your more even climate might help restore her strength. -Dakota is our home state. We have a ranch there, but the winters are very -severe. Sister, I am sorry to say, was not happy at the seminary, and, -when she did take a severe cold, she did not recover, and so I made my -second flying trip with the intention of taking her to Arizona if that -seemed best, but, when I arrived her nurse told me that she believed a -pleasant home atmosphere would do more for my sister than a dry air. -This, I was glad to find, had already been offered to Lenora. She had met -a girl, Jenny Warner is her name, and the two had become fast friends. On -the very day that I arrived Miss Jenny was also going to the seminary -with an invitation from her grandmother which was to make my sister a -guest in their home until she should be strong enough to travel. That was -two weeks ago. This, my third visit, is for the purpose of determining if -Lenora is well enough to accompany me to our home in Dakota. My name is -Charles Gale, and I have just completed the agricultural course connected -with the state college at Berkeley." - -Harold reached out a strong brown hand which was grasped heartily by -another equally strong and brown. - -"Great! I'd like well to take that course. Harold Jones is my name. -Mother and Sis put a Poindexter and a hyphen in the middle. Women like -that sort of thing. It was mother's maiden name. Well, here we are at the -long lane that leads up to the farm." - -Charles leaned over to pick up his suitcase. "Don't turn in. I can hike -up to the house." - -"Nothing doing." Harold swung into the narrow dirt lane. "I was planning -to pay a visit to Susan Warner. She took care of me when I was a small -kid, you see, and so I claim her as sort of a foster grandmother, and, as -for Silas Warner, there's no finer example of the old school farmer -living, or I miss my bet." - -Charles looked interested. "I'd like to meet him. I was here such a short -time on my last visit that, although I met Mrs. Warner, I did not see her -good spouse." - -Harold, eager to create some sort of a stir, caused his sport siren to -announce their arrival with shrill staccato notes. It had the desired -effect. First of all dear old Susan Warner bustled out of the kitchen -door, then from around the front corner of the house came Jenny with her -friend, frail and white, leaning on her arm. Lenora's face brightened -when she saw her brother and she held out both arms to him as he leaped -from the low car. Harold chivalrously sprang up on the side porch to -shake hands first of all with his one time nurse, then he went to Jenny, -and although he did not really frame his thought in words, he was -conscious of feeling glad that it was _his_ arrival and not that of -Charles Gale which was causing her liquid brown eyes to glow with a -welcome which, at least, was most friendly. - -"Come in, all of you, do, and have a glass of milk and a cookie." Grandma -Sue thought of them as just big children, and, by the eagerness with -which they accepted the invitation, she was evidently not far wrong. - -Jenny skipped to the cooling cellar to soon return with a blue crockery -pitcher brimming with creamy milk. Susan Warner heaped a plate with -cookies. Charles led his sister to Grandpa Si's comfortable armed chair -near the stove. When they were all seated and partaking of the -refreshments, the older of the lads said, "Sister, you are not yet strong -enough to travel, I fear." - -"O, I think that I am! We could have a drawing room all of the way and I -could lie down most of the time." But even the excitement of her -brother's arrival had tired her. - -Jenny went to her friend's side and, sitting on the broad arm of the -chair, she pleaded: "Don't leave me so soon, Lenora! Aren't you happy -here with us? You've been getting stronger every day, and only yesterday -Grandma Sue told the doctor that she hoped you would be here another -fortnight, and he said, didn't he, Grandma Sue, that it would be at least -that long before you would be able to travel." - -Lenora looked anxiously at her brother. She knew that he was eager to get -back to their Dakota ranch home, knowing that their father needed him and -was lonely for both of them. But the young man said at once, "I believe -the doctor is right. I will wire Dad tonight when I go back to the hotel -that we will remain two weeks longer." Then, turning toward the nodding, -smiling old woman, he asked: "Mrs. Warner, you are quite sure that we are -not imposing upon you? I could take my sister with me if----" - -Susan Warner's reply was sincerely given. "Mr. Gale," she said, her ruddy -face beaming, "I reckon there's three of us in this old farmhouse as -wishes your sister Lenora was goin' to stay all summer. Jenny, here," how -fondly the faded blue eyes turned toward her girl, "has allays had a -hankering for an own sister, and since it's too late now for that, next -best is to adopt one, and Lenora is her choice and mine, too, and Si's as -well, I reckon." - -The young man's relief and appreciation were warmly expressed. Then he -said, "Father will want us to stay under the circumstances. I will remain -at the hotel----" Grandma Sue interrupted with, "I do wish we had another -bedroom here. It's a powerful way from the farm to town and Lenora will -want to see you every day." - -Harold had been thoughtfully gazing at the floor. He now spoke. -"Charles," then with his half whimsical, wholly friendly smile he -digressed, "you won't mind if I call you that, will you, since we are -merely boys of a larger growth," then continued with, "Don't decide where -you will bunk, please, until I have had an opportunity to talk the matter -over with my invalid mother. I'd like bully well to have you for my -guest. I have a plan, a keen one if I can carry it out. I'll not reveal -it until I know." Harold stood up, suddenly recalling that he had a duty -to fulfill which was being neglected for his own pleasure. That had -always been his way, he feared, when he had to choose between Gwynette -and someone who really interested him. - -To Mrs. Warner he said, "I'm on my way over to the seminary to see my -sister. Poor kid! There are two more days of prison life for her, or so -she considers it. Mother requested that she remain at the seminary until -the term is over and it's being hard for her." Then to the taller lad, -"Charles, you want to stay here with your sister until evening anyway, -don't you?" - -The girl quickly put out a detaining hand, as she said, "O please do -stay. I haven't asked you a single question yet. It will take you until -dark to answer half that I want to know." The big brown hand closed over -the frail one. To Harold he replied, "Yes, I'll be here if I can get a -bus to town in the evening." - -"You won't need the bus, not if my little gray bug is in working order." -They had all risen except Lenora, and Susan Warner said hospitably, -"Harry-lad, if your ma don't need you over to the big house, come back in -time for supper. I'll make the corn bread you set such a store by." - -"Thanks, I'll be here with bells," the lad called as he leaped into his -waiting car. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV. - A JOLLY PLAN - - -Harold's little gray "bug," as he sometimes called the car which he -boasted was the speediest of its kind, made the long upgrade in high, and -that, being a feat it had not accomplished on its last ascent, so -gratified the youthful owner that he swung into the seminary grounds with -a flourish. Upon seeing his sister sitting moodily in the summer-house -with a novel, unread, on her knee, he ran in that direction, waving his -cap gleefully. - -"Hello, there, Sis!" he called. "Get on your bonnet and come for a ride. -The bug is outdoing itself today." - -The girl, whose eyes were suspiciously red, turned toward him coldly. -"Harold, how many times have I asked you not to call me Sis. It savors of -kitchen mechanics, and, what is more, I do not wear a bonnet. Finally, I -most certainly do not wish to ride in that racer of yours." - -The boy dropped down on the bench on the opposite side of the -summer-house and gave a long whistle which equally aggravated his -companion. Then, stretching out to be comfortable, he thrust his hands -deep into his pockets, as he inquired: "Well, then, Sister Gwynette, will -you enlighten me as to why your marblesque brow is darkly clouded?" - -The girl's frown deepened and she turned away from him petulantly. "You -know just as well as I do that you care nothing whatever about my -troubles," she flung at him. "You wouldn't be here now if Mother hadn't -sent you, and I'm sure I can't see why she did. She cares no more for me -than you do, or she would not force me to stay in this prison until the -close of the term just for appearance sake. I'm not taking the final -tests, so why should I pretend that I am?" - -The boy drew himself upright and, leaning on the rustic table which was -between them, he said, trying not to let his indignation sound in his -voice: "Gwynette, do you know that our mother is very, very ill? She is -again in bed and I could only be with her for a few moments." - -Harold paused, hoping that his announcement would cause his listener some -evident concern, but there was no change in her expression, and so more -coldly he continued: - -"Mother said nothing whatever about her reason for asking you to remain -here until the term is over, but it is my private opinion that when she -did send for you, some sort of a scene was stirred up which made Mother's -fever worse. The nurse probably thought best for Mums to be undisturbed -as long as possible." Suddenly the lad sprang up, rounded the table and -sat on the side toward which his petulant sister was facing. Impulsively -he took her hand as he asked, not unkindly, "Gwyn, don't you care at all -whether our mother lives or dies?" - -There was a sudden, startled expression in the girl's tear-filled eyes, -but, as the lad knew, the tears were there merely because of self-pity. - -"Dies?" she repeated rather blankly. No one whom she had ever known had -died, and she had seemed to think that those near her were immune. "Is Ma -Mere going to die?" - -The boy followed up what he believed to be an advantage by saying gently, -"We would be all alone in the world, Gwyn, if our mother left us, and, -oh, it would be so lonely." - -Suddenly and most unexpectedly the girl put her arms on the table and, -burying her head upon them, she sobbed bitterly. Harold was moved to -unusual tenderness. He put his arm lovingly about his sister as he -hastened to say, reassuringly, "Miss Dane, the nurse, told me this -morning that Mother's one chance of recovery lay in not being excited in -any way. Her fever must be kept down. We'll help, won't we, Gwyn?" - -The girl sat up and wiped her eyes with her dainty handkerchief. - -"I suppose so," she said dully. The boy, watching her, could not tell -what emotion had caused the outburst of grief. He decided not to follow -it up, but to permit whatever seeds had been sown to sprout as they -would. - -Springing up, he exclaimed: "Snapping turtles! I forgot something I -brought for you. It's in the car." He ran back, found the box of choice -candies, returned and presented them. Gwyn was still gazing absently -ahead of her. "Thanks," she said, but without evidence of pleasure. - -The boy stood in the vine-hung doorway gazing down at her. "Gwyn," he -said, "if you want to come home, I'll be over after you tomorrow. Just -say the word." - -"I prefer to wait until my mother sends for me," was the cold answer. The -lad went away, fearing that he had accomplished little. - -It was five-thirty when the "bug" again turned into the long lane that -led to the farmhouse near Rocky Point. - -"Here comes Harold," Jenny turned from the window to inform the other -occupants of the kitchen. Grandma Sue was opening the oven to test her -corn bread. Lenora was again in the comfortable armchair near the stove. -For the past hour she had been asleep in the hammock out in the sun, and -she felt stronger and really hungry. Charles, having been told that there -was nothing that he could do to help, sat on the bench answering the -questions his sister now and then asked. - -Grandpa Si had not yet returned from a neighbor's where he had gone to -help repair fences. - -Jenny, dressed in her white Swiss with the pink dots, had a pink -butterfly bow in her hair. Her cheeks were flushed and her liquid brown -eyes glowing. She was wonderfully happy. Her dear friend Lenora was to -remain with her another two weeks. She was convinced that this was the -sole reason for her joy. It did not remotely enter her thought that -perhaps the return of Harold might be adding to her happiness. - -Charles, hearing the siren call, leaped to the porch and the boys again -shook hands like old friends who had not met in many a day. - -Harold was plainly elated. He detained Charles on the porch long enough -to tell his plan. - -"I've been over to see Mother since I left and she is quite willing that -I open up the little cabin on the cliff that used to belong to my Dad -when he was young. It's been closed since he died and I didn't know how -Mother would feel about having it occupied. But when she heard about you, -she said she was glad indeed that I was to have a companion, as she knew -the big house would seem lonely while she is ill, so we'll move right -over there after supper." - -"That's great!" the Dakota boy was equally pleased. "Honest, I'll confess -it now; I did dread going to that barren Commercial Hotel, and I couldn't -afford to spend more than ten minutes at The Palms, not if I had to pay -for the privilege." - -"Come on, let's tell our good news." Harold led the way into the kitchen -where his jubilant enthusiasm was met with a like response. Lenora -clapped her hands. "Oh, won't you two boys have the nicest time! Tell us -about that cabin. How did your father happen to build it?" - -"I don't believe I ever really knew. Gwyn and I were such little things -when he died." Turning to the older woman, who had dropped on the bench -to rest, he asked, "Grandma Sue, you, of course, know all that happened. -You were living near here, weren't you, when my father was a boy?" - -"Indeed I was. My folks had the overseein' of a lemon grove up Live Oak -Canyon way. First off I did fine sewin' for your Grandma Jones. That's -how I come to know your family so well. But she didn't live long arter I -went there, and your grandpa was so broke up, he went to pieces sort of, -right arter the funeral an' pined away, slow like, for two years about. -Your pa, Harry, was the only child, and he give up his lawin' in the big -city and come home to stay and be company for his pa. I never saw two -folks set a greater store by each other, but the old man (your grandpa -wasn't really old, but grievin' aged him), even his boy seemed like -couldn't cheer him up, he missed his good woman so. 'Twant long afore he -followed her into the great beyond. That other Harold, your pa, was only -twenty-two or thereabouts and he was all broke up. He didn't seem to want -to go back to the lawin' and it was too lonesome for him to stay in the -big house, so he sent the help all away, giving 'em each a present of -three months' pay. That is, he sent 'em all but Sing Long. Sing was a -young Chinaman then, and he wanted to stay with your pa. That's when he -had the cabin on the cliff built. He was allays readin', your pa was, so -he filled one big room with books and with Sing Long to cook for him and -take care of him, there he stayed until he was twenty-five. Then he went -'round the world and came back with a wife." - -Grandpa Si's entrance interrupted the story. The old man was surprised to -find company in the kitchen. "Wall, wall, I swan to glory!" He took off -his straw hat and rubbed his forehead with his big red bandanna -handkerchief. "If 'tisn't my helper come so soon. Harry-lad, it's good -for sore eyes to see you lookin' so young, like there wa'n't no sech -thing ahead as old age." - -Harold shook hands heartily as he exclaimed with his usual enthusiasm: -"Old age! Indeed, sir, I don't believe in it. All I have to do is to look -at you and Grandma Sue to know that it doesn't exist." Then turning -toward the young visitor, he continued: "Silas Warner, may I make you -acquainted with Charles Gale?" The weather-bronzed face wrinkled into -even a wider smile as the old man held a hand toward the young stranger. - -"Wall, now, you're a size bigger'n our little Lenora here, ain't you? -Tut, tut. We've allays boasted about how big we can grow things down here -in Californy, but I reckon Dakota's got us plumb beat. Harry, you'll have -to eat a lot to catch up with your friend." - -That youth laughingly replied that he was afraid that eating a lot would -make him grow round instead of high. The old man good naturedly -commented, "Wall, Harry-lad, you ain't so much behind or below whichever -'tis, not more'n half a head, an' you may make that up. Though 'tain't -short you be now." - -Then he began to sniff, beaming at his spouse, whose cheeks, from the -heat of baking, were as ruddy as winter apples. "Ma," he said, wagging -his head from side to side and smacking his lips in anticipation, "that -there smell oozin' out of the oven sort of hits the empty spot. Cream -gravy on that thick yellar cornmeal bread! Wall, boys, if there's rich -folks with finer feed 'n that I dunno what 'tis." - -He was washing at the sink pump as he talked. - -"Neither do I," Harold agreed as he sprang to help Jenny place the chairs -around the table. Their eyes met and Harold found himself remembering -that this lovely girl was own sister to his adopted sister. What relation -then was he to Jenny? But before this problem could be solved, Grandma -Sue was placing the two plates of cornbread on the table and Jenny had -skipped to the stove to pour the steaming gravy into its pitcher-like -bowl. - -Charles led Lenora to her place, although she protested that she really -could walk alone. Harold leaped to the head to draw Grandma Sue's chair -out, and then Jenny's, while Charles did the same for his sister. Then -the merry meal began. Grandpa Si told all that had happened during the -day to Susan, as was his custom. Never an evening meal was begun without -that query, "Wall, Si, what happened today. Anythin' newsy?" - -It didn't matter how unimportant the event, if it interested the old man -enough to tell it, he was sure of an interested listener. Indeed, two, -for Jenny having been brought up to this evening program, was as eager as -her grandmother to hear the chronicalings of the day, which seldom held -an event that a city dweller would consider worth the recounting. - -"Wall, I dunno as there's much, 'cept Pete says the lemon crop over on -that ranch whar you lived when you was a gal, Ma, is outdoin' itself this -year. Tryin' to break its own record, Pete takes it. He's workin' over -thar mornin's and loafin' arternoons, lest be he can pick up odd jobs -like fence-mendin'." Then, when the generous slices of corn bread had -been served and were covered with the delicious cream gravy, there was -not one among them who did not do justice to it and consider it a rare -treat. After the first edge of hunger was appeased, the old man asked -what kind of a year ranchers were having in Dakota. This answered, he -smiled toward the frail girl. "Lenora," he said, "yo' ain't plannin' to -pull out 'f here soon, air yo'? It'll be powerful lonely for Jenny-gal, -her havin' sort of got used to havin' a sister." Then, turning to the -smiling Charles, the old man said facetiously: "Ma an' me sort o' wish -you an' your Pa didn't want Lenora. We'd like to keep her steady. -Wouldn't we, Ma?" The old woman nodded, "I reckon we would, but there's -others have the first right an' we'll be thankful for two weeks more." - -Directly after supper Harold said to his hostess: "Please forgive us if -we eat and run. I want to move into the cabin before dark." Then, to the -old man: "I'll be ready to start work early in the morning." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI. - A RUSTIC CABIN - - -It was just before sunset when the two boys reached the cabin on the -cliff close to the high hedge which separated the farm from the rest of -the estate. It was a rustic affair with wide verandas on three sides. -From the long front windows there was an unobstructed view of the coast -line circling toward the Rincon Mountain which extended peninsula-wise -out into the ocean. - -Sing Long opened the front door and beamed at them. He greeted Harold and -his friend, saying good naturedly, "Me showee. Alle done." He led the way -at once upstairs. A very large bedroom was most comfortably furnished -with severe simplicity. The Chinaman opened a closet door and showed -Harold his clothes hanging there. - -"Great!" the boy was indeed pleased to find that he was being so well -cared for. "You may sleep up at the big house, just as you have been -doing, Sing," Harold told him, "but be back to prepare our breakfast by -five tomorrow morning." - -The Chinaman grinned, showing spaces between yellowed teeth. "Belly -early, him. Fibe 'clock." It was quite evident that he was recalling -former days when it had been hard to awaken his young master at a much -later hour. - -Harold laughed. "Oh, times have changed, Sing. No more late sleeping for -me. Tomorrow I'm going to begin to be a farmer." - -They could hear the Chinaman chuckling as though greatly amused until he -was out of the cabin. Harold at once became the thoughtful host. "I'll -budge my things along and make room for yours in the closet," he said. -"We'll have your trunk brought over from The Commercial tomorrow." Then, -going to the window, he stood, hands thrust in pockets, looking out at -the surf plunging against the rocks. For some moments he was deep in -thought. Silently Charles unpacked the few things he had with him. Harold -turned as the twilight crept into the room. "Dear old Dad loved this -place," he said, which showed of what he had been thinking. - -"Even after he and Mother were married, when there was a crowd of gay -folk up at the big house, one of Mother's week-ends, Dad would come here -and stay with his books for company most of the time. I suppose the -guests thought him queer. I'm inclined to think that at first Mother did -not understand, for she has often told me how deeply she regrets that she -had persuaded him to give up coming down here. She wishes that instead -she had given up the house parties. Oh, well, there's a lot to regret in -this old world." Charles, knowing nothing of his new friend's -self-reproach because of having neglected his adopted sister, wondered at -a remark so unlike the enthusiastic conversation of the earlier evening. -The truth was that Harold was saddened by this first visit to his -father's cabin. Suddenly he clapped a friendly hand on the older lad's -shoulder and said, "But come, the prize room is downstairs. I don't -wonder Dad liked to be in it more than in any room over at the big house. -I used to visit him when I was a little shaver, but the place has been -locked since his death. I was ten when Dad died." - -They had descended a circling open stairway which led directly into the -large room, a fleeting glance at which Charles had had on their entering. - -It was indeed an ideal den for a man who loved to read. A great stone -fireplace was at one end with bookcases ceiling high, on either side. - -There were Indian rugs on the floor, low wall lamps that hung over -comfortable wicker chairs with basket-like magazine holders at the side. -A wide divan in front of the blazing fire on the hearth invited Charles, -and he threw himself full length, his hands clasped under his head. -"Harold, this is great," he exclaimed. "I've been in such a mad rush -these last days getting the finals over, packing and traveling down here, -that it seems mighty good to stretch out and let go for awhile." - -"Do you smoke?" Harold asked. "If you want to, go ahead. I never learned. -Dad was much opposed to smoking and even though I was so young I promised -I wouldn't, at least not until I was twenty-one." Then, after a moment of -thought, the younger lad concluded: "In memory of Dad, I shall never -begin." - -"Glad to hear it, old man! If a chap doesn't start a bad habit, he won't -have to struggle to break it when it begins to pull down his health. I -much prefer to breathe fresh air myself." Charles changed the subject. -"What's this about getting up at five o'clock to start in being a farmer? -Don't tell me, though, if you'd rather not." - -"Oh, there's no secret to it. Sort of thought I'd like to learn how to -run a farm since I am to own one." - -"Surely! But I didn't know you were to inherit a farm. Where's it -located?" - -It was evident that Charles did not know that the Rocky Point farm -belonged to Harold's mother and the boy hesitated to tell, not knowing -but that the older lad would think less of the Warners and Jenny if he -knew that they were what Gwyn called his "mother's servants." A second -thought assured him that this would be very unlikely. - -Simply Harold said, "Silas Warner is my mother's overseer." - -"Oho, I understand. You're lucky to have such a splendid man to look -after your interests." Then, "I like ranching mighty well. Dad suggested -that I take up law, thought I might need it later, when--" Charles never -finished that sentence, and, if Harold thought it queer, he made no -comment. - -They talked of college, of ambitions and plans for the future, until bed -time. For the first time in his life Charles was lulled to sleep by the -rhythmic breaking of the waves as the tide went out. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - FUN AS FARMERS - - -Grandpa Si and Grandma Sue were alone at a five o'clock breakfast. They -did not wish Jenny to get up that early as there was really nothing to -do, but make the morning coffee, fry the bacon and flapjacks, which -constituted the farmer's breakfast menu every day in the year. - -Silas Warner often tried to persuade his good wife to sleep later, -telling her that he could well enough prepare his own breakfast, but he -had long since desisted, realizing that he would be depriving her of one -of their happiest hours together. It was then, when they were quite -alone, that they talked over many things, and this morning Susan found -her hands trembling as she poured the golden brown coffee into her -husband's large thick china cup. Silas had asked for three days to -meditate on the serious question of whether or not they should tell Jenny -that she was not their own child, and Susan well knew that this morning -she would hear his decision. - -It was not until the cakes were fried and she was seated opposite him -that he looked over at her with his most genial smile, and yet the silent -watcher knew him so well that she could sense that he was not happy in -the decision which he evidently had reached. "Pa, you think it's best to -tell, don't you? I can sort o' see it comin'." - -"I reckon that's about what my ruminatin' fetched me to, Susan. You'n me -know how our gal's hankerin' for an own sister, and now that Lenora is -goin', she'll be lorner 'n ever, Jenny will." He glanced toward the -closed door which led to the living room where their "gal" slept since -she had given her bed to her guest. "I cal'late we'd better keep it dark -though till Lenora's gone, then sort of feel our way as how best to tell -it. Thar's time enough. While Lenora's here, there ain't no need for any -other sister for our gal." - -Susan Warner sighed, even while she smiled waveringly. "Wall, Si, if you -think it's best, I reckon 'tis. But it'll be powerful hard to have Jenny -thinkin' the less of us." - -The good man rose and walked around the table and placed a big gnarled -hand on his wife's shoulder. "Tut! Tut! Susy," that was the name he had -used in the courtin' days, "our gal ain't made of no sech clay as that. -She'll stick by us all the tighter, you see if 'taint so." - -Further conversation on the subject was prevented by the arrival of -Harold and Charles decked in overalls, which the former lad had obtained -from his mother's gardener. - -Silas Warner stepped out on the side porch to greet them and his grin was -at its widest. "Wall, I swan to glory, if here ain't my two helpers. -Ready to milk the cow, Harry-lad?" - -Mrs. Warner appeared in the open door, her blue checked apron wound about -her hands. She smiled and nodded. "Speak quietly, boys. We like Lenora to -sleep as late as she can," was her admonition. - -The farmer led the way to the barn and there he again stood grinning his -amusement. The boys laughed good naturedly. "Say, them overalls of -your'n, Harry, are sort o' baggy, 'pears like to me. You could get one o' -Ma's best pillars in front thar easy." - -The younger lad agreed. "Charles has the best of it. Our gardener is just -about his size. Now if only we had a couple of wide straw hats with torn -brims, we'd look the part." - -Shaking with mirth, the old man led the boys to a shed adjoining the -barn, where on a row of nails were several hats ragged and tattered -enough to suit the most exacting comedian. "Great!" the younger lad -donned one and seizing the milk pail from the farmer's hand, he struck an -attitude, exclaiming dramatically "Lead me to the cow." But he was to -find that a college education did not help one to milk, and after a few -futile efforts he rose, and, with a flourish, offered the bench to -Charles, who, having often milked, had the task done in short order. -Harry watched the process closely, declaring that in the evening he would -show them. - -That same morning Mrs. Poindexter-Jones awakened feeling better than she -had in a long time. - -While Miss Dane was busying herself about the room, the older woman lay -thoughtfully gazing at a double frame picture on the wall. It contained -photographs of two children, one about eight and the other about five. -How beautiful Gwynette had been with her long golden curls and what a -manly little chap Harold. She sighed deeply. The boy had not changed but -the girl----. - -Another thought interrupted: "Now that you and Harold both believe that -it may be partly your fault, you may feel differently toward Gwynette." - -"I do love her," the woman had to acknowledge. "One cannot bring up -anything from babyhood and not care, but I was not wise. I overindulged -the child because she was so beautiful, and I was proud to have people -think her my own, and, later, when she was so heartlessly selfish, I was -hurt. Poor Gwynette." - -Aloud she said: "Miss Dane, please telephone the seminary and tell my -daughter that I am sending the carriage for her at four this afternoon. I -want her to come home. Then, when my son comes, tell him I wish to see -him. He told me that he would be here in the early afternoon." - -"Very well. I will attend to it." The nurse glided from the room to -telephone Gwynette. Half an hour later she returned. The woman looked up -almost eagerly. Miss Dane merely said, "The message was given." - -She did not care to tell that the girl's voice had been coldly -indifferent. Her reply had been, "Very well. One place does as well as -another!" - -At noon, after a morning cultivating in the fields, the boys were not -sorry when the farmer advised them to take it easy during the afternoon. -The day was very warm. - -"Well, we will, just at first, while hardening up." Harold was afraid the -farmer would think that he was not in earnest about wanting to help, but -there was no twinkle evident in the kind blue eyes of Silas Warner. - -The boys, hoes over their shoulders, walked single file through the field -of corn toward the farmhouse. The girls had not yet seen them and they -expected to be well laughed at. Nor were they mistaken. They found Jenny -and Lenora out in the kitchen garden. The former maiden had been -gathering luscious, big, red strawberries, while her friend sat nearby on -a rustic bench. Jenny stood upright, her basket brimming full, and so she -first saw the queer procession. - -"Oh, Lenora, do look! Is it or is it not your brother Charles?" The -grinning boys doffed their frayed straw hats and made deep bows. Jenny -pretended to be surprised. "Why, Harold, is that you? I thought Grandpa -had hired a tramp or two to help out. My, but you look hot!" - -"Indeed, young ladies, it does not take much perspicacity to make that -discovery." He mopped his brow with his handkerchief as he spoke. - -Charles laughed. "It's harder on Harold than on me. We do this sort of -thing every day up at the Agricultural School." - -Then, to tease, he added: "Why don't you invite the girls to watch you -milk this evening?" - -"Well, I may at that," the younger boy said, nothing daunted by their -laughter. "But just now we must hie us to our cabin. I promised to visit -Mother about two." Then to Charles he suggested: "Before we eat the good -lunch Sing Long will have for us, suppose we go swimming, old man, what -say?" - -"Agreed! It sounds good to me!" Turning to his sister, Charles took her -hand lovingly. "I'll be over to spend the afternoon with you, dear?" - -Harold, glancing almost shyly at the other girl, wished he could say the -same thing to her. Then it was he recalled something. "Charles," he said, -"Mother wanted me to bring you over to the big house this afternoon. I -call it that to designate it from the cabin. She is eager to meet my new -friend." - -"Indeed I shall be very glad to meet your mother." Then smiling tenderly -at the girl whose hand he still held, he said: "You do feel stronger -today, don't you, sister?" She nodded happily, then away the two boys -ran. - -An hour later, refreshed and sleek-looking after their swim, they sat at -a small table on the pine-sheltered side porch and ate the good lunch -Sing Long had prepared for them. - -"This is great!" Charles enthusiastically exclaimed. "I'd like Lenora to -see it." - -"Better still, in a few days, when she is able to walk this far, we will -invite the girls to dine." Harold hesitated, flushed a little and added -as an after thought: "Of course we'll ask my sister, too." Again he had -completely forgotten Gwynette. His good resolution was going to be hard -to put into effect, it would seem. - -"I shall be glad to meet your mother and also your sister," Charles was -saying. - -An impulse came to Harold to confide in Charles. Ought he or ought he -not? He knew that he could trust his new friend and his advice might be -invaluable. And so he began hesitatingly: "I'm going to tell you -something, Charles, which I never told to anyone else. In fact, it's only -recently that Mother realized I knew about it. But now a complication has -risen. We, Mother and I, don't know _what_ is best to do, and what is -more, Silas and Susan Warner have to be considered." - -"Don't tell me unless you are quite sure that you want to, old man," -Charles said in his frank, friendly way, adding, "We make confidences, -sometimes, rather on an impulse, and wish later that we had not." - -"Yes, I know. There are fellows I wouldn't trust to keep the matter dark, -but I know that you will. We especially do not wish Jenny Warner to know -or Gwynette, my sister, until we have figured out whether or not it would -be best. Of course, my mother and the Warners thought they were doing the -right thing. Well, I won't keep you wondering about it any longer. I'll -tell you the whole story as Mother told it to me only two days ago." - -Charles listened seriously. They had finished their lunch and had -sauntered down to the cliff before the tale was completed. - -"That certainly is a problem," was the first comment. "I can easily -understand that your mother wished to keep the matter a secret, but I do -feel sorry for the girls. No one knows the comfort my sister has been to -me. I would have lost a great joy out of my life if she had been taken -from me--if we had grown up without knowing each other." - -"Of course you would, old man," Harold agreed heartily. "But, you see, I -early figured out that Gwynette couldn't be my own sister, and I have -never really cared for her nor has she for me. Well, she'll be coming -home tomorrow and then you can tell better, perhaps, after having met -her, how to advise me. Mother said she would abide by my decision. I -asked Mums to postpone for two weeks an ultimatum in the matter." Then, -placing a hand on his friend's shoulder, he added: "Now I must go over -and see Mother. If you care to wait in the cabin, I'll be back in half an -hour. I'll find out when my mother will be able to see you." - -"Of course I'll wait. Lenora ought to rest after lunch, I suppose. I'll -be glad to browse among the interesting books. Don't hurry on my -account." - -Ten minutes later Harold was admitted to his mother's room. - -"I am keeping awake just for this visit," the smiling woman said when he -had kissed her. "Is your friend with you?" - -"No, he is at the cabin. I thought perhaps at first you would rather see -me alone. I will go back and get him if you would like to meet him now." - -Instead of answering him, the woman turned to the nurse, who was seated -at a window sewing: "Miss Dane, if I sleep for two hours, I might meet -Harold's friend about five, don't you think?" The nurse assented. - -To her son she then said, "I would like you and your friend to dine here -every evening. Please begin tonight." - -She purposely did not tell Harold that his sister would be at home and -would need his companionship. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - A DIFFICULT PROMISE - - -When the boys reached the farm, they saw Jenny dressed in her sunny -yellow with the buttercup wreathed leghorn hat shading her face, and, as -she was walking down the lane carrying a basket, it was quite evident -that she was going away. Harold felt a distinct sense of disappointment. -Lenora was lying in the hammock under two towering eucalyptus trees. -Charles went to her at once and sat on the bench near, but Harold, -excusing himself, ran toward the barn where he could see that Jenny was -already in the old buggy backing Dobbin out into the lane. - -Hatless, he arrived just as the girl turned toward the highway. "Whither -away, fair maid?" the boy sang out. - -"To see my very nice teacher, Miss Dearborn. I had a message from her -this morning. She wishes to see me before three. My heart is rebuking me, -for it is over a week since our classes ended and I've been so busy I -haven't been over to Hillcrest. I'm glad, though, that she has sent for -me, and I hope she will scold me well. I deserve it." - -The boy hesitated. "Would I be much in the way if I went with you?" Then -eagerly, "I'd love to drive old Dobbin." - -Jenny, of course, could not deprive him of that pleasure, and so, at her -smilingly given assent, the lad went around to the other side, leaped -over a wheel and took the seat and reins abandoned by the girl. - -Dobbin, seeming to sense that all was ready, started on a trot toward the -gate. Harold turned to wave back to Charles, who returned the salute. He -was glad to be alone for a time with Lenora. They were planning to write -a combination letter to their far-away and, as they well knew, lonely -father. - -"You care a lot for this Miss Dearborn, Jenny, don't you?" Harold turned -to one side of the highway to give the automobiles the right of way on -the pavement. - -"Indeed I do! I love her and I am always fearful that I may lose her -before my education is completed." - -"Wouldn't you like to go away to school somewhere? Most girls do, I -understand." - -"Oh, no! I couldn't leave Grandma and Grandpa. They are old people and -need me. At any time something might happen that either or both of them -would be unable to work as they do now. I want to be right here, always, -to be their staff when they need one." - -The boy, glancing at the girl, could readily tell that what she had said -had come from her heart. It had been neither for effect nor from a sense -of duty. - -The boy changed the subject. "You will miss Lenora when she is gone." - -There was an almost tragic expression in the liquid brown eyes that were -turned toward him. "No one can know _how_ I shall miss her. It has been -wonderful to have someone near one's own age to confide in." - -"Wouldn't I do when Lenora is gone?" Harold ventured. "I'm not such a lot -older than you are." - -"I'm afraid not," Jenny smilingly retorted. "Girl confidences would seem -foolish to you." Then, as they drove between the pepper-tree posts, she -exclaimed, "I surely deserve a scolding for having so long neglected my -beloved teacher." - -Miss Dearborn did not scold Jenny. There was in her face an expression -which at once assured the girl that something of an unusual nature had -occurred. Harold had remained in the wagon and the two, who cared so much -for each other, were alone in the charming library and living-room of -Hill-Crest. - -"Miss Dearborn. Oh, what has happened? I know something has." Then seeing -a suitcase standing near, locked and strapped, the girl became more than -ever fearful. "You are going away. Oh, Miss Dearborn, are you?" Tears -sprang to the eagerly questioning brown eyes. - -"Yes, dear girl, I am going to Carmel. I had told you that Eric Austin -and his family are living there. Last night a telegram came, sent by that -dear sister-friend herself. She is ill and wants me to come at once. Of -course I am going." - -The telephone called Miss Dearborn to another room. When she returned she -said, "A taxicab will be here shortly." As she donned her hat, she -continued talking. "No one knows how sincerely I hope my schoolmate will -recover. She is so happily married, she dearly loves her husband and her -children. Oh, Jeanette, it is so sad when a mother is taken away. There -is no one, _just no one_ who can take her place to the little ones." - -The girl asked, "How many children are there, Miss Dearborn? I remember -you said one girl had been named after you." - -"Yes, then there is a boy, a year or two older, and this baby, the one -that has just come!" She took up the suitcase, but Jenny held out her -hand. "Please let me carry it." The teacher did so, as she had to close -and lock the front door. Harold sprang from the wagon. "Miss Dearborn," -the girl said, "you have heard me speak of our neighbors, the -Poindexter-Jones. This is my friend Harold." The lad, cap under his arm, -took the outstretched hand, acknowledging the introduction, then reached -for the suitcase. - -Sounds of an automobile laboring up the rough hill-road assured them, -before they saw the small closed car, that the taxi was arriving. - -Jenny held her teacher's hand in a close clasp and her eyes were again -brimmed with tears. This time for the mother of the little new baby. - -"Good-bye, dear girl." The woman turned to the boy and said, "Take good -care of my Jeanette. Even she does not know what a comfort she is to me." - -The boy had replied something, he hardly knew what. Of course he would -take care of Jenny. With his life, if need be. When the taxi was gone he -took the girl's arm and led her back to the wagon. He saw that she was -almost crying and he knew that her dear friend must be starting on some -sad mission, but Jenny merely said, when they were driving down the -canyon road, "Miss Dearborn has a college friend living in Carmel and she -is very ill and has sent for her." - -After a time he spoke aloud his own thoughts. "Jeanette, that is what -your teacher called you. It reminds me of my sister's name somewhat." He -hesitated. He was on dangerous ground. He must be very careful of what he -said. The girl turned toward him glowingly. "How lucky you are, Harold, -to have a real sister. She must be a good pal for you. Is she to be at -home soon?" - -"Yes, tomorrow." The boy hesitated, then he said slowly, thinking ahead: -"Jenny, Mother and I feel that we haven't brought Gwyn up just right. We -have helped her to be proud and selfish. I'm going to ask you a favor. -Will you try to win her friendship and be patient and not hurt if she -seems to snub you just at first? Will you, Jenny?" The boy was very much -in earnest, and so the girl replied, "Why, Harold, I will try, if you -wish, but I know that your sister does not want my friendship, so why -should she be forced to have it?" - -"Because I wish it," was all the lad would reply. Jenny knew better than -the boy did how difficult it would be. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - THE HAUGHTY GWYNETTE - - -True to his promise, Harold took Charles to the "big house" just before -five, the hour of his mother's appointing. - -"You have a beautiful home," the visiting lad remarked as he was led -along box-edged paths and paused to gaze into the mirror-clear, -sun-sparkled water in the pond lily garden. Lotus flowers were lying on -the still blue surface, waxen lovely and sweetly fragrant. - -They went up the marble steps, crossed the portico and entered a long -wide hall which led directly to the front door through the windows of -which the late afternoon sun was streaming. - -"The library is my favorite room," Harold said. "I will leave you there -while I go up and see if mother is ready to meet my new friend." - -They were nearing a wide door where rich, crimson velvet portiers hung, -when Harold heard his name spoken back of him. Turning, he saw Miss Dane -beckoning to him. After speaking with her he said: "Charles, wait in the -library for me. I won't be gone long. Mother wishes to speak to me alone -for just a few moments." - -Charles stopped to look at a very beautiful painting before he stepped -between the velvet portiers. At once he saw that the room was occupied. -"Pardon me!" he exclaimed. A girl had risen and was staring at him with -amazement, but her momentary indignation was changed to interest when she -saw how good-looking and well-dressed he was. With a graciousness she -could always assume when she wished, Gwynette assured him: "Indeed you -are not intruding. I heard my brother tell you to wait here until he -came. Won't you be seated? I am Gwynette, Harold's sister. He may have -told you about me?" The lad was amazed. Even while he was assuring the -girl that he had indeed heard of her his thought was inquiring, "How -could Harold find it hard to care for such a graceful, beautiful sister, -even though she was adopted." - -Gwynette had resumed the seat she had occupied formerly, a deep softly -upholstered leather chair drawn close to the wide hearth on which a drift -log was burning with flames of many colors. - -"And I," the lad sat in the chair on the opposite side of the hearth to -which she motioned him, "since Harold is not here to introduce me, will -tell you who I am and how I happen to be here." Then he hesitated, gazing -inquiringly at the girl whose every pose was one of grace. "You probably -know my sister, Lenora Gale, since she was at the Granger Place Seminary -for a time." - -If there was a stiffening on the part of the girl, it was not -perceptible. If her thought was rather disdainfully "another farmer", she -did not lessen her apparent interest. Her reply, though not enthusiastic, -was in the affirmative, modified with, "I really cannot say that I knew -your sister well, however. She was not in my classes and our rooms were -far apart." - -Then, with just the right amount of seeming solicitude, "She is quite -well now, I hope. I understand that she went to stay at my mother's farm -with our overseer's family." - -Charles glanced up at her quickly. Gwyn could not long play a part -without revealing her true self. "Very wonderful people, the Warners," -was what the young man said. "It has been a privilege to meet them. -Lenora, I am glad to say, is daily becoming stronger and within a -fortnight we will be able to travel to our far-away home." - -He paused and the girl said, now with less interest, "A ranch, I -understand." - -"Yes, a ranch." Silence fell between them. Gwynette gazed into the fire, -torn between her scorn for her companion's station in life and her -admiration of his magnetic personality. Suddenly she smiled at him and -Charles felt that he had never seen any girl more beautiful. "Do you -know," she said with apparent naivete, "it is hard for me to believe that -you are a farmer; you impress me as being a gentleman to the manner -born." - -The lad, who was her senior by several years, smiled. "Miss Gwynette," he -retorted, "I am far more proud of being a rancher than I would be of -inheriting a title." - -Harold returned just then to say that his mother was ready to receive -their guest. The younger lad was amazed at the graciousness with which -his usually fretful sister assured Charles Gale that she was indeed glad -he was to be with them for dinner. - -When the two boys were quite out of hearing, Harold gave a low whistle. -Clapping his friend on the shoulder, he said softly: "Charles, you're a -miracle worker. I haven't seen such a radiant smile from Gwyn in more -days than I can remember." The other lad replied in a low voice, "I'm -glad you took me into your confidence. I may be able to help you solve -your problem." - -Harold asked with sincere eagerness, "You think that perhaps Gwyn can be -changed without taking the extreme measure of telling her that she is -Jenny Warner's own sister?" - -Charles nodded. "The ideal thing would be to so change Gwynette that she -would be glad to learn that she had a sister all her very own." Harold -shook his head. "Can't be done, old man, unless that sister proved to be -an heiress or an earl's daughter." The boy laughed at a sudden -recollection. "Poor Gwyn had a most unfortunate experience and sort of -made herself the laughing stock of her crowd over at the seminary," he -confided. "She heard that there was a girl in the school whose father was -a younger son of English nobility who might some day be Lady -Something-or-other. Gwyn decided that _that_ girl should be cultivated, -but, unfortunately, the young lady had requested that her identity be -kept a secret. No one but Miss Granger knew it. The principal had been -proud, evidently, of the fact that a member of a noble English family -attended her school, and had let that much be known." Charles smiled. "I -thought America was democratic and cared nothing for class," he said. - -They had stopped on the circling, softly-carpeted stairway while they -talked. Being far from the library, they had no fear of being overheard -by Gwyn. Harold replied: "Well, there are some of us who care nothing at -all for class, but every country has its snobs and Gwyn is one, -unfortunately." - -Charles appeared interested. "Did she manage to identify the girl who -might some day have a title?" - -Again Harold laughed. "Poor Gwyn, it really was very funny. She selected -a big, handsome blonde who ordered the maids about in an imperious manner -and, more than that, she gave a dance at The Palms, inviting her to be -the guest of honor. I brought down a bunch of cadets from the big town -and it happened one of them hailed from Chicago, and so did the handsome -blonde. He told us that she was a Swede and that her father had made a -fortune raising pigs!" - -Charles could not refrain from smiling. "That was hard on your sister, -wasn't it?" he said. - -The other lad nodded. "I wouldn't dare refer to it in Gwyn's hearing, but -come on! Mother will wonder where we are all this time." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones was as much pleased with Harold's new friend as -Gwynette had been, and, in the brief ten moments that the boys stayed -with the invalid, she became convinced that he was just the lad she would -like to have in the cliff cabin with her son. When the nurse appeared -with a warning nod at Harold, the boys at once arose, and the woman, -reclining among her pillows, smiled as she held out a frail hand. -"Charles Gale," she said kindly, "we are glad indeed to have you with us. -Remain as long as you can, and, when your sister is stronger, I would -like to have that dear little Warner girl bring her to call upon me." - -On the way down the wide circling flight of stairs Charles said softly, -"Your mother seems to like Jenny Warner." The other nodded. "Yes, she -does. She wonders if, had she chosen Jeanette, as she calls her, and the -Warners had taken Gwynette, the girls would have been different. Susan -Warner declares that if her Jenny had been brought up as a princess she -would still have been simple and loving, going about doing good as she -does now. She is the bright angel to a family of Italians living in -Sycamore Canyon." - -Soft chimes from the dining-room told them that the dinner hour had -arrived, and so Harold went to the library to escort his sister, Charles -following. Again the bright smile greeted them. Rising, the girl said, -"Brother, Ma Mere told me, when I arrived from the seminary this -afternoon, that I need not remain here this summer unless I so desire." - -To Charles she explained, "I did feel so neglected when Mother sent me to -this out-of-the-way country school. I wanted to be with her in France. -The resort where she was staying is simply charming, and one meets people -there from the very best English families. For some reason, however, I -had to be buried out here." Then, after an expressive shrug, she added -with renewed interest: "Ma Mere has heard of a select party sailing from -San Francisco next week, and if I wish, I may join it." - -While Gwyn had been talking, they had sauntered to the dining-room and -were seated in a group at one end of the long, highly-polished table. -Charles, listening attentively, now realized how truly selfish the girl -was. He was recalling another girl in a far-distant scene. When their -mother had been ill, Lenora could hardly be persuaded to leave her -bedside long enough to obtain the rest she needed, and that illness had -lasted many months. Indeed, it was not until after the mother had died -that the girl could be persuaded to think of herself, and then it was -found, as Charles and his father had feared, that she had used up far -more vitality than she could spare and she had not been strong since. He -tried not to feel critically toward the beautiful girl at his side. -Purposely he did not glance at Harold. That boy had flushed -uncomfortably, and, at, last, he spoke his thoughts, which he evidently -had tried to refrain from doing. "Gwyn, don't you suppose, if you stayed -at home, you might make our mother's long hours in bed pleasanter for -her?" - -The girl's tone was just tinged with irritation. "No, Harold, I do not. -Mother does not find my companionship restful and Miss Dane surely does -for her all that is humanly possible." Gwyn was distinctly uncomfortable. -She felt that the conversation was not putting her in an enviable light -and she had truly wished to impress Charles Gale, for the time being, at -least. She had no desire to have the admiration a lasting one, since he -was merely a rancher's son. - -Gwynette had one ambition and that was to make a most desirable marriage -soon after her eighteenth birthday, which was not many months away. She -was convinced that, after her debut into San Francisco's most select -"Younger Set", she would soon meet the man of her dreams. She never -doubted but that _he_ at once would love her and desire to make her his -wife. But just now it would be gratifying to her vanity to have so -handsome a young giant as Charles Gale admire her. Poor Gwyn at that -moment was far from having accomplished this. Charles _did_ admire -beauty, and thought how charming she would be, were she not so -superlatively selfish. - -Harold changed the subject. "Gwyn, we boys are going to the farm after -dinner. Will you go with us? Charles naturally wishes to spend the -evenings with his sister." - -Both boys waited, though not appearing to do so, for the girl's reply. -Her brother well knew that she would not want to go to the farm and -associate with her mother's servants, as she called Susan and Silas -Warner and their granddaughter, but, on the other hand, Harold could -easily see that his sister was much impressed with Charles Gale and might -wish to accompany them for the sake of his companionship if for no other -reason. - -Gwyn _did_ accept, after a moment's thought. She knew that, all alone in -the big house, she would be frightfully bored. And so, half an hour -later, the three started out across the gardens, under the pines and -along the cliff, where in the early twilight a full moon, rising from the -sea, was sending toward them a path of silver. Gwynette paused and looked -out across the water for a long silent moment. When she spoke, it was to -her brother. "Harold, I've never before been along this cliff. In fact," -this to Charles, "all of my life has been spent either in San Francisco -or abroad. This is the first year that Mother has seemed to want to come -to Santa Barbara. I always supposed it was because it reminded her of our -father, who died here so long ago." - -"Then you do not know the beautiful spots that are everywhere around your -own home," Charles said, and his voice was more kindly than it had been. -He was sorry for the girl who had been brought up among people who -thought that ascending the social ladder was the one thing to be desired. -He knew, for Harold had told him, how sincerely the mother regretted all -this, but now that the girl's character was formed, they feared that only -some extreme measure, such as revealing to her who she really was, could -change her. Charles, who was a deep student of human nature, felt that -the girl's sincere joy in the loveliness of the path of silver light on -the sea was a hopeful sign. Harold was thinking, "That is the first -resemblance to Jenny Warner that I have noticed. _She_ loves nature in -all its moods." At their first tap on the front door, it was flung open -and Jenny, in her yellow dress, greeted them joyfully, pausing, however, -and hesitating when she saw by whom the boys were accompanied. One -glimpse into the old-fashioned farm "parlor", with its haircloth-covered -furniture, its wax wreath under a glass, its tidies on the chairs, its -framed mottoes on the walls, beside chromo pictures of Susan and Si -Warner made when they were married, filled Gwynette with shuddering -dread. She couldn't, she wouldn't associate with these people as equals. -Had she not been an honored guest in the homes of millionaires in San -Francisco and abroad? But, distasteful as it all was to her, she found -herself advancing over the threshold when Charles stepped aside to permit -her to enter ahead of him. Jenny, remembering her promise to Harold, held -out her hand, rather diffidently, but Gwynette was apparently looking in -another direction, and so it was Harold who took it, and, although his -greeting was the customary one, his eyes expressed the gratitude that he -felt because Jenny had _tried_ to fulfill her promise to him. "Don't -bother about it any more," he said in a low voice aside, "it isn't worth -it." Of course the girl did not know just what he meant, but she resolved -not to be discouraged by one failure. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - GWYN'S AWAKENING - - -"Wall, wall," it was Silas Warner who entered the parlor five moments -later, rubbing his hands and smiling his widest, "this here looks like a -celebration or some sech. 'Tain't anybody's birthday, is it, Jenny-gal, -that yer givin' a party for?" - -"Oh, don't I wish it were, though," Harold exclaimed, "then Grandma Sue -would make one of her famous mountain chocolate cakes." He looked around -the group beseechingly. "Say, can't one of you raise a birthday within -the next fortnight. It will be worth the effort." - -Lenora flashed a smile across the room at her brother. "Charles can," she -announced. "He will be twenty-one on the twenty-fifth of June." - -"Great!" Then turning to the smiling old woman who sat near Jenny in the -most comfortable rocker the room afforded, "Grandma Sue, I implore that -your heart be touched! Will you make us a cake twenty-one layers high, -with chocolate in between an inch thick? I'll bring the candles and the -ice cream." - -Jenny, who for the first time was surrounded by young people, caught -Harold's holiday spirit and clapping her hands impulsively, she cried, -"Won't that be fun! Grandma Sue, you'll let us have a real party for -Charles' birthday, won't you?" - -Of course the old woman was only too happy to agree to their plans. While -she and Jenny were talking, Harold sat back and looked at the two girls, -the "unlike sisters" as he found himself calling them. Gwynette sat on -the edge of a slipper haircloth chair, the stiffest in the room. There -was an unmistakable sneer in the curve of her mouth, which was quite as -sensitive as Jenny's but lacking the sweet cheerful upturn at the -corners. Nor was Harold the only one who was thinking about this very -evident likeness, or unlikeness. - -Farmer Si, chewing a toothpick (of all plebeian things!), stood warming -his back at the nickel-plated parlor stove, hands back of him, teetering -now and then from heel to toe and ruminating. "Wall," was his -self-satisfied conclusion, "who wants her can have 'tother one. Ma and me -got the best of that little drawin' deal." - -"But that birthday is a whole week away," Harold was saying, "and here is -a perfectly good evening to spend. The question before the house is, how -shall we spend it?" - -"O, I know," Lenora leaned forward eagerly. "Let's make popcorn balls. -Brother and I used to call that the greatest kind of treat when we were -children." - -Gwynette's cold voice cut in with: "But _we_ are _not_ children." - -Harold leaped up exclaiming, "Maybe you are not, Gwyn, but the rest of us -are. Grandma Sue, may we borrow your kitchen if we leave it as spotless -as we find it?" - -Gwynette rose, saying coldly, "I am very tired. I think I will go home -now." Harold was filled with consternation. He, of course, would have to -accompany his sister, but, before he could speak, Charles was saying: "I -will walk over with you, Miss Gwynette, if you will permit me to do so. I -haven't had nearly my usual amount of outdoor exercise today, and I'd be -glad to do it." - -Gwynette flashed a grateful glance at him, and, wishing to appear well in -his eyes, she actually crossed the room and held out her hand to the old -woman, who, with the others, had risen. "Goodnight, Mrs. Warner," she -began, then surprised herself by ending with--"I hope you will invite me -to the birthday party." She bit her lip with vexation as soon as she was -outdoors. She had not meant to say it. Why had she? It was the same as -acknowledging that she considered herself an equal socially with the -Warners and the Gales, who also were farmers. She knew the answer, even -though she would not admit it. - -"What a warm, pleasant evening it is," Charles said when the door of the -farmhouse had closed behind them. "Would it bore you terribly, Miss -Gwynette, to go out on the point of rocks with me for a moment? I'd like -to see the surf closer in the moonlight." - -"Oh, I'd love to." Gwynette was honest, at least, when she made this -reply. She liked to be with this good-looking young giant who carried -himself as a Grecian god might have done. - -Taking her arm, the young man assisted the slender, graceful girl from -rock to rock until they had reached the highest point. There Charles -noted the canopied rock where Lenora and Jenny sat on the first day of -their visit to the point together. - -"Is it too cool, do you think, to sit here a moment?" Gwynette asked -somewhat shyly. For answer, the lad drew off his outer coat, folded it -and placed it on the stone. "Oh, I don't need it," he said, when she -protested. "This slipover sweater of mine is all that I usually wear, but -I put on the coat tonight in honor of the ladies." Then, folding his -arms, he stood silently near, watching the truly inspiring scene. One -great breaker after another rolled quietly in, lifting a foaming crest as -it neared the shore, glistening like fairy snow in the silver of the -moonlight. - -"The surf doesn't roar tonight, the way it does sometimes," the lad said, -dropping at last to the rock at the girl's side. "Watch now when the next -wave breaks, how all of the spray glistens." - -For a few moments neither spoke and, in Gwynette's starved soul something -stirred again, this time more distinctly. It was an intense love of -nature that she had inherited, with Jenny, from a wandering -poet-missionary father. She caught her breath when spray and mist dashed -almost up to them. "O, it is lovely, lovely!" she said, for once being -perfectly sincere and forgetting herself. "I never saw anything so -exquisite." - -Charles was more than pleased. Perhaps he was to find the soul of the -girl at his side. Harold did not believe that she had one. As he glanced -down at her now and then her real joy in the beauty of the scene before -them, he concluded that she was fully as beautiful as her sister. - -"I wonder where the silver path leads," she said whimsically. - -"I wish I had a sailboat here," the lad exclaimed, "and if you would be -my passenger, we'd sail over that silver stream and find where it leads." - -The girl looked up at him. Her new emotion had changed the expression of -her face. It was no longer cynical and cold. "Our father had a sailboat, -but for years it has been hanging to the rafters of the boathouse. -Perhaps Harold would like to take it down, now that he is to be here all -summer." - -"Good. I'll ask him!" the lad was enthusiastic. "I suppose you wonder how -I, a farmer from the inland, learned to sail. It was the year before -mother died that we all went to Lake Tahoe, hoping that the change of air -would benefit her. A splendid sailboat was one of the accessories of the -cabin we rented, and how I reveled in it. I do hope Harold will loan me -his boat. It seems calm enough beyond the surf. In fact I saw several -boats today evidently racing around a buoy over toward the town." - -"Yes, there is a yacht club at Santa Barbara and they have a wonderful -harbor. Harold has been invited to join the club. I would like to attend -one of their dances." - -The girl hesitated to ask her companion if he could dance. Probably not, -having been brought up on an isolated ranch. To her relief the question -was answered without having been asked. - -"I believe I like skating better than dancing, but, when the music -pleases me and my partner, I do enjoy dancing." Gwyn found that she must -reconstruct her preconvinced ideas about Dakota farmers. Then, after -silently watching the waves for a thoughtful moment, he turned toward her -as he smilingly said: "Miss Gwynette, do you suppose that you and I could -go to the next Yacht Club dance?" - -"Oh, yes, of course." The girl's eyes were glowing. Now indeed the -resemblance to Jenny was marked. "We have the entree everywhere." - -As they walked side by side toward the big house. Gwyn was conscious of -being happier than she had ever been in all her seventeen years. Then she -realized, with a pang of regret, that in two weeks this companion who -seemed to understand her better than did anyone else, would be gone. - -At the foot of the steps she turned and held out her hand. "Goodnight, -Mr. Gale," she said simply. "Thank you for escorting me home." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - CONFLICTING EMOTIONS - - -Harold was more than glad to grant his sister's request that the -sailboat, which for years had been suspended in the boathouse, should be -lowered and launched. Naturally, after having dried for so long leaks -appeared as soon as it was afloat in the quiet cove sheltered by the -little peninsula, Rocky Point. Again it was drawn up and a merry morning -the two boys spent with the help of an old man about the place who at one -time had sailed the seas. The cracks were caulked and again the pretty -craft floated, seeming to dance for joy, over the smoothly rolling waves, -when it was tied to the buoy a short distance from shore. The rowboat had -been used by the gardener for fishing excursions, and so that was in -readiness. The boys had been glad to find that, though the sails were -somewhat yellowed, they had been so carefully rolled away and covered -that no repairs were necessary. - -"We'd better make a trial trip in the craft before we take the ladies," -Charles suggested when, dressed in their overalls, they paused on their -way to the farm the next morning to look out at the boat. - -It was that very day that Mrs. Poindexter-Jones again decided that she -would like to be taken to the pond-lily garden and have Jenny Warner read -to her. When, leaning on Miss Dane's arm, she arrived in the charming -shrub-sheltered nook, she saw Gwynette lying in a hammock which was -stretched between two sycamore trees near. The girl at once arose and -went forward to greet her mother with an expression of real solicitude -which the woman had never before seen in her daughter's face. She even -glanced again to be sure that she had not been mistaken. Brightly the -girl said, "Good morning, Ma Mere. I'm glad you are able to be out this -lovely day. I was just coming to your room to ask if you'd like me to -read aloud to you. I found such a good story in the library, a new one." - -The pleased woman glanced at the book the girl held. It was the one in -which Jenny Warner had read a few chapters. - -There was a glad light in the eyes of the girl's foster-mother. - -Gwyn saw it, and for the first time in her life her conscience stirred, -rebuking her for having never before thought of doing anything to add to -her mother's pleasure. - -What the older woman said was: "I shall be more than glad to have my -daughter read to me. I was just about to send for Jenny Warner. Before -you came home she started to read that very book to me, but we were only -at the beginning." Gwynette flushed. "Oh, if you would rather have--" she -began. But her mother, hearing the hurt tone and wishing to follow up any -advantage the moment might be offering, hurriedly said: "Indeed I would -far rather have you read to me than anyone else, dear Gwynette. I had not -asked you because I did not know that you would care to." There was an -almost pathetic note in the voice which again carried a rebuke to the -heart of the girl. - -Miss Dane left them, after having arranged her patient in the comfortable -reclining chair. - -Gwynette, having read by herself to the chapter where Jenny had stopped, -began to read aloud and the woman, leaning back luxuriously at ease, -listened with a growing tenderness in her eyes. How beautiful Gwynette -was, and surely there was a changed expression which had come within the -last few days. _What_ could have caused it? Why did she seem more content -to remain in the country? The girl had not again mentioned the party for -European travel which she had seemed so eager to join when her mother had -proposed it. Half an hour later she suggested that they stop reading and -visit. - -"Dear," she said, and Gwynette actually thrilled at the new tenderness in -her mother's voice, "it isn't going to bore you as much as you thought to -remain here with us?" - -The girl rose and sat on a stool near the reclining chair. "Ma Mere," she -said, and there were actually tears in her eyes, "I have been very -unhappy, miserably dissatisfied, and I sometimes think that what I am -yearning for is love. I have had adulation," she spoke somewhat bitterly. -"I have demanded a sort of homage from the girls in my set wherever I -was. I think often they grudgingly gave it. I've had lots of time to -think about all these things during the last two weeks when Beulah and -Patricia, who had been my best friends in San Francisco, were busy with -final tests. I knew, when I faced the thing squarely, out there in the -summer-house where I spent so many hours alone. I knew that neither of -those girls really cared for me--I mean with their hearts--the way they -did for each other, and it made me feel lonely--left out. I don't know as -I had ever felt that way before, and then, when I came over here, that -first day after you came home, you talked about Harold with such loving -tenderness, and again I felt so neglected." She looked up, for the woman -had been about to speak. "Let me finish, Ma Mere, please, for I may never -again feel that I _want_ to tell what I think. I have been locked up so -long. I've been too proud to tell anyone that I _knew_ Harold did not -really care for me, that every little thing he did for me was because he -considered it a duty." - -His mother knew this to be true, for her son had made the same confidence -the day he had arrived from school. Her only comment was to lay her hand -lovingly on the brown head. A caress had not occurred between these two, -not since Gwynette had been a little girl. - -There were unshed tears in the woman's eyes. How blind she had been. -After all, Gwynette was not entirely to blame. Well the foster-mother -knew that she had encouraged the high-spirited girl to be proud and -haughty. For many years Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had considered social -standing of more importance than all else, but, during the long months -that she had been ill, an idle watcher of the throngs who visited the -famous health resort in France, something of the foolishness of it all -had come to her and she had readjusted her sense of real values, scarcely -knowing when it had happened. She had much to regret, much to try to -undo. - -"Dear girl," she said, and there was in her voice a waver as though it -were hard for her to speak, and yet she was determined to do so, "I fear -I have done you a great wrong. I have taught you to be proud, to scorn -worthiness in your fellow-men, or, if not exactly that, to place class -distinction above it. Now I know that character is the true test of what -a man is, not how much money he has or what his place in society. Of -course, it is but right that we should choose our friends from among -those people who interest us, but not from among those who can benefit us -in a worldly way. Gwynette, daughter, is it too late for me to undo the -wrong that I have done in giving you these false standards and ideals?" - -Now there were indeed tears quivering on the lashes of the older woman. -The girl was touched, as she never before had been. "Oh, Mother!" It was -really a yearning cry. "Then you _do_ love me. You do care?" - -Miss Dane appeared at the moment and the older woman merely smiled at the -girl, but with such an expression of infinite tenderness that, when the -invalid had been led away, there was a most unusual warmth in Gwynette's -heart. She rose and walked down to the cliff. She wanted, oh, her mother -could not know how very much she wanted to free herself from the old -standards, because she admired, more than she had ever before admired -anyone, the son of a mere rancher. She stood gazing at the boat and -thinking so intently of these things that she did not hear footsteps -near, but how her heart rejoiced when she heard a voice asking, "Will you -go to the Yacht Club dance with me this evening, Miss Gwynette? Harold -has procured the necessary tickets." - -Would she go? Gwynette turned such a glowingly radiant face toward the -questioner that he marveled at her beauty. How could he know that it was -the magic of his friendship which had wrought this almost unbelievable -transformation. - -"Oh, how splendid! The Yacht Club is a beautiful place and the music they -have is simply divine." Then she hesitated and looked doubtful, "but I -haven't a new party gown and I wore my old one there last month." - -How trivial and unimportant the young man's hearty laugh made her remark -seem, and what he said might have been called brutally frank: "You don't -suppose that anyone will recall what Miss Gwynette Poindexter-Jones wore -on that particular occasion?" - -The girl flushed, although she knew the rebuke contained in the remark -had not been intentionally unkind. Yet she could not resist saying, with -a touch of her old hauteur, "You mean that no one will remember me." Then -the native common sense which had seldom been given an opportunity to -express itself came to save her from petty displeasure. "You are right, -Sir Charles," she said lightly, "of course no one there tonight will -recall the gown I wore; in fact they won't remember _me_ at all." - -The lad had glanced quickly at the girl when she had called him "Sir -Charles," but, noting that it had been but a teasing preface to her -remark, he stood by her side for a silent moment gazing out at the boat. - -"Harold and I are going for a sail this afternoon," he said, "if the -craft doesn't leak. We want to try it out before we take the young ladies -for a sail. My sister Lenora used to love to be my passenger when we were -up at Lake Tahoe." - -Gwyn did not know why she asked, just a bit coyly, "Was your sister your -_only_ passenger?" - -The reply was frankly given: "No indeed! There were several young ladies -at a nearby inn who accompanied us at different times." - -Harold came up just then and said: "Well, Gwyn, are you going to watch -the famous sailors perform this afternoon? Jenny and Lenora have promised -to be out on Rocky Point to encourage us with their presence, so to -speak." Charles looked keenly at the girl as he said: "I would be pleased -if you would join them, Miss Gwyn. I would like you to know my sister -better. You will love her when you do." - -They had turned and were walking toward the house. Gwynette did not in -the least want to go. After hesitating, she replied: "I planned looking -over my gown. It may need some alterations." - -Even as she spoke, she knew that her words did not ring true. She sensed, -more than saw, that Charles was disappointed in her. He began at once to -talk about sailing to Harold, and, for the rest of the walk she might -have been quite alone. Her brother realized that Gwyn had not been -courteous. She should, at least, have replied that she was _sure_ she -would like the sister of Charles. He, Harold, had said nothing of Jenny. -He was not going to have his friend again humiliated by Gwyn's haughty -disdain. He was almost glad that she had invented an excuse for remaining -away. - -Gwyn lunched alone in the big formal dining-room. The boys had departed -for their cabin, where Sing Long had prepared their midday meal as usual. -The girl had hoped they would invite her to accompany them, but they had -not done so. - -After lunch she went to her room and took out the gown. She well knew -that it was in perfect repair, for had she not worn it to the party she -had given at The Palms in honor of the girl she had _supposed_ was -related to nobility? How foolish she had been! She did not much blame -Patricia and Beulah for laughing at her. In all probability there had -been no such girl in the seminary, and if there had been, what possible -difference could it make to her? Then she recalled what her mother had -said: "It is _character_ that counts, not class distinction." Gwyn was -decidedly unhappy. She laid the filmy, truly exquisite gown on her bed -and stood gazing out of her window. She saw the sailboat gliding past. -She decided that at least she would go out on the cliff. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - THREE GIRLS - - -Gwynette, dressed in a corn-yellow linen with tailored lines and wearing -a very becoming sport hat of the same material and color, trimmed with -old blue and orange, sauntered out to the cliff. She had intended to -remain there on a rustic bench to watch the boys sail to and fro, hoping, -though scarcely believing, that they would eventually land at the small -pier at their boathouse. Another thought prompted: "They are far more apt -to land nearer the Point of Rocks. Charles will want to be with his -sister, and Harold cares much more for that--that----" She hesitated, for -even in her thought she did not like to connect her brother's name with -the granddaughter of her mother's servants. - -Rising, and without definite decision to do so, she sauntered along the -cliff in the direction of the rocky point. She saw the two girls seated -on the highest rock, and just at that moment they were waving seaward, -and so Gwyn decided that the sailboat must be nearing the shore. A -low-growing old pine hid the water from her view. When she had passed it, -she glanced quickly out at the gleaming, dancing waves, and there, -turning for a tack, was the boat she sought. Charles, at the rudder, saw -her at once and waved his hat. She flushed. He would know that she was -going over to the point to be with the other girls. Half angry with -herself, when she realized that she was doing it merely to please him, -and not in the least because it was her own desire, she actually paused, -determining to turn back, but before she had done so, Jenny, having -glanced around, saw her, and so it was too late to retreat even if she -had really wished to do so. Remembering her promise to Harold, Jenny -called in her most friendly manner, "Oh, Miss Poindexter-Jones, won't you -come over on the Reviewing Rocks, as Harold calls them? We have a -wonderful view of the boat from here." - -Gwynette went, and if her smile was faint, it was at least a smile, and -Jenny felt encouraged. She gave up her own position. "Do sit here," she -said, "this seat is really as comfortable as a rock can be. I would offer -to go to the house for a cushion, but Lenora has the only two that we own -and she needs them both." - -"Indeed, I do not." The seated girl protested, and she was about to draw -out the one against which she was leaning, but Gwyn had the good grace to -at once declare that her gown washed nicely and she did not in the least -mind sitting on the rocks. Then they turned to watch the antics of the -sailboat. - -"Charles is in his element now." It was evident from her tone that Lenora -was very proud of her brother. "When we were at Tahoe the daughters of -the wealthy cottagers and guests at Tahoe Inn were always eager to have -him accompany them, not only sailing but everywhere." With a little laugh -she concluded, "As you may guess, I have a very popular brother." Then, -more seriously, as she recalled why they had been at the lake, far-famed -for its beauty: "But Charles refused nearly all invitations that he might -remain with our dear mother, who was frail. In fact, the only ones he -accepted were those that Mother and I insisted that he should not refuse. -But, oftenest of all, Charles would take me with him for a sunrise sail -before Mother would need us, and I shall never, never forget the beauty -of the awakening day on that mountain-circled lake." All this was told to -Jenny, who had seated herself on another rock a little apart from the -others. - -Gwyn found herself thinking it strange that ranchers from Dakota should -have the entree to Tahoe Inn, which she knew to be exclusive. Then she -had to confess that she, herself, had always associated with only the -first families, and yet she now was seated on the rocks with two girls -far beneath her socially. She flushed as she had to acknowledge that she -was there just to please Charles Gale. He probably had attracted the -girls who had been at Tahoe Inn as he did her. Her lips, though she did -not know it, were taking on the customary scornful lines, when Jenny -stood up. - -"They're coming in close this time. Harold wants to tell us something. -Everyone listen hard." - -The lad, making a trumpet of his hands, was shouting: "We'll land next -tack. Have some lemonade for us, will you?" - -The standing girl nodded her head: then, holding out a hand to Lenora, -said: "That command shall be obeyed." - -More formally, though in a tone of friendliness, Jenny turned to the -other girl: "You will go with us, will you not, Miss Poindexter-Jones? -I'll gather some fresh lemons and----" her face brightened as she added: -"Let's set the rustic table out under the trees near the hammock, and -serve some of those little cakes Grandma made this morning, and we might -even have strawberries. I gathered many more than we'll need for the -shortcake for dinner." - -"Oh! That will be jolly fun!" Jenny's enthusiasm was contagious as far as -Lenora was concerned, and so all three girls walked toward the house, two -of them eagerly, but one reluctantly. Why didn't she have the courage to -say that she must go to her own home? What excuse could she give that -would be the truth, for, strangely enough, Gwynette scorned falsehood. -She had been angry with herself ever since she had made the excuse of the -dress, knowing that it had not been true. Though they did not know it, -that high sense of honesty these two girls had inherited from their -missionary father. - -While she was struggling with her desire to be one of the party when -Charles should have landed, and her disinclination at being with girls -far beneath her socially, Jenny, who was a little in the lead, turned and -smilingly addressed her: - -"Miss Poindexter-Jones, what would you prefer doing--hulling -strawberries, making the lemonade or setting the table under the trees?" - -Lenora, who was bringing up the rear of the little procession, smiled to -herself. Jenny surely was daring, for, as they both well knew, Gwynette -would not _prefer_ to do anything at all. Surely she would now find some -excuse for hasty retreat. She might go home and read to her mother if she -had awakened. This Gwyn decided to tell them, but when she did hear her -own voice it was saying: "If I may choose, I prefer to set the table." - -"Good!" Jenny turned to Lenora: "Dearie, shall you mind staining your -fingers rosy red?" - -"Strawberry red, you mean, don't you?" Lenora dropped down on the top -step of the front porch, adding with an upward smile: "Sister Jenny, -bring the fruit and I will hull with pleasure." - -"All right-o." Then to the other girl, who stood stiffly erect, Jenny -said very sweetly: "If you will come with me, I'll show you where -Grandmother Sue keeps her best china. I know that she will let us use it -for this gala occasion." Then pointing: "See over there, by the hammock, -is the little rustic table. There are five of us. I'll bring out five -chairs." - -"Don't!" Lenora put in. "I'd far rather luxuriate in the hammock. Anyway, -four chairs even up the table better." - -Gwyn removed her hat, and followed Jenny toward the kitchen, where in an -old-fashioned china closet there were some very pretty dishes. The ware -was thin and the fern pattern was attractive, and suitable for an -out-of-door tea party. - -For the next fifteen minutes these three girls were busy, and to -Gwynette's surprise she was actually enjoying her share of the -preparations. After setting the table with a lunch cloth and the pretty -dishes, she gathered a cluster of pink wild roses for the center. - -"I love those single roses!" Jenny exclaimed when she brought out a large -glass pitcher of lemonade on which were floating strips of peel. "They -are so simple and--well--just what they really are, not pretending -anything." - -Lenora appeared with a glass dish heaped with luscious strawberries. -Their hostess was surely in an appreciative mood. "O-o-h! Don't they look -simply luscious under all that powdered sugar? Those sailors don't know -the treat that's in store for them." - -"And for us!" It was Gwyn's first impulsive remark. "I didn't know that I -was hungry, but I feel now as though I were famished." - -"So are we!" A hearty voice behind caused them all to turn, and there -were the two boys who had stolen up quietly on purpose to surprise the -girls. "We landed at the cabin, so we are all washed up and ready for the -'eats'." - -And it truly was a feast of merriment. Gwyn was surprised to find herself -laughing with the others. - -Lenora, half reclining in the hammock, was more an observer than a -partaker of the active merriment. From her position she could see the -profiles of the two girls at the table. They were both dressed in yellow, -for Jenny had on her favorite muslin. The shade was somewhat different -from Gwyn's corn-colored linen, but the effect was startlingly similar. -They had both removed their hats and their hair was exactly the same soft -waving light brown, with gold glints in it. Indeed, it might have been -hair on one head. Charles and Harold, of course, had also noted this at -an earlier period, but it was Lenora's first opportunity to study the two -girls. What _could_ it mean? _It_ was too decided a likeness to be merely -a coincident. She determined to ask Charles. - -That lad was devoting his time and thought to drawing Gwyn out of the -formal stiffness which had been evident when the little party started. -This he did, for Gwyn had had years of practice at clever repartee, and -so also had Charles, for, as she knew, he had associated with the -daughters of cultured families and also, of course, with the sons. - -Jenny and Harold, seated opposite each other, now and then exchanged -glances that ranged from amusement to gratification. They were both -decidedly pleased that the difficult guest was being entertained. - -When at last the strawberries, cakes and lemonade had disappeared, Harold -sprang up, announcing that, since the young ladies had prepared the -party, the young gentlemen would do the doing that was to follow. Charles -instantly began to pile dishes high, saying in a gay tone, directly to -Gwyn, "I suppose you hadn't heard that I am 'hasher' now and then at our -frat 'feeds'." - -The girl shuddered. "No, I had not." Her reply was so cold and her manner -again so formal that Lenora put in rebukingly: "Charles, why do you say -that? Of course I think it is splendid of boys who have to work their way -through college to do anything at all that they can, but father insisted -that you pay your way, that you might have your entire time for -studying." - -"I know, Sis, dear, but it's the truth, nevertheless, that we all take -turns helping out when there is need of it, and so I have learned the -knack and I'm glad to have it. One can't learn too many things in this -old world of ours." - -Gwyn rose, saying not without a hint of her old disdainful hauteur, "I am -going now. Mother may be awake and wishing me to read to her." - -"That's right, she may," Harold put in. "Otherwise I would remind you -that it is not mannerly to eat and run." - -His sister flushed, and Charles, suspecting that an angry reply was on -the tip of her tongue, hurried to suggest: "Miss Gwyn, if you will wait -until I have finished helping clear up, I'll sail you home, with Harold's -permission. We left the boat at the cabin dock." - -"Suppose you go at once," the other lad remarked, "I'd a whole lot rather -have Jenny wipe the dishes while I wash them." - -"Good! Then I can take a nap in this comfy hammock," Lenora put in. "This -is the most dissipating I've done since I was first taken ill." - -Charles was at once solicitous and Jenny half rebukeful. "Oh, Lenora. I -do hope you aren't overtired," they both said in different ways. - -Lenora curled down among the pillows that she always had with her. -"Indeed not! I'll be well enough to travel home one week from today," she -assured her brother. "Now do go, everybody, and let me sleep." And so, -after bidding good-bye to Jenny and Lenora in a far more friendly manner -than her wont, Gwyn, her heart again singing a joyous song she could not -understand, walked along the cliff trail, a young giant at her side. -"He's only the son of a Dakota rancher," a thought tried to whisper to -Gwyn. "What care I?" was her retort as she flashed a smile of good -comradeship up at the young man, who, she found, was watching her with -unmistakable admiration in his eyes. - -"It's good to be alive this beautiful day, isn't it?" was all that he -said. - -When Charles returned to the farm, he found Lenora still in the hammock -awakening from a most refreshing nap. She held out a hand and took it -lovingly as he sat on one of the chairs that had been about the rustic -table. Lenora spoke in a low voice. "Jenny isn't near, is she, brother?" -she inquired. - -"Nowhere in sight Why? Shall I call her?" - -The girl shook her head. "I wanted to ask you a question and I didn't -wish her to hear." Charles was puzzled; then troubled to know how to -answer when he heard Lenora's question: "Have you noticed the close -resemblance between Jenny and Harold's sister? They might almost be twins -if Gwynette were not two years the older. I think it is simply amazing. -Their profiles are startlingly similar." - -"Yes, I think I noticed the resemblance at once." Charles was glad to be -able to add, "Here comes Harold!" Excusing himself, he ran lightly across -the grass to meet his friend. In a low voice he explained that his sister -had discovered the resemblance and was amazed at it. His listener said: -"Suppose we let her into the secret. Perhaps she can help us to induce -Gwyn and Jenny at least to like each other." Harold was sure that his -mother would not mind, as she had said she would trust everything to his -judgment. "I will carry the chairs in. That will leave you alone to -explain as you think best," he concluded after a merry greeting to the -girl in the hammock. Harold took three of the chairs and went back to the -kitchen. Charles sat again in the fourth chair and took his sister's -hand. "Dear girl," he said, "I have received permission from Harold to -share with you a secret which is of a very serious nature." Lenora -glanced up puzzled and interested. - -Then, very simply, Charles told the whole story. The girl's first comment -was, "Poor Gwyn! She has had a most unfortunate bringing up, and, if she -were now to learn the truth, it would crush her. She might run away and -do something desperate." - -"That is just what Harold fears, and so he has asked his mother to permit -him to have two weeks to think over what would be best to do. He feels -encouraged for Gwynette has twice been over here quite of her own free -will." - -But Lenora shook her head. "There is nothing really encouraging about -that, for she did not come to be with Jenny. She came because she likes -you." - -Charles smiled and surprised Lenora by replying, "And I like Gwynette. -She's nicer, really, than she knows." Again there was an interruption. -This time both Jenny and Harold appeared. "It's time to milk the cow," -the younger lad announced with the broadest smile. "Charles, it's your -turn tonight." - -"You are both too late," Jenny told them, "for Grandpa Si took the pail -out of the milkroom ten minutes ago and by this time it is brimming, I am -sure." - -Charles rose. "Well, I'm rather glad, as I wish to take a swim before -arraying myself for the ball." Noting his sister's questioning -expression, he informed her that Gwynette and he were going to a dance at -the Yacht Club House that night. "Why don't you go with them, Harold?" It -was Jenny inquiring. "I have often heard you say that you like to dance." - -"So I do. If you and Lenora will accompany me, I'll go only too gladly." - -Lenora shook her head. "I'll be asleep before it would be time to start," -she said. "Why don't you go with him, Jenny?" - -That pretty maid's laughter was amused and merry. "Would I wear my yellow -muslin or my white with the pink sprig? Lenora Gale, you know that I -haven't a party dress, nor do I know how to dance." - -Harold put in: "We'll not go tonight, but if Grandma Sue has no religious -scruples, I'll come over after dinner and give you a first lesson in -modern dancing." Then the two boys went cabin-ward for their afternoon -swim. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - GWYNETTE'S CHOICE - - -Jenny Warner could not guess why there were so many mysterious smiles and -head noddings that night at supper and the next morning at breakfast. - -"I just know that you're all up to mischief," she accused as they were -leaving the table. - -"Guess what we four are going to do this morning," Lenora beamed at her -friend. - -"Well, I know Granddad is going into town." - -"And Grandma Sue, you, and I are going with him," Lenora laughingly told -Jenny. - -Jenny caught the glance that passed between Grandma Sue and Lenora and -knew they had a secret. - -When an hour later Grandpa Warner stopped Dobbin in front of the most -fashionable store in Santa Barbara, Jenny was more puzzled than ever. - -"Come on, sister mine." Lenora took Jenny's hand and the two girls and -Grandma Sue entered the store. - -It was all very mysterious and exciting to Jenny. She looked at Grandma -Sue who gazed about at the rainbow-hued silks piled high on the counters, -at the display of exquisite laces, and at the dainty silk lingerie, as -though she were visiting a museum. "There's a power o' pretty things in -this here shop," she confided to her companions. - -Lenora, having spoken to a uniformed attendant, led them at once to an -elevator and they were silently and swiftly lifted to an upper floor. - -There Jenny saw a handsomely furnished room with glass cases around the -walls, and in them hung dresses of every color and kind. She decided that -Lenora needed something new to wear on her long journey, which was only -five days away, and so she sat with Susan Warner on a velvet upholstered -sofa while the other girl spoke quietly with a trim-looking clerk who was -dressed in black with white lace collar and cuffs. - -"Yes, indeed. We have the very latest things in party gowns." Jenny could -not help overhearing this remark. The clerk continued: "If you will come -this way, I will show them to you." Susan Warner was on her feet as soon -as Lenora beckoned. Jenny was more mystified than ever. Lenora did not -need a party gown, of that she was sure, for were there not two as pretty -as any girl could wish to possess hanging in her closet at the farm? - -The saleswoman led them to a small room furnished in old gold and blue. -The walls were paneled with gilt-framed mirrors, and here the attendant -left them. Susan Warner sat down smiling as she noted Jenny's perplexity. -That little maid could keep quiet no longer. "_Who_ is going to buy a -party gown," she inquired. "Lenora doesn't need another, and Grandma Sue, -I'm sure it can't be _you_." - -"It's for you, Miss Jeanette Warner," Lenora whispered. "Sssh! Don't act -surprised, for if you do, what will the saleswoman think? Now, what color -would you prefer, blue or yellow are both becoming to you." - -Jenny turned toward the older woman. "Grandma Sue," she began, when the -clerk reappeared with an armful of exquisite gowns of every hue. So there -was nothing for Jenny to do but try on one and then another. How lovely, -how wonderfully lovely they were, but with a blue silk, the color of -forget-me-nots, she had fallen in love at once. It was trimmed with -shirred blue lovers' knots, looping it in here and there, and with -clusters of tiny pink silk roses. "We'll take that," Grandma Sue -announced, not once having asked the price. Jenny gasped. The -saleswoman's well-trained features did not register the astonishment she -felt. Susan Warner did not give the impression of wealth or fashion, but -one never could tell. The truth was that Lenora had told the clerk not to -mention the price, fearing that Jenny would refuse the party dress, which -was to be a gift to her from the two Gales. When they emerged from the -shop, the lovely gown carefully folded in a long box, Jenny was again -surprised to find Harold and Charles standing by the curb visiting with -her grandfather. - -"Wall, wall, Jenny-gal, did they get you fixed up with fancy riggin's?" - -Grandpa Si beamed at the darling of his heart. - -The girl looked as though she were walking in a dream. It all seemed very -unreal to her. "Oh, it is the loveliest dress!" she exclaimed, "but -wherever am I to wear it? I _never_ went to a party, so why do I need a -party gown?" - -"You shall see what you shall see," was Harold's mysterious reply. Then -he added briskly, "Now since we happened to meet you, will you not honor -us with your company for lunch?" - -"Yes, indeed we will." Lenora, twinkling-eyed, was evidently carrying out -a prearranged conversation. "Just lead the way." - -An attractive cafe being near, the party, led thither by Harold, was soon -seated at a table in a curtained booth. - -Silas Warner beamed across at his good wife. "Sort o' hifalutin doin's -we're up to, hey, Ma?" - -Susan Warner's cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkling. "It sure is a -treat to me to know what's on the inside of these places. Will yo' hear -that now? There's a fiddle startin' up somewhars." - -The "fiddle" was not alone, for an orchestra played during their entire -stay. The boys were told to order the lunch, and they seemed to get a -good deal of enjoyment out of doing it. They selected delicacies with -long French names, but Grandpa Si, who by that time had removed his hat, -since the boys had done so, ate everything that was brought to him with a -relish, smacking his lips appreciatively and asking, "Wall, Ma, do yo' -reckon _you_ could make one o' them concoctions if the waiter'd tell you -what the mixin's was?" - -"Silas Warner, don't yo' go to askin' him," Susan warned. "He'll think -we're greener than we be, even though that's green enough, goodness -knows, when it comes to puttin' on sech styles." - -The old man leaned over and patted his wife's hand, which was still -partly covered with the black lace mit. "Ma, don' yo' go to frettin' -about me. I ain't goin' to ask nothin' an', as fer the vittles, thar's -none as can cook more to _my_ likin' than yerself, even though thar be -less trimmin's." - -It was while they were eating their ice cream and cake that Harold -suggested that they go to the theatre. It was quite evident that the old -people were delighted and so were the girls. "It's a splendid play," -Charles put in. "I do wish your sister had come with us." Harold had -purposely neglected to tell his friend of the conversation he had had -that morning with Gwynette. - -As they were leaving the cafe, Charles asked, "Should you mind, Hal, if I -borrow your little gray car and go back after Gwynette? I'm sure she -would enjoy the play." - -"Go by all means." Harold drew his friend aside, although not seeming to -do so, as he added, "I'll get a box for the Warners and Lenora. You would -better get seats somewhere else for you and Gwyn." - -"Why?" Charles questioned. "There is usually room for eight at least in a -box. Are they smaller here?" - -"No-o, but----" - -"Hmm! I understand. Well, just leave that to me. So long!" - -Meanwhile Gwyn had been feeling decidedly neglected. She had read to her -mother in the garden as had become their morning custom but the older -woman noted that the girl was listless and disinterested. "Ma Mere," Gwyn -had said, dropping the book to her lap, and showing by her remark that -she had not been thinking of the story. "If it isn't too late I believe I -will go on that tour you were telling me about. I am desperately unhappy. -Something is all wrong with me." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones sighed. "I am sorry, Gwyn. It is too late dear, but -perhaps I will hear of another. I will make inquiries if you wish." Then -Miss Dane had come to take the invalid indoors, and Gwyn spent a lonely -hour lunching by herself in the great formal dining-room. - -It was in the library that Charles found her. She had been trying to -read, but oh, how eagerly she glanced up when she heard his step. The lad -bounded in, both hands held out. There was an expression in his fine eyes -that rejoiced the girl's heart. - -"Oh, I've been so dismally lonely," Gwyn said, and there were tears of -self-pity on her long curling lashes. - -"Poor girl I know what it is to be lonely." Then, with one of his most -winsome smiles, Charles added, "That's why I have come back for you, -Gwyn." It was the first time he had called her that. "The others were -going to the theatre. Harold's to get a box. I couldn't enjoy the play -without you there--that is, not if you would like to go." - -Gwyn was torn between a desire to be with Charles Gale and a dread of -being seen in a box with these impossible Warners. "Oh, Charles!" They -were calling each other by their first names without realizing it. "I -want to go with _you_! I am always _proud_ of you anywhere, but--" she -hesitated and looked up at him almost pleadingly, "you won't like me when -I tell you that I would be _ashamed_ to be seen in a box--with my -mother's servants." - -Charles released her hands and walked to a window, where he stood -silently looking out. "Gwyn," he said, turning toward her, "I didn't -think I would ever meet a girl for whom I would care--_really care_, but -I know now that I have met one, but, since she scorns farmers, I shall -have to cease caring, for I by _choice_ am, and shall remain, a farmer, -or a rancher, as we are called in the Northwest." - -Gwyn's heart beat rapidly. Was this handsome young man, who stood so -proudly erect, telling her that he loved her? And in that moment she knew -that she cared for him. She felt scornful of herself, for, had she not -often boasted that the most eligible bachelor in San Francisco's younger -set would be the one of _her choice_, nor, had she any doubt but that -_she_ would also be his, and here she was silently acknowledging that she -loved a mere rancher. However, it might be with her but a passing fancy. -He would be gone in another week; then she would visit the city and meet -men of her _own_ class and forget. Yes, that is what she really _wanted_ -to do, _forget_ this unsuitable attraction. - -Charles broke in upon her meditations with, "Well, Gwyn, time is passing. -Do you care to go to the matinee with me and occupy a box with the -Warners, my sister and Harold?" - -The proud girl felt that he was making this a test of whether or not she -could care for him as a rancher. "No," she heard her voice saying coldly. -"I would rather be lonely than be seen in a box with those back-woodsy -Warners." - -"Very well, I must return at once or I will be late." Charles started for -the door. Gwyn sensed, and truly, that her "no" meant a refusal of more -than an afternoon at the matinee. - -"Good-bye!" he turned in the portier-hung doorway to say. He saw that she -had dropped to the sofa and, hiding her face in a cushion, was sobbing as -though her heart would break. One stride took him back to her. "Gwyn! -Dear, dear girl!" He sat beside her and took both of her hands, but she -continued to look away from him. "Why won't you try to overcome these -petty false standards? I _want_ to ask you to be my wife, but I can't, -when you think a rancher so far beneath you." - -For answer, she lifted a glowing face. "_I want_ to be a rancher's wife. -Charles, please let me." - -The curtain had gone down on the first act when Gwynette and Charles -appeared in the box. They were welcomed with smiles and nods and a few -whispered words. Harold, from time to time, glanced back at his sister. -She was positively radiant. Then he caught a look full of meaning that -was exchanged by the girl and the man at her side. - -It told its own story. Gwynette, the proud, haughty, domineering girl, -had been won by a rancher. Her brother well knew how she had struggled -against what she would call a misalliance, but Cupid had been the victor. -Then he wondered what his mother would say. Involuntarily Harold glanced -at the girl near whom he was sitting. Feeling his glance, she smiled up -at him, and yet it was merely a smile of good comradeship. He would have -to wait. Jenny was two years younger than her sister, and had never -thought of love. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - AN AGREEABLE SURPRISE - - -Gwynette went about in a dream. She and Charles had been for a sunrise -sail (as Lenora had said that she and her brother had so often been on -Lake Tahoe) and they had made their plans. Charles was to return to the -Dakota ranch on scheduled time and work with his father during the -summer, then, in the fall, he would return for his bride. - -"Unless you change your mind and wish to marry someone in your _own_ -class," he said, as hand in hand they returned to the big house. The girl -flushed. "Don't!" she pleaded. Then, "I want to forget how worthless were -my old ideals." - -"And you wouldn't even marry the younger son of a noble English family, -in preference to me, I mean, if you knew one and he asked you?" Gwyn -thought the query a strange one, but looked up, replying with sweet -sincerity: "No, Charles, I shall marry no one but _you_." Then she -laughed. "What a queer question that was. A young nobleman is not very -apt to ask _me_ to marry him." - -There was a merry expression on the lad's handsome, wind and sun tanned -face as he said: "Wrong there, Gwynette, for one _has_ asked you." Then, -when he thought that he had mysterified her sufficiently, he continued: -"Did you ever hear it rumored that a pupil of the Granger Place Seminary -might, some day, have the right to the title 'My Lady'?" - -Gwyn flushed. Even yet she did _not_ suspect the truth, and she feared -Harold had told of her humiliation in giving a ball at The Palms in honor -of a supposed daughter of nobility whose father proved to be a pigraiser. -Rather coldly she said, "I had heard such a rumor, but we all decided -that it was untrue." - -"But it wasn't. Were my sister in England she would be called 'Lady -Lenora.' Our uncle died last winter and father is now in possession of -the family estates and title." - -The girl flushed and tears rushed to her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me -all this sooner?" she asked, and the lad replied: "I had two reasons. One -was that I wished to be loved just for myself, and the other was that I -do not care to marry a snob." - -Then he had bounded away to breakfast with Harold at the cabin and to don -his overalls, for, not one morning had the boys neglected to appear at -the farm, on time, to help Grandpa Si. - - * * * * * * * * - -It was the hour for Gwyn to read to her mother, who was already waiting -in the pond-lily garden. The woman, much stronger than she had been, was -amazed to see the joy so plainly depicted on the beautiful face of her -adopted daughter. She held out a hand that was as white as the lilies on -the blue surface of the water. - -"Gwynette, dear girl, what _has_ so transformed you?" To the woman's -surprise, Gwyn dropped down on the low stool and, taking her hand, -pressed it close to her cheek. "Mother dear, I am so happy, so -wonderfully happy! But I don't deserve it! I have always been so hateful. -How could I have won so priceless a treasure as the love of Charles -Gale?" - -There were conflicting emotions in the heart of the listener. She had had -dreams of Gwynette's coming-out party which they had planned for the next -winter. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had often thought over the eligibles for -whom she would angle, after the fashion of mothers with beautiful -daughters, and here the matter had all been settled without her knowledge -and Gwyn was to marry a rancher's son. "Dear," she said tenderly, -smoothing the girl's sun-glinted hair, "are you _sure_ that you love him? -With your beauty you could have won wealth and position." - -How glowing was the face that was lifted. "Mother, I _chose_ love, and -have won a far higher social pinnacle than _you_ ever dreamed for me." - -When the story had been told Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, notwithstanding her -changed ideals, was nevertheless pleased. She leaned forward and kissed -her daughter tenderly. "Dear girl," she said, "I am especially glad that, -first of all, you chose love. I did when I married your father, but the -great mistake I made was continuing to be a snob." - -Gwyn arose. "I shall _not_, Mother, and to prove it, I shall go this -afternoon to call upon the Warners." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - A BIRTHDAY CAKE - - -Miss Dearborn had returned to Hillcrest, and with her were a small girl -and boy, the children of her dear college friend, who, with her baby, had -been taken from this world. Jenny, with Lenora, had gone that afternoon -to see her and had learned that Miss Dearborn was to make a home for the -little ones for a year, during which time their father was to tour the -world, then he would return and make a home for them himself. Neither -Miss Dearborn nor Jenny spoke their thoughts, but oh, _how_ the girl -hoped that there would then be a happy ending to Miss Dearborn's long -years of sacrifice. If the young woman were thinking of this, her next -remark did not suggest it. "Jenny, dear, we will have three classes in -our little school next year to suit the ages of my three pupils." - -Then it was that Lenora said impulsively, "How I do wish, Miss Dearborn, -that you could take still another pupil. My father and brother think best -to have me spend the winter in California. Our Dakota storms are so -severe. I am to live with the Warners just as I have been doing this past -two months." Miss Dearborn's reply was enthusiastic and sincere: -"Splendid! That will make our little school complete. I know how Jenny -will enjoy your companionship. She has often told me that if she had had -the choosing of a sister, she would have been just like you." - -Lenora glanced quickly at the speaker, wondering if Miss Dearborn _knew_ -who Jenny's _real_ sister was, but just then the little Austin girl ran -to her "auntie" with a doll's sash to be tied, and the subject was -changed. - -On that ride home behind Dobbin, Lenora wondered if Jenny would ever -learn that Gwyn was her real sister. Charles had confided in her, and so -she knew that in the autumn Gwynette would be _her_ sister by marriage -and that would draw Jenny and Lenora closer than ever. How she wished -that she could tell Jenny everything she knew, but she had promised that -she would not. When the girls returned home they found Susan Warner much -excited about something. Gwynette had been over to call, _actually_ to -call, and she had remained on the side porch visiting with Grandma Sue -even when she had learned that Jenny and Lenora had driven to Miss -Dearborn's. - -"More'n that, she left an invite for _all_ of us to come to a party Mrs. -Poindexter-Jones is givin' on Charles' birthday. Gwyn said she hoped I'd -make the chocolate cake with twenty-one layers like Harold wanted, just -the same, but we'd have the party over to the big house." - -Jenny, at first, looked disappointed. Then her expression changed to one -of delight. Clasping her hands, she cried, "Oh, Grandma Sue, _that_ will -be a _real_ party, won't it, and I can wear the beautiful new dress -Lenora has given me. I was afraid I never, _never_ would have a chance to -wear it." - -The old woman nodded. Then she confided: "Thar's some queer change has -come over Gwynette Poindexter-Jones, and I'll say this much for her, -she's a whole sight nicer'n she _was_, for it, whatever 'tis. I reckon -her ma's glad. I cal'late, on the whole, she's been sort o' disappointed -in her." - -Then Jenny astonished them by saying: "Gwyn is a beautiful girl. No one -knows how I want her to love me." Susan Warner looked up almost -suspiciously from the peas that she was shelling. That was a queer thing -for Jenny to say, and even after the girls had gone indoors, that Lenora -might rest, Susan Warner thought over and over again, now of the yearning -tone in which Jenny had spoken, and then of the words, "No one knows how -I _want_ her to love me." _What_ could it mean? There wasn't any possible -way for Jenny to know that she and Gwyn were sisters. Tears sprang to -Susan's eyes unbidden. "If she ever learns that, she'll have to know Si -and me ain't her grandparents." Then the old woman rebuked her -selfishness. "I reckon Si was right when he said 'twouldn't make a mite -o' difference in Jenny's carin' for us. Si said _nothing_ could." But her -hands shook when, a few moments later, she dumped the shelled peas into -the pot of bubbling water that was waiting to receive them. Taking up one -corner of her apron, she wiped her eyes. Jenny had entered the kitchen. -At once her strong young arms were about the old woman, and there was -sweet assurance in her words: "Grandma Sue, I love you." Then, after -pressing her fresh young cheek for a long, silent moment against the one -that was softly wrinkled, the girl held the old woman at arm's length as -she joyfully cried, "Oh, Grandma Sue, isn't it wonderful, _wonderful_, -that you and Grandpa Si and Lenora and I are going to a real party, the -very first one that I have ever attended?" - -But the old woman protested. "Now, dearie, Grandpa Si an' me ain't -plannin' to go along of you young folks. 'Twouldn't be right, no ways you -look at it, us bein' hired by Mrs. Poindexter-Jones." - -The brightness faded from Jenny's flower-like face. She stepped back and -shook a warning finger at her companion. Her tone expressed finality. -"Very well, Mrs. Susan Warner, then we might as well take the party gown -back to the shop it came from, for, if you and Granddad aren't good -enough to attend Gwynette's party, neither am I. So the matter is -settled." - -"What's the argifyin'?" a genial voice inquired from the open door, and -there, coming in with a brimming pail of milk, was Grandpa Si. - -Jenny turned and flung at him her ultimatum. The old man pushed his straw -hat back on his head and his leathery face wrinkled in a smile. "Ma," he -said, addressing his wife, "I reckon I'd be on your side if 'twan't that -I give my word of honor to Harry and Charles, and now it's give, I'll not -go back on it. They said 'twouldn't be no party to them if you'n me -weren't at it. An' what's more, Mrs. Poindexter-Jones sent Harry over -special to give us a bid." - -Jenny nodded her golden brown head emphatically. "There, now, that's -settled. Oh, good, here's Lenora, looking fresh as a daisy from her long -nap." Then, beaming at the pretty newcomer, she exclaimed, "Come this -way, Miss Gale, if you want to see Grandma's masterpiece." - -"Tut, tut, Jenny-gal; 'twan't me that prettied it up," the old woman -protested. Jenny threw open a pantry door, and there, on a wide shelf, -stood a mountain of a chocolate cake. "Honestly, there are twenty-one -layers. They're thin, to be sure, but light as feathers, for I ate up the -sample. And the chocolate filling is just foamy with whipped cream." - -"How beautiful it is." There were tears in Lenora's eyes, as she added -wistfully: "How I wish our dear mother could see the cake you have made -for her son's twenty-first birthday." - -Then, going closer, she added, admiringly, "Why, Jenny, however did you -make those white frosted letters and the wreath of flowers? They look -like orange blossoms." - -Jenny flashed a smile of triumph around at her grandparents. "There," she -exclaimed, "doesn't _that_ prove that I am an artist born? Miss Gale -recognizes flowers. See, here is the spray I was copying. We're going to -put a wreath of real blossoms around the edge of the plate." - -"But I thought orange blossoms meant a wedding--" Lenora began. She -wondered if Charles' secret was known, but Jenny, in a matter of fact -way, replied: "A twenty-first birthday is equally important. Our only -other choice would have been lemon blossoms, and, somehow, _they_ didn't -seem quite appropriate." - -Grandma Sue had again busied herself at the stove, while Grandpa Si -strained the milk. - -"Come, girls," she now called, "everything's done to a turn. You'll be -wantin' a deal o' time to prink, I reckon." - -The old man removed his straw hat, washed at the sink pump, and, as he -was rubbing his face with the towel, his eyes twinkled above it. - -"I cal'late it'll take quite a spell for me'n you to rig up for this here -ball, Susie-wife," he said as he took his place at the head of the table. - -The old woman, at the other end, shook her gray curls as she protested: -"I sort o' wish yo' hadn't been so hasty, makin' a promise on your honor -like that to Harry. We'll feel old-fashioned, and in the way, I reckon." - -"Wall, I'm sort o' squeamish about it myself, but the word of Si Warner -can't be took back." The old man tried to assume a repentant expression. - -"You're a fraud, Grandpa Si!" Jenny laughed across at him. "I can see by -the twinkle in your eyes that you intend to lead the dance tonight." - - * * * * * * * * - -Such a merry, exciting time as they had in the two hours that followed. -Jenny insisted on helping her grandparents to dress in their best before -she donned her party gown. Grandma Sue had a black silk which had been -turned and made over several times, but, being of the best of material, -it had not grown shabby. - -"Old Mrs. Jones gave it to me," she told Lenora, "when Si and I were -figgerin' on gettin' married." Susan Warner's cheeks were apple-red with -excitement. - -"Oh, Grandma Sue," Lenora suddenly exclaimed, "I have the prettiest -creamy lace shawl. It belonged to my grandmother, and there's a -head-dress to go with it. She'd just love to have you wear it. Won't you, -to please me?" - -"I cal'late I will if you're hankerin' to have me." Lenora darted to her -trunk and soon returned with a small but very beautiful shoulder shawl of -creamy lace, and a smaller lace square with a pale lavender bow which she -placed atop of Susan Warner's gray curls. Grandpa Si arrived, dressed in -his best black, in time to join in the general chorus of admiration. - -"Grandma Sue, you'll be the belle of the ball!" Jenny kissed both of the -flushed cheeks, then flew to her room, for Lenora was calling her to make -haste or their escort would arrive before they were ready. And that was -just what happened, for, ten minutes later, wheels were heard without, -and a big closed car stopped at the side porch. Harold bounded in, and, -when he saw Grandma Sue, he declared that none of the younger guests -would be able to hold a candle to her. "It's a blarneyin' batch you are." -The old woman was nevertheless pleased. A moment later Jenny appeared, -arrayed in her blue silk party gown, her glinting gold-brown hair done up -higher than ever before, and her flower-like face aglow. For a moment -Harold could not speak. He had not dreamed that she could be so -beautiful. Then Lenora came, looking very sweet indeed in a rose chiffon. - -"Silas," Grandma Sue directed, "you'll have to set up front, along of -Harry, an' hold the cake on you're knees. I do hope 'twon't slide off. -It's sort o' ticklish, carryin' it." - -But in due time the big house was reached, and the cake was left at the -basement kitchen door. Jenny felt a thrill of excitement course over her, -yet even she could not know how momentous _that_ evening was to be in her -_own_ life. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - SISTERS - - -The big house was brilliantly illuminated and yet there were delightful -twilight nooks, half hidden behind great potted palms which had come from -a florist's in Santa Barbara. Guests had been arriving in motors from the -big city all the afternoon. Gwynette was in her element. Tom Pinkerton, -the roommate of Charles, had been summoned by phone to round up a few of -their classmates, and be there for the gala occasion. Gwyn had asked -Patricia, Beulah and a few other girl friends, while Harold had sent -telegraphic invitations to his pals at the military school. There had -only been two days to perfect arrangements, but had there been a week, -the big house could not have been more attractively arrayed, for the -wisteria arbor was in full bloom and great bunches of the graceful white -and purple blossoms filled every vase and bowl in the house. - -There were flowers in each of the ten guest rooms where the young people -who had arrived in the afternoon had rested until the dinner hour. - - * * * * * * * * - -The musical chimes were telling the hour of eight when Harold led his -companions into the brilliantly lighted hall and up to the rooms where -they were to remove their wraps. Jenny glanced through the wide double -doors into the spacious parlors and library where the chairs and lounges -had been placed around the walls, leaving the floor clear for dancing. -Beautifully dressed girls and young men in evening clothes sauntered -about in couples visiting with old friends and meeting others. Jenny did -not feel real. She had often read stories describing events like this -one, and she had often imagined that she was a guest. She almost had to -pinch herself as she was ascending the wide, softly-carpeted stairway to -be sure that _this_ was real and not one of her dreams. - -When they had removed their wraps and had descended, they were greeted by -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones, who, beautifully gowned, sat in her wheeled chair, -with Gwynette, lovely in a filmy blue chiffon, standing at her side. Miss -Dane had reluctantly consented to permit her patient, who had grown -stronger very rapidly in the last few days, to remain downstairs for one -hour. - -When the hidden orchestra began to play, Miss Dane pushed the invalid -chair to a palm-sheltered nook, wherein Susan Warner and her good man had -at once taken refuge, and there, at their side, the patrician woman sat -watching the young people dance, talking to her companions from time to -time. Then she asked Miss Dane to tell her daughter that she would like -to speak to her. "I don't see her just now. You may find her in her room. -She had forgotten her necklace." - -Miss Dane, after glancing about at the dancers, went upstairs. There was -someone in the room where the wraps had been removed. Rushing in the open -door, the nurse said: "Miss Gwynette, your mother wishes to speak to -you." - -The girl turned and, smiling in her friendly way, said, "You are -mistaken, Miss Dane. I am Jenny Warner." - -Miss Dane hesitated, gazing intently at the apparition before her. -"Pardon me, Miss Warner," she then said. "It must be because you and Miss -Gwynette are both wearing blue that you look so much alike." - -She turned away and met Gwyn just ascending the stairway. The nurse had -been so impressed with the resemblance that she could not refrain from -exclaiming about it. "Really," she concluded, "you two girls look near -enough alike to be sisters." - -Gwyn did not feel at all complimented, and her reply was coldly given. -"Tell Mother that I will come to her as soon as I get my necklace." - -Jenny was leaving the bedroom, whither she had gone for her handkerchief, -just as the other girl was entering. One glance at the haughty, flushed -face of her hostess and the farmer's granddaughter knew that something of -a disturbing nature had occurred, but she did not dream that she was in -any way concerned in the matter. She was very much surprised to hear Gwyn -saying in her haughtiest manner: "Miss Warner, my mother's nurse tells me -that she spoke to you just now, believing that you were me. I recall that -the girls in the seminary once alluded to a resemblance they pretended to -see. Will you do me the favor to stand in front of this long mirror with -me, that I may also find the resemblance, if there is one, which I -doubt!" - -Jenny, her heart fluttering with excitement, stood beside the older girl -and gazed directly at her in the mirror. - -Gwyn continued, appraisingly: "Our eyes are hazel and we both have light -brown hair, but so have many other girls. I cannot understand, can you, -why Miss Dane should have said that we look near enough alike to be -sisters." - -On an impulse Jenny replied, "Yes, Gwynette, I can understand, because we -_are_ sisters." - -Instantly Jenny regretted having revealed the long kept secret, for -Gwynette sank down on a lounge near her, her hand pressed to her heart, -every bit of color receding from her face until she was deathly pale. - -Jenny, all solicitude, exclaimed: "Oh, are you going to faint? I ought -not to have told you. But you asked me! Forgive me, if you can." - -There was a hard, glinting light between the arrowed lids of the older -girl. "Jenny Warner, I do _not_ believe you! Why should _you_ know more -of _my_ parentage than I do myself?" - -Sadly Jenny told the story. She deeply regretted that her impulsiveness -had rendered the revelation necessary. "One stormy day, several years -ago, while I was rummaging around in the attic of the farmhouse, I found -pushed way back in a dark cobwebby corner a small haircloth trunk which -interested me. I did not think it necessary to ask permission to open it, -as I did not dream that it held a secret which my dear grandparents might -not wish me to discover, and so I dragged it over to the small window. -Sitting on one of the broken backed chairs, I lifted the lid. The first -thing that I found was a darling little Bible, bound in soft leather. It -was quaint and old-fashioned. Miss Dearborn had taught me to love old -books, and I at once looked for the date it had been published, when two -things dropped out. One was a photograph. There were four in the group. -The man was young and reminded me of Robert Burns; his companion was a -very beautiful girl, and yet under her picture had been written 'Mother' -and under the other 'Father.' I judged that was because with them were -two children. Beneath them was written, 'Gwynette, aged three; Jeanette, -just one today.' And then there was the date. The other was an unfinished -letter, written in purple ink that had faded. Its message was very sad, -for it told that the girl-mother had died and the young wandering -missionary, our father, feared that he had not long to live because of -frequent heart attacks. He wanted his little girls to know that they came -of a New England family that was above reproach, the Waterburys of -Waltham, Mass. - -"How well I remember the last message that dear hand had been able to -write. 'My darling little baby girls, I have had another of those dread -attacks, but I do want to say with what strength I have left, as the -years go by, love ye one another.' That was all. Then the pen had fallen, -I think, for there was a blot and an irregular blurred line of ink." - -Gwyn, crushed with an overwhelming sense of self-pity, had buried her -head in the soft silken pillows at one end of the lounge and was sobbing, -but Jenny did not try to comfort her, believing that she could not, and -so she continued: "I put the letter and the photograph into the little -old Bible and replaced it. Then I dragged the haircloth trunk back into -its dark corner. I was greatly troubled to know whether or not I ought to -tell grandmother what I had learned. I asked the advice of my dear -teacher and she said: 'Do not tell at present, Jeanette. If your -grandmother does not wish you to know, perhaps it would be wiser to wait -until she tells you. Then she told me that she had a college friend -living in Waltham, and that she would make inquiries about our family. In -time the reply came. Our father's father and grandfather had been -ministers in high standing, philanthropists and scholars. Our father had -been the last of the family, and, as they had given all they had to the -poor, there was no money to care for us. Oh, Gwynette!" - -Jenny touched the other girl ever so tenderly on the shoulder. "How -grateful I have been; how very much more I have loved my dear adopted -grandparents since I realized what they had saved me from. Had they not -taken me into their home, and shared with me the best they had, I would -have been sent to a county orphanage, and no one knows to what fate." - -Gwynette was sitting erect, her hands crushingly clasped together. Jenny -paused, wondering what she would say. It was a sincere cry of regret. -"Oh, to think how ungrateful I have been to that wonderful woman who has -given me every advantage and who would have loved me like an own daughter -if I had not been so selfish, ever demanding more." - -Gwyn turned and held both hands out to her companion. "Jenny, forgive me. -I am not worthy to call you sister. From this hour, forever, let us carry -out our father's last wish. Let us truly love one another." - -Rising, she went to her jewel box, took from it the necklace for which -she had come, and turning, she slipped it about the neck of her -companion. Kissing her flushed cheek, she said: "Sister, this is my first -gift to you. Keep it forever in remembrance of this hour." Then, after -removing all traces of tears, she held out her hand, saying: "Come, dear, -let us go down together." - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones had wanted to ask Gwynette if she would like to -have her engagement announced at this party. The woman was amazed to see -the girl's lips quivering. Gwyn bent low to listen, then, after -assenting, she said in a low voice, tense with feeling. "Mother, I love -you." - -Jenny had slipped at once to the side of Susan Warner, and held her -wrinkled old hand in a loving clasp. There was an expression in her face -they had never seen before. - -Charles Gale, seeing that his fiance had returned, went at once to her -side. The music had stopped, and Miss Dane pushed the invalid chair -forward. The dancers, standing in groups about, were hushed, realizing -that an announcement of some kind was to be made. - -Mrs. Poindexter-Jones spoke clearly: "Friends of my daughter and of my -son, I have the great pleasure of announcing Gwynette's engagement to a -young man of whom we are very proud, Charles Gale of Dakota." Not one -word about English ancestry. Mrs. Poindexter-Jones truly had changed. -Then before the guests could flock about the young couple to congratulate -them, Gwynette had quickly stepped back, and taking Jenny by the hand, -she led her out to where Charles was standing. Slipping an arm lovingly -about the wondering girl, Gwyn said, "And I wish to introduce to you all -my own dear sister, Jeanette." - - - THE END - - - - - Transcriber's Notes - - ---Copyright notice provided as in the original printed text--this e-text - is public domain in the country of publication. - ---Added a Table of Contents. - ---Silently corrected palpable typos and inconsistent proper names; left - non-standard spellings and dialect unchanged. - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sisters, by Grace May North - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SISTERS *** - -***** This file should be named 42840.txt or 42840.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/8/4/42840/ - -Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan -and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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