summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/9505-h/9505-h.htm
blob: 1841c374a462a1a256912d6114512c970eaca5c5 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348

<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
<html>
  <head>
    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content=
    "text/html; charset=us-ascii">
    <title>
      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Four Girls and a Compact, by
      Annie Hamilton Donnell.
    </title>
    <style type="text/css">
    <!--
    * { font-family:   Times;}
    P { text-indent:   1em;
        margin-top:    .75em;
        font-size:     12pt;
        text-align:    justify;
        margin-bottom: .75em; }
    H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; }
    HR  { width: 33%; }
    PRE { font-family: Courier, monospaced; }
    // -->
    </style>
  </head>
  <body>


<pre>

Project Gutenberg's Four Girls and a Compact, by Annie Hamilton Donnell

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
other parts of the world 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.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.

Title: Four Girls and a Compact

Author: Annie Hamilton Donnell

Posting Date: February 5, 2015 [EBook #9505]
Release Date: December, 2005
First Posted: October 7, 2003

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR GIRLS AND A COMPACT ***




Produced by Joel Erickson, David Garcia and PG Distributed Proofreaders





</pre>


    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>

    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h1>
      Four Girls and a Compact
    </h1>
    <center>
      <b>By Annie Hamilton Donnell</b>
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>


    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <h2>
      Contents
    </h2>
    <hr>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH1">CHAPTER I.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH2">CHAPTER II.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH3">CHAPTER III.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH4">CHAPTER IV.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH5">CHAPTER V.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#CH6">CHAPTER VI.</a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      Illustrations
    </h2>
    <hr>
    <p>
      <a href="#image-1">"You poor little blessed!" she
      murmured.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#image-2">"Which way is the village?" she asked.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#image-3">The boy, with a mere nod, hurried
      away.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#image-4">The old man sat listening and waiting.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#image-5">"I never fished in my life," she
      explained.</a>
    </p>
    <p>
      <a href="#image-6">The picture was nearly done.</a>
    </p>
    <hr>
    <center>
      [Transcriber's Note: Generated Contents and Illustration
      links.]
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH1"><!-- CH1 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I.
    </h2>
    <p>
      "Wait for T.O.," commanded Loraine, and of course they
      waited. Loraine's commands were always obeyed, Laura Ann
      said, because her name was such a <i>queeny</i> one. Nobody
      else in the little colony&#8212;the "B-Hive"&#8212;had a
      queeny name.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Though I just missed it," sighed Laura Ann. "Think what a
      little step from Loraine to Laur' Ann! I always just miss
      things."
    </p>
    <p>
      T.O. was apt to be late. She never rode, and, being short,
      was not a remarkable walker. To-night she was later than
      usual. The three other girls got into kimonos and slippers
      and prepared tea. In all their minds the Grand Plan was
      fomenting, and it was not easy to wait. A cheer greeted T.O.
      as she came in, wet and weary and cheerful.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You're overdue, my dear," Loraine said severely. But of
      course T.O. laughed and offered a weak pun:
    </p>
    <p>
      "The 'dew' is over me, you mean! Oh, girls, this looks too
      cozy for anything in here! All the way up town I've been
      blessing you three for taking me in."
    </p>
    <p>
      Said Laura Ann: "If I were pun-mad, like some folks, I could
      do something quite smart there. But there, you poor, wet
      dear! You sha'n't be outdone in your specialty, no you
      sha'n't! Get off your things quick, dear&#8212;we're all
      bursting to talk about the Grand Plan."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was, after all, Billy that started in. Billy was very
      tired indeed, and her lean, eager face was pale.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Girls, we <i>must!</i>" she said. "I can't hold out more
      than a few weeks more. I shall be a mental wreck and go
      'round muttering, <i>one</i>-two&#8212;three&#8212;four,
      <i>one</i>&#8212;two&#8212;three&#8212;four&#8212;flat your
      b's, sharp your
      c's&#8212;one&#8212;two&#8212;three&#8212;four&#8212;<i>play!</i>"
      For Billy all day toiled at pianos, teaching unwilling little
      persons to play. Billy's long name was Wilhelmina.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were all toilers&#8212;worker-B's. The "B" part of the
      name which they had given to the little colony came from the
      accident of all their surnames beginning with that
      letter&#8212;Brown, Bent, Baker, Byers. It was, they all
      agreed, a happy accident; the "B-Hive" sounded so well. But,
      as Laura Ann said, it entailed things, notably industry.
    </p>
    <p>
      Laura Ann finished negatives part of the day to earn money to
      learn to paint the other part. She was poor, but the same
      good grit that made her loyal to her old grandmother's name,
      unshortened and unbeautified, gave her courage to work on
      toward the distant goal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Loraine taught&#8212;"just everlastingly taught," she said,
      until she could do it with her eyes shut. Cube root, all
      historic dates, all x, y, z's, were as printing to her,
      dinned into the warp and woof of her by patient reiteration.
      She was very tired, too. The rest of the long June days
      stretched ahead of her in weary perspective.
    </p>
    <p>
      That these three had drifted together in the great city was
      sufficiently curious, but more curious yet was the "drifting
      together" of T.O.&#8212;a plain little clerk in a great
      department store. She, herself, humbly acknowledged that she
      did not seem to "belong," but here she was, divesting herself
      of her wet wraps and getting ready for tea in the tiny flat.
      Handkerchiefs, initialed, "warranted,"&#8212;uninitialed,
      unwarranted&#8212;were behind her and ahead, but between she
      forgot their existence and took her comfort.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well?" she said presently. "I'm ready." They sat down to the
      simple little meal without further delay and with the first
      mouthfuls opened again the rather time-worn discussion. Could
      they adopt the Grand Plan? Oh, <i>couldn't</i> they? To get
      out of the hot, teeming city and breathe air enough and pure
      enough, to luxuriate in idleness, to <i>rest</i>&#8212;to a
      girl, they longed for it. They were all orphans, and they
      were all poor. The Grand Plan was ambitious, indefinite, but
      they could not give it up. They had wintered it and springed
      it, and clung to it through bright days and dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly Loraine tapped sharply on the table. "All in favor
      of spending the summer in the country say 'aye,'" she cried,
      "and say it hard!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Aye</i>!" appended Loraine, and said it hard. "It's a
      vote," she added calmly. Then, staring at each other, they
      sat for a little with rather frightened faces. For this thing
      that they had done was rather a stupendous thing. T.O.
      recovered first&#8212;courage was as the breath of her little
      lean nostrils.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Girls, this is great!" she laughed. "<i>We've gone and done
      it!</i> There's nothing left but to pack our trunks!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Except a few last trifles, such as deciding where to go and
      what to pay for it with," put in Laura Ann with soft irony.
      "We could decide those things on the train, I suppose&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let's decide 'em on the spot," rejoined T.O. imperturbably.
      "Somebody propose something."
    </p>
    <p>
      Here Billy was visited with one of her inspirations and
      promptly shared it with her usual generosity. "We must hunt
      up a place to&#8212;er&#8212;'bunk' in&#8212;just bunk and
      board ourselves. Of course we can't afford to <i>be</i>
      boarded&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course," in chorus.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, then, one of us must go out into the waste
      places&#8212;oh, anywhere where the grass has room to grow
      and there are trees and birds and <i>barns</i>&#8212;I
      stipulate barns." Billy made a splendid, comprehensive
      gesture that took in all the points of the compass
      impartially. "One of us must take a few days off and go and
      hunt up a nice, inexpensive little Eldorado for us.
      There!&#8212;there, my friends, you have the solution of your
      knotty little problem in a nutshell. I gladly give my
      'services' free."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who's going?" demanded practical Laura Ann. "Does anybody
      kindly volunteer?"
    </p>
    <p>
      No volunteers. Silence, broken only by the chirp of the
      cheery little teakettle. The immense responsibility of
      setting the Grand Plan in motion was not to be lightly
      assumed. The utter vagueness of Billy's "waste places" was
      dismaying, to say the least. There might be many nice,
      inexpensive little Eldorados waiting to be "bunked" in and
      picnicked in, but where? The world was full of places where
      there were trees and birds and barns, but to pick out the
      particular one where four tired-out young toilers could lay
      down their tools and rest <i>inexpensively</i>, looked like a
      big undertaking.
    </p>
    <p>
      Billy had settled back in her chair with an air of having
      done her part and washed her hands of further responsibility.
      The rest must do their parts now. Billy, who was the youngest
      and frailest of the little colony of workers, had fallen into
      the way of dropping asleep whenever opportunity offered; she
      did so now with a little sigh of contentment. Her girlish
      face against the faded crimson back of the chair looked
      startlingly white. In her sleep she moved her lips and the
      others caught a pathetic little "<i>one</i>-two-three-four"
      dropping from them. Poor Billy! She was giving a music lesson
      in her dreams!
    </p>
    <p>
      Loraine made a little paper shade and shielded her pale face
      from the light, and Laura Ann tilted the clumsy patent rocker
      backward and trigged it with a book. Both their faces, tired,
      too, and pale, were sweet with kindness. T.O., who did queer
      and unexpected things, went round the table on her toes and
      kissed Billy's forehead openly. Her face had a puckering
      frown on it, oddly at variance with the kiss and with the
      look in her eyes. The kiss and the look were the things that
      mattered&#8212;the frown was a thing of insignificance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You poor little blessed!" she murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Flat your b,'" murmured Billy wearily, and no one laughed.
      They were all laughers, but the picture of Billy toiling on
      monotonously in her sleep failed to appeal to them as
      humorous. T.O. went back silently to her seat.
    </p>
    <p>
      What the initials T.O. stood for in the way of a name had
      been the subject of much guessing in the B-Hive, for the
      owner of the initials refused whimsically to explain them.
      Perhaps she would sometime when the moon was full or the wind
      was in the right quarter, she said. Meanwhile T.O. did well
      enough&#8212;as well as "Billy," anyway, or "Laura Ann"! And
      they fell in gayly with her whimsy and called her T.O. The
      nearest they had ever come to an answer to their guesses was
      one night when they had been discussing "talents" and
      comparing "callings," and T.O. had sat by, a wistful little
      listener and admirer. For T.O. had no talent, and who would
      call selling handkerchiefs from morning till night a
      "calling"? Even sheer, fine handkerchiefs, warranted every
      thread linen!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Talentless One," she broke out startlingly. "You want to
      know what 'T.O.' stands for&#8212;that's it!" And the amused
      look in the girls' eyes changed quickly to understanding at
      sight of her face. "Well," she challenged, "why don't you say
      what an appropriate name it is? It's a wonder you
      <i>talented</i> ones didn't guess it long ago! Listen!
      Loraine's talent is writing&#8212;we all know she'll be an
      author some day. Laura Ann's is art. Oh, you needn't
      laugh&#8212;need she, girls? One of these days we're all
      going to a 'hanging,' and <i>it'll be Laura Ann's!</i>
      Billy's talent everybody knows. She can play wicked folks
      good, if there's a piano handy. Well, what is my talent?
      Don't everybody speak at once!" The girl's flushed face
      defied them. It was bitter with longing to be a Talented One.
    </p><a name="image-1"><!-- Image 1 --></a>
    <center>
      <img src="images/comp-im1.png" height="400" width="570" alt=
      "'YOU POOR LITTLE BLESSED!' SHE MURMURED.">
    </center>
    <p>
      "Dear!" It was like gentle Loraine to begin with a "dear,"
      and like her, too, to cross the room to T.O. and touch her
      little bitter face with cool fingers. "Dear, don't you
      worry&#8212;your talent is <i>there.</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where?" demanded T.O. Then she laughed. "I suppose you mean
      buried in a handkerchief! But I shall never be able to dig it
      out&#8212;never! There's such an awful pile of them on top!
      They keep piling on new ones every day. If I keep on selling
      handkerchiefs till I'm seventy-five, I'll never get down to
      my talent."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was, after all, quite true, though none of them would
      acknowledge it&#8212;except the Talentless One herself. She
      was, as she insisted, the odd one in the busy little B-Hive.
      Her very face, small and dark and lean, was an "odd" one; the
      faces of the other three were marked by an indefinable
      something that she called talent, and she was not far wrong.
      A subtle refinement, intellectuality, asserted itself gently
      in all three of them. The dark little face of T.O. was
      vivacious and keen, but not refined or intellectual.
    </p>
    <p>
      Billy was the baby "B," as Loraine was the acknowledged
      queen. They all favored Billy and took care of her. Was it a
      rainy morning? Somebody got Billy's rubbers, somebody else
      her umbrella! Was the child paler than usual? She must have
      the softest chair and be babied. Poor little toiler-Billy,
      created to have a mother and a home, to sit always in soft
      chairs and be taken care of! Yet without them all she was
      making a splendid struggle for independence, with the best of
      them, and they were conscious of a certain element of heroism
      in her toiling that none of the rest of them laid claim to in
      their own. The other B.'s were proud of Billy.
    </p>
    <p>
      T.O. was as small and thin as Billy, but no one thought of
      taking care of T.O. or babying her. Instead, T.O.&#8212;the
      Talentless One&#8212;took care of them all. She had always
      been a toiler, always been alone, and to the rest it was
      comparatively a new experience. T.O., as she herself said,
      was able to give them all "points."
    </p>
    <p>
      While tired Billy slept to-night, the Grand Plan discussion
      was taken up again and entertained with new enthusiasm. It
      was now a definite Plan, since they had voted unanimously to
      adopt it&#8212;it was no longer merely a unanimous wish, to
      be bandied about longingly. It remained only to choose a
      brave soul to go forth and find for it a "local habitation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "When Billy wakes up, we'll draw lots," Loraine decided
      gently. "The one who gets the longest slip <i>will
      go</i>&#8212;but mercy! I hope I sha'n't be the one! Girls,
      there really ought to be one to&#8212;er&#8212;oversee the
      drawing of the lots&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hear! Hear!" from T.O.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will take your chances with the common herd, my dear,"
      Laura Ann said firmly. "You really need not be alarmed,
      though, for I shall draw the fatal slip. I always do. Then I
      shall go up-country and engage four boards at a nice white
      house with green blinds, and forget to ask how much they will
      cost&#8212;the 'boards,' I mean&#8212;and whether they'll
      take Billy at half-price. You'll all like my white house, but
      you won't be able to stay more than one night on account of
      the expense. So you'll turn me out of the B-Hive and I
      shall&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, don't do anything else&#8212;don't!" T.O. groaned. "That
      will be doing enough."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall have to find a <i>very</i> cheap place," Loraine
      said, thoughtfully, too intent on the fate of the Grand Plan
      to listen to pleasantries. "Somewhere where it won't cost
      much of anything."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Such an easy place to find!" murmured Laura Ann. "I see
      myself going straight to it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We've <i>got</i> to go to it, on account of&#8212;" Loraine
      nodded toward the sleeping little figure in the softest
      chair. "Girls, Billy is all worn out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So are you," Laura Ann said tenderly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you," retorted Loraine.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Talentless One, unintentionally left out, sighed an
      infinitesimal sigh, preparatory to smiling stoutly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course we're going to find the right place," she said
      convincingly. "You wait and see. <i>I</i> see it
      now"&#8212;this dreamily; it was odd for the Talentless One
      to be dreaming. "It looks this way: Green, grassy and
      pine-woodsy and roomy. And cornfields&#8212;think of it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Woods and cornfields&#8212;the picture must not be
      over-done,'" quoted softly and a little accusingly Laura Ann.
      But the Talentless One had never heard of Miss Cary's
      beautiful poem, and went on calmly:
    </p>
    <p>
      "And a&#8212;pump. Girls, if <i>I</i> find the 'Eldorado,'
      there'll be a pump&#8212;painted blue!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Here Billy woke up. There was no time to discountenance the
      pump.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I believe I've been asleep!" Billy laughed restedly.
      "And I've been somewhere else, too. Guess!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "To Eldorado," someone ventured.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I have. It was the loveliest place! There weren't any
      pianos or schools or photograph salons or
      <i>handkerchiefs</i> in it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then we'll go there!" the Talentless One cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      Loraine was busy cutting strips of paper. She cut four of
      varying lengths and dropped them into an empty cracker-box.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Somebody shake them up, everyone shut her eyes and draw
      one," she ordered. "And the person that draws the longest
      slip must be the one to find our Eldorado."
    </p>
    <p>
      They shut their eyes and fumbled in the cracker-box. The room
      was oddly quiet. Laura Ann, who always drew the fatal slip,
      breathed a little hard.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the lot fell to the Talentless One.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH2"><!-- CH2 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II.
    </h2>
    <p>
      "Why, I didn't get it!" exclaimed Laura Ann, in surprise.
      "And maybe I'm not thankful! Poor T.O.!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, poor T.O.!" agreed Loraine and Billy. The honor of
      drawing the longest slip was not, it appeared, a coveted one.
      But T.O. actually beamed!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Needn't anyone pity me!" she said, briskly. "I like it! You
      see," she added, explanatorily, "I never did anything
      remarkable before! Of course I sha'n't blame you girls any if
      you shake in your shoes while I'm gone, but I'll promise to
      do my little best. If you thought you could trust me&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We do! We do!" Loraine said, warmly, speaking for them all.
      "And we pity you, too, poor dear! It looks like an awful
      undertaking to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How long can you take? Are you sure they'll let you get off
      down at Torrey's?" asked Billy, languidly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," the Talentless One said, calmly, "I shall get a
      substitute, of course. They let the girls do that, if the
      substitute suits 'em. There's a girl that used to be at the
      handkerchief counter that will be glad enough to earn a
      little money, I know. She'll be tickled! And she can keep the
      place open for me when I get back from the country in the
      fall&#8212;" Suddenly the Talentless One laughed out
      joyously. "Hear me! 'When I get back from the country!'
      Doesn't that sound splendid! Makes me think of cows and
      chickens and strawberries and&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pumps painted blue!" laughed Laura Ann. "We're in for a blue
      pump, girls!"
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      The substitution at the handkerchief counter could not be
      arranged for at once, so the proposed voyage of discovery was
      a little delayed. Meanwhile the Grand Plan and a newly-born
      family of lesser plans occupied the interim of waiting. One
      thing they all agreed upon. It was tired little Billy who
      voiced it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We won't be good this summer, will we? I've been good so
      long that I want to rest!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would seem comfortable not to have to be, wouldn't it?"
      Loraine laughed. As if Loraine could rest from being good!
      "Not to have to do anything for anybody&#8212;just be good to
      yourself! Now, I call that the luxury of selfishness! And
      really, girls, we deserve one little luxury&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We'll indulge ourselves," T.O. nodded gravely. "I'm sure
      I've been polite to people and patient with people long
      enough to have a vacation&#8212;a summer vacation!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give me a paper and pencil, somebody, quick!" This from
      Laura Ann. She fell to scribbling industriously. The purring
      of her pencil over the paper had a smooth, wicked sound as if
      it were writing wicked things. It was.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Be it known," read Laura Ann, flourishing her pencil, "that
      we, the undersigned, having endeavored, up to the present, to
      be good, consider ourselves entitled to be selfish during our
      summer vacation. That we mean to be selfish&#8212;that we
      herewith swear to be! That we do not mean to 'do good unto'
      anybody except ourselves! Inasmuch as we have faithfully
      tried to do our several duties hitherto, we feel justified in
      resting from the same until such time as we
      may&#8212;er&#8212;wish to begin again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Furthermore, resolved: That any or all persons hereunto
      subscribed, who fail to keep the letter of this compact, be
      summarily <i>dropped!</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      (Signed) "LAURA ANN BYERS."
    </p>
    <p>
      The paper went the rounds and was soberly signed by each girl
      in turn. Loraine, the last, traced three words in her tiny
      handwriting at the head of the paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Wicked Compact!" read Billy over her shoulder, and
      nodded agreeingly. "That's a good name for it. Doesn't it
      make you feel lovely and shuddery to belong to a Wicked
      Compact! Oh, you needn't think I shall go back on the rules
      and regulations! If somebody gets down on his knees and
      implores, 'Which note shall I flat?' I shall turn coldly
      away, or else say, 'Suit yourself, my dear!' But, girls, oh
      girls, I hope there won't be any pianos in Eldorado!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Probably there will be only cabinet organs&#8212;don't
      worry, dear!" soothed Laura Ann.
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      The day after the Wicked Compact was drawn up and signed,
      T.O. started on her quest for Eldorado. She would have no one
      escort her to the station; she would give no intimation of
      her plans. They were all to wait as patiently as possible
      till she came back. It was only because she had to, poor
      child, that she accepted the contributions of the others
      toward her expenses of travel.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the station she straightened her short stature to its
      utmost and approached the ticket window. She might have been,
      from her splendid dignity of manner, six feet instead of
      five.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Will you please tell me which road is the cheapest to travel
      on?" she asked, clearly, undismayed outwardly, inwardly
      quailing before the ticket man's amazement. His curious eyes
      surveyed her through the little opening.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why&#8212;er&#8212;well, there's the most competition on the
      X &amp; Y Road," he said, slowly. "The rates on that line are
      about down to the limit&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," the dignified one said, and turned away. She
      found the time table of the X &amp; Y Road on the station
      wall, and studied it thoughtfully. She had resolved to select
      the place with the most promising name. Back at the ticket
      window she patiently waited her turn in a little stream of
      people. The woman ahead of her was flourishing a dainty,
      embroidered handkerchief, and she wondered idly if it had
      come from her counter at Torrey's. If so, why was it not a
      little white flag of truce that gave her a right to say "How
      do you do?" to the woman? The Talentless One suddenly felt a
      little lonely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ticket to Placid Pond, please," she said, when her turn
      came. The very sound of the peaceful little name gave her
      courage. Placid Pond! Placid Pond! Could any place be more
      indicative of rest? Then she bethought her of the Wicked
      Compact, and felt almost impelled to hand back the
      ticket&#8212;Placid Pond could not be the right place to be
      bad in!
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was too late!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Two-twenty," the ticket man said, monotonously, and she
      fumbled in her lean, little purse. To Placid Pond she would
      go, and, if there were barns and cornfields and a
      blue-painted pump&#8212;the thrill of expectancy ran through
      her veins, and she forgot the Wicked Compact.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Talentless One had never glided through green places like
      this before, between slow, clear little streams, by country
      children waving their hats. She had never seen far, splendid
      reaches of hills, undulating softly against the sky. Wonder
      and delight filled her. She found herself envying the little,
      brown children who waved their hats.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's pretty, ain't it?" a fresh, old voice said in her ear.
      When she turned, it was to look into a fresh, old face behind
      her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ain't it a pretty world the Lord's made? The 'firmament
      showeth his handiwork,' don't it? Where are you going to,
      deary?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "A place called Placid Pond," answered the girl, smiling
      back.
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>No?</i> Well, I declare! That's where Emmeline Camp lives
      that was a Jones an' spelt out o' my spellin'-book! If you
      see Emmeline, you tell her you saw me on the cars. Emmeline
      and I have always kep' up our interest in each other. She'll
      be tickled&#8212;you tell her I've learnt that leaf-stitch at
      last! She'll understand!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The thin, old voice tinkled on pleasantly in the Talentless
      One's ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come back here an' set with me, deary, an' I'll tell you
      which house is Emmeline's, so, if you go past, you'll know
      it&#8212;it's painted green! Did you ever! But Emmeline was
      always set on green. She was married in a green silk, an' we
      girls said she married a green husband!"
    </p>
    <p>
      T.O. laughed enjoyingly. She began to feel acquainted with
      Emmeline, and to hope she should find the green
      house&#8212;perhaps it would be the Eldorado house! Wonders
      happened sometimes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't suppose&#8212;there isn't a blue pump, is there?
      I've set my heart on a blue pump!" she laughed, as if the
      little, old woman who knew Emmeline would understand. The
      little, old woman smiled delightedly&#8212;as if she
      understood!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear land, no! I hope Emmeline ain't painted her pump
      blue&#8212;and her livin' in a green house! But she'd go out
      an' do it&#8212;it would be just like Emmeline, if she knew
      anybody wanted a blue pump! Here we are, deary! This is
      Placid Pond we're coming to! You see that sheet o' water,
      don't you? Well, that's it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Talentless One buttoned her jacket and clutched her
      little black bag. Her thin cheeks bloomed suddenly with tiny
      red spots of excitement. She seemed on the edge of an
      Adventure; and, to one who had stood behind a counter nearly
      all her days, an Adventure began with a capital A. The train
      slowed up and stood panting&#8212;in a hurry to go again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, I wish you were going to get out here!" T.O. said,
      wistfully.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little, old woman seemed like an old friend to her. She
      felt oddly young and inexperienced. Then, remembering the
      girls left behind in the B-Hive and their confidence in her,
      she threw up her small head and hurried away valiantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-by!" she called back, from the bit of platform outside.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-by! Give my love to Emmeline!" nodded and beamed the
      little, old face in the car window.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a tiny place. T.O. could see only the great, placid
      sheet of water and the diminutive station at first. She
      accosted the only human being in sight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Which way is the city&#8212;village, I mean?" she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was an old man and held a scooped palm behind his ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The village&#8212;please direct me to it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," he laughed good-humoredly, "all the village they is
      you'll strike yonder," pointing. "You keep a-goin', an'
      you'll git thar!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She thanked him and set out courageously. She kept "a-goin'."
      The country road was shady and dusty and sweet with mystic,
      unseen, growing things. Her feet, used to hard pavements,
      sank into the soft dust luxuriously. She breathed deep and
      swung along at a splendid pace. It was hard to believe that
      she was a clerk at Torrey's! There did not seem to have ever
      been handkerchiefs in the world&#8212;even all-linen,
      warranted ones!
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is Eldorado!" she said aloud, and was proud of herself
      for finding it so soon&#8212;coming straight to it! Lucky she
      had been the one to draw the longest strip.
    </p>
    <p>
      She passed one or two houses, but none of them were painted
      green. She said to herself she would keep on to "Emmeline's"
      house. The whim had seized her and was holding on tight that
      Emmeline's might be the Right Place. So she swung on
      buoyantly.
    </p>
    <!-- NOTE: Remove center tags and put align="left" or align="right" for text wrapped alignments -->
    <a name="image-2"><!-- Image 2 --></a>
    <center>
      <img src="images/comp-im2.png" height="561" width="400" alt=
      "'WHICH WAY IS THE VILLAGE?' SHE ASKED.">
    </center>
    <p>
      A stone wall bordered the road on one side, and over the wall
      she spied a sprinkling of little flowers that called, "Come
      and pick us!" to her. She did not know that they were bluets,
      but she knew they were dainty and sweet and beckoned to her.
      She paused an instant uncertainly, and then climbed the wall.
      It was rather an arduous undertaking for a clerk at a
      handkerchief counter, and she went about it clumsily. The
      wall was high and the stones "jiggled" in a terrifying way.
      One big stone climbed down on the other side with
      her&#8212;they went together unceremoniously.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Talentless One laughed a little under her breath as she
      sat up among the little flowers, but she was not quite sure
      that she wanted to laugh. The big stone was on her foot and
      she regarded it with disfavor. It required considerable
      strength to roll it off&#8212;then she got up. Then she sank
      down again very suddenly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" she cried, sharply. For several moments she said
      nothing more, did nothing more. The discovery she had made
      was not a pleasant discovery. In Eldorado clumsy people who
      could not climb stone walls came to grief. She had come to
      grief. When she moved her foot, terrible twinges of pain were
      telegraphed all over her body. She sat, a sorry little heap,
      among the stranger flowers that had brought about her ruin.
      The roadway stretched dustily and emptily up and down, on the
      other side of the wall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" breathed the Talentless One. It had been a sigh before,
      now it was a groan. What was she to do? A sort of terror
      seized her. She had never been really frightened before. The
      beautiful country about her no longer was beautiful. It was
      no longer Eldorado to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then she discovered a green fleck down the road, a different
      green from the grass and trees. If it should be Emmeline's
      house&#8212;if she could get to it!
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must!" she said, and hobbled to her feet. Somehow she got
      over the wall, and went stumbling toward the green spot. The
      agony in her foot increased every moment; she grew dizzy with
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It must be Emmeline's house&#8212;a little, green-painted one
      beside the road! There could not be two green houses in
      Placid Pond. With a long breath of relief she got to the
      door. After that she did not know anything for a little time,
      then her eyes opened. Someone with a kind, anxious face was
      bending over her. It was Emmeline! It looked like the face of
      an old friend to the poor, little Talentless One.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There, there, poor dear! Never mind where you be, or who I
      be&#8212;you 'tend right to gettin' out o' your faint! Sniff
      this bottle&#8212;there! You'll be all right in a minute.
      It's your foot, ain't it? It's all swollen up&#8212;how'd you
      sprain it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      She had the injured foot in her tremulous old hands, gently
      loosening the shoe. The girl, though she winced with pain,
      did not utter a sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There ain't any doctor this side of Anywhere," the kind
      voice ran on, "but never you mind. I'll risk but what I've
      got liniments that will doctor you up."
    </p>
    <p>
      And the girl, looking up into the peaceful old "lineaments,"
      smiled faintly, and knew there was healing in them. Even in
      her throbbing pain she could think of this new pun that she
      would regale the girls with when she got back to
      them&#8212;if she ever got back!
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are 'Emmeline,' aren't you!" she presently questioned,
      feebly, like an old woman, for the pain seemed to have made
      her old. "I'm so glad you are Emmeline!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Poor dear, she was wandering in her mind, and no wonder, with
      a foot swollen up like that! It was queer, though, hitting on
      the right name in that way.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There! there! Yes, I am Emmeline, though I might've been
      Sophia or Debby Jane! Namin' people is sort o' accidental. I
      always wished they'd named me somethin' prettier by accident!
      But I guess Emmeline will have to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was long after this before any explanation was made. The
      fact that it was Emmeline was enough for those first hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now, you kind of bear on to yourself, poor dear! This boot
      has got to come off!" the kind voice crooned. But, in the
      awful process of "bearing on," the Talentless One shot out
      into the dark, as if pushed by a heavy hand. How long it was
      before she came back into the light she did not know&#8212;it
      seemed to be a point of light that pricked her eyes. She shut
      them against it, and longed to drift away again; the dark had
      been cool and pleasant.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a lighted lamp on a tiny, round table. She found it
      out the next time she opened her eyes. She was in a little
      bedroom, on the bed. The door was open, and a voice drifted
      in to her:
    </p>
    <p>
      "She was coming to beautifully when I left her. I thought
      mebbe she'd feel more at home to come to alone. I've got her
      ankle all dressed nice, but it would make your heart ache to
      see it! The poor dear won't walk again this one while&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, Emmeline Camp, what are you going to do with her all
      that time?" The second voice was a little shrill.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sh! I'm goin' to doctor her up, just as if she was the
      little girl the Lord never gave me. I've always known what
      I'd do if my little girl broke anything&#8212;There! you'll
      have to excuse me, Mrs. Williams, while I take this cup o'tea
      in."
    </p>
    <p>
      It is odd how many little confidences can be exchanged in the
      time of cooling and drinking a cup of tea. The caller had
      gone away, and the old woman and the girl were left alone.
      Little by little the story of the B-Hive and the quest for an
      Eldorado came out. Emmeline Camp sat and nodded, and
      clandestinely wiped her eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I see&#8212;I see, deary! Now, don't you talk any more and
      get faint again. I'll talk. You no need to worry about
      anything in the world&#8212;not yet! When it's time to
      commence, I'll tell you. How does your foot feel now? Dear,
      dear! When I was fussing over it, it seemed just as if it was
      my little Amelia's foot! I've always known what I'd do if she
      sprained hers, and so I did it to yours, deary!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is Amelia your daughter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The old face wavered between a smile and tears. "Yes," she
      nodded, "but she warn't ever born. It's a kind of a secret
      between me and the Lord. He knows I've made believe Amelia.
      I've always been kind of lonesome, an' she's been a sight of
      company to me. She's been a good daughter, Amelia has!" Now
      it was a smile. "We've set an' sewed patchwork together, ever
      since she grew up. When she was little&#8212;there, deary,
      hear me run on! But you remind me so much of Amelia. You can
      laugh just as much as you want to at me runnin' on like this
      about a little girl that warn't ever born&#8212;mebbe
      laughin' will help your foot."
    </p>
    <p>
      She took up the empty cup and went away, but she came back
      and stood a minute in the doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There's this about it," she laughed, in a tender, little
      way, "if she warn't ever born, she won't ever die. I sha'n't
      lose Amelia!"
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      To the three girls waiting at the B-Hive came a letter. They
      read it, three heads in a bunch:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Eldorado, June 26.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come whenever you want to. Directions enclosed."
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH3"><!-- CH3 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III.
    </h2>
    <p>
      There was a postscript. It was like T.O. to put the most of
      the letter into the postscript.
    </p>
    <p>
      "P.S.&#8212;Never call me the Talentless One again" (as if
      they ever had!), "when I came straight to the
      Eldorado&#8212;tumbled right into it. I've decided to stay
      here until you come&#8212;please tell my substitute so. I
      know she'll be so glad she'll throw up her hat. Bring your
      sheets and pillow-cases. Come by way of the X. &amp; Y. R.R.
      to a place called Placid Pond."
    </p>
    <p>
      The three readers, bunched together over the letter, uttered
      a cry of delight. "Placid Pond!"&#8212;of all the dear,
      delightful, placid names! The very look of it on paper was
      restful; it <i>sounded</i> restful when you said it over and
      over&#8212;"Placid Pond. Placid Pond. Placid Pond."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, she's a dear&#8212;she's an <i>artist!</i>" cried Laura
      Ann, who measured all things by their relationship to art.
      This was an own cousin!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Read on&#8212;somebody hold the letter still!" Billy cried
      excitedly. And they read on: "Take the only road there is to
      take, and keep on to a house that's painted green. It will be
      Emmeline's house, though they might have named her Sophia,
      she says, by accident. But you will be glad she is Emmeline.
      She has a beautiful daughter that never was born and never
      will die&#8212;oh, girls, come as quick as ever you can!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Yours, "The Talented One."
    </p>
    <p>
      "P.S. No. 2.&#8212;Don't climb any stone walls. The stones
      are not stuck on."
    </p>
    <p>
      For a tiny space the three girls looked at each other in
      silence. The letter in Loraine's hand was a masterpiece, full
      of enticing mysteries that beckoned to them to come and find
      the "answers." What kind of an Eldorado was this that was
      called Placid Pond, and was full of mysteries? How could they
      wait! They must pack up and go at once!
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Talented One,' indeed!&#8212;she's a genius! See how she's
      left us to guess things, instead of explaining them all out
      in a nice, tame way&#8212;oh, <i>girls</i>"&#8212;Laura Ann's
      eyes shone&#8212;"won't we have the greatest time!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What I want to know is, who is Emmeline&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, who is Emmeline?" "And who <i>can</i> her daughter
      <i>be</i>? She sounds so lovely and ghostly!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Everything sounds lovely and ghostly. When can we go,
      girls?" This from practical Loraine. "<i>I</i> can't till
      after the Fourth."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor I," groaned Billy, dolefully.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I could, but I shall not&#8212;I shall wait for you two,"
      Laura Ann said quietly.
    </p>
    <p>
      Loraine turned upon her. "You needn't," she said, "now that
      you've signed the compact&#8212;you can do whatever you
      <i>want</i> to now, you know. Needn't think of anybody but
      yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The privilege of being selfish doesn't begin till we get to
      Eldorado," laughed Laura Ann. "You'll see what I do then!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It was arranged that they should start on the fifth of July.
      "With our sheets and pillow-cases," appended Billy. No one
      thought of writing to T.O. for further particulars. No one
      wanted further particulars. The uncertainly and mystery that
      enveloped Eldorado was its greatest charm. They speculated,
      to be sure, at odd moments, as to the identity of the person
      who might have been Sophia but was Emmeline, and they
      wrestled a little with the hidden meaning of Postscript
      Number Two. Why were they especially bidden not to climb
      stone walls? And <i>why</i> was the Talented One "staying
      over" till they came?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why? Why? Why?" chanted Billy, "but don't anybody dare to
      guess why! Who wants to know!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not me!" echoed ungrammatically Laura Ann.
    </p>
    <p>
      While they waited and speculated mildly, and packed and
      repacked their things, T.O. lay on the bed in Emmeline Camp's
      little bedroom and winced with pain whenever she moved her
      wounded foot. But she was very happy. "Peace is in my soul,
      if not my <i>sole!</i>" she thought, a slave still to the
      punning habit. She had never been so peaceful in her life.
      The little old woman who had befriended her bustled happily
      in and out of the little bedroom. She bathed and rubbed the
      swollen ankle, and smiled and chattered to the girl at the
      other end of it. Her "lineaments" were working a cure,
      surely.
    </p>
    <p>
      It had all been decided upon. The B-Hive was to be
      transplanted for the summer to the little, green-painted
      house trailed over with morning-glory vines and roses.
      Emmeline Camp had wanted, she said, for forty years, to go
      upon a long journey, to visit her brother. Here was her
      chance. The small sum she had at last consented to be paid
      for the use of her little house would pay her traveling
      expenses one way, at least, and John would be glad enough,
      she said, to pay her fare home, to get rid of her! Only she
      was quite able to pay it herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I've kind of hankered to go to see John all these years.
      Forty years is quite a spell to hanker, isn't it? But I never
      felt like leaving the house behind, and I couldn't take it
      along very conveniently, so I stayed to home. And
      then&#8212;my dear, you can laugh as well as not, but I
      didn't like to leave Amelia."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you might have taken her with&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," seriously, "I couldn't 've taken Amelia. I think,
      deary, it might 've killed her; she's part of the little
      house and the morning-glories and roses. I'd have had to
      leave Amelia if I'd gone, and it didn't seem right."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But now&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Now," the little, old woman laughed in her odd, tender way
      that "went with" Amelia, "now she'll have plenty of young
      company&#8212;all o' you here with her. I shall make believe
      she's coming and going with you, and it'll be a sight of
      comfort. Yes, deary, I guess this is going to be my chance to
      visit John."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And our chance to have a summer in the country," completed
      the Talented One. "Oh, I think you are&#8212;<i>dear</i>!
      Whatever will the other girls say when I tell them about
      you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      One day T.O. remembered the blue pump. She gazed out of the
      window at the brown one in the little yard. "Who would have
      thought," she sighed, "that I could be so happy without a
      blue pump!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What's that, deary?" The little, old woman was sewing
      patchwork near by.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," laughed the girl, "I always <i>did</i> want a pump that
      was painted blue. I saw a picture of one once when I was a
      little mite, and it impressed me&#8212;such a lovely, bright
      blue! I thought it went beautifully with the green grass! But
      I can get along without it, I guess."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have to get along without having things painted to suit
      us," nodded the little, old woman philosophically. But she
      remembered the blue pump. There was a can of paint out in the
      shed room, and there was Jane Cotton's Sam.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jane Cotton's Sam was a "feature" of Placid Pond&#8212;a
      whole set of features, T.O. said. He was a lumbering, awkward
      fellow, well up to the end of his teens, the only hope of
      widowed Jane. The Lord had given him a splendid head, but the
      Placid Pond people were secretly triumphing in the knowledge
      that Sam had failed to pass in his college examinations,
      "head or no head." Jane had always boasted so of Sam's
      brains, and predicted such a wonderful future for him! All
      her soul was set on Sam's success&#8212;well, wasn't it time
      her pride had a fall? Mebbe now she'd see Sam wasn't much
      different from other people's boys.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jane's heart was reported to be broken by the boy's failure,
      and Sam went about sulkily defiant. He made a great pretense
      of lofty indifference, but maybe he didn't care!&#8212;maybe
      not! Emmeline Camp knew in her gentle old heart that he
      cared. She worried about Sam.
    </p>
    <p>
      All this the Talented One learned, little by little, in the
      way country gossip is learned. She learned many other things,
      too, about the neighbors&#8212;things that she lay and
      pondered about. It seemed queer to find out that even a
      placid little place like this, set among the peaceful hills,
      had its tragedies and comedies&#8212;its pitiful little
      skeletons behind the doors.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's Old '61," Mrs. Camp said, pointing to an old figure
      in the road. "See him go marching past!&#8212;he always
      marches, as if he heard drums beating and he was keeping
      time. I tell 'em he <i>does</i> hear 'em. He lives all alone
      up on the edge o' the woods, and folks say he spends most all
      his time trying to pick march tunes out on the organ. A few
      years ago he got some back pension money, and up and spent it
      for a cabinet organ! Dear land! it seemed a pity, when he
      might have got him some nice clothes or something sensible.
      But there he sets and sets over that organ, trying to pick
      out tunes! Well,"&#8212;the gentle old voice took on
      charity&#8212;"well, if that's his way of being happy, I
      s'pose he's got as good a right to it as I have
      to&#8212;Amelia," a whimsical little smile lighting up the
      old face, but underlying it the tenderness that the girl on
      the bed had come to look for whenever any reference was made
      to Amelia.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We've all got our idiosyncreases," added Emmeline Camp,
      "only some of 'em's creased in a little deeper'n others. I
      guess mine and Old '61's are pretty considerable deep!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The early July days were cloudless and full of hot, stinging
      noises. T.O. crawled out to lie in the grass under a great
      tree, and exult in room and freedom and rest. Her ankle was
      still very painful, but she regarded it with philosophical
      toleration: "You needn't have climbed a stone wall, need you?
      Well, then, what have you to complain of? The best thing you
      can do is to keep still." Which was, without doubt, the
      truth. "Anyhow, it isn't becoming in you to be so puffed up!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It was decided that Mrs. Camp should start on her trip before
      the other girls arrived. Hence, on the morning of the day
      they had set to come, the little old woman and her bags and
      bundles rode away down the dusty country road. Her lean,
      brown, crumpled old face had an exalted expression; the joy
      of anticipation and the triumph of patient waiting met in it
      and blended oddly. It was a great day for Emmeline Camp.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-by, deary. Keep right on rubbing, and don't go to
      walking 'round. There's some cookies left in the cooky-crock,
      and a pie or two on the shelf to kind of set you going. Take
      good care o' yourselves."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And Amelia," whispered the girl, drawing the old face down
      to her. "We'll take good care of Amelia."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a little lonely after the old stage rumbled away. The
      Talented One turned whimsically to Amelia for company. She
      tried to imagine her, as the little old woman did, but in
      vain. She could not conjure up the sweet, elusive face, the
      hair, the eyes, the grave little mouth of Amelia. The little
      old woman had taken away with her love, the key. She must
      have taken Amelia away with her, too, the girl thought,
      smiling at her own fancy. So, for company, she must wait
      until Loraine and Billy and Laura Ann came, on the further
      edge of the day. She lay in the cool grass, and made beatific
      plans for all the long, lazy days to come. No hurrying, or
      worrying&#8212;each one for herself, happy in her own way.
      Only themselves to think of for the space of a golden summer!
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am glad she took Amelia," the girl in the grass laughed
      softly. "We'd never be able to keep to the Compact with
      Amelia 'round&#8212;Amelia would never have signed a 'Wicked
      Compact'!" Which, in the event of gentle, unsinning Amelia
      ever having been born, might or might not have been true. It
      would have been harder work, reflected the girl in the grass,
      for Amelia to have been unsinning and gentle, if she had been
      born.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jane Cotton's Sam came lounging down the road, cap over one
      eye, face surlily defiant. T.O. watched him with displeasure.
      So that was the kind of a boy that gave up? Poor kind of a
      boy! Why didn't he try it again, especially when his poor
      mother's heart was breaking? Didn't he know that giving up
      was worse than failing in his examinations? Somebody ought to
      tell him&#8212;why, he was stopping at Mrs. Camp's little
      front gate! He was coming in!
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl lying in the long grass under the tree sat up
      hurriedly. Quick, quick! what was his name? Oh, yes, Sam!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morning, Sam," she said pleasantly. But the boy, with a
      mere nod of his splendidly-modeled head, hurried away toward
      the tiny barn. The girl had seen the dark flush that mounted
      upward from his neck over his pink and white cheeks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor thing! He knows <i>I</i> know that he didn't
      pass&#8212;that is the only 'out' about living in the
      country: everybody knows everything. Well, if it makes him
      blush, then his mother needn't break her heart <i>yet</i>. I
      like the looks of that boy, if he does go 'round scowling."
      Whereupon the Talented One promptly dismissed Jane Cotton's
      Sam from her meditations. It did not occur to her to question
      his right to be on Mrs. Camp's premises. She lay back in the
      grass and took up again the interrupted thread of her
      musings. By gentle degrees odd fancies took possession of
      her.
    </p><a name="image-3"><!-- Image 3 --></a>
    <center>
      <img src="images/comp-im3.png" height="570" width="400" alt=
      "THE BOY, WITH A MERE NOD, HURRIED AWAY.">
    </center>
    <p>
      The sprinkling of great, white daisies in the grass beside
      her&#8212;suppose, now, this minute, they changed into white
      handkerchiefs, spread out on a green counter! Then she would
      have to sell them to passers-by; it was her business to sell
      handkerchiefs. Someone was coming marching up the
      road&#8212;suppose she tried to sell him one, for the fun of
      it!&#8212;to make a good story for the girls. Laughing, she
      got up and leaned on the fence. She "dared" herself to do it.
      Then, courteously, "Can I sell you anything in handkerchiefs
      to-day? Initialed, embroidered&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      The marching feet stopped. Shrewd old eyes studied her face
      and twinkled, responsive to the harmless mischief visible in
      it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You got any with flags on&#8212;in the corners or anywhere?
      Or drums on?" It was Old '61. "Or red, white an' blue ones?
      I'd like one o' <i>them</i>&#8212;I fit in the war,"
      explanatorily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes?" The saleswoman was not especially interested in the
      war; it is not the way with many of her kind to be interested
      in things.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fit clear through&#8212;in the Wilderness, and Bull Run,
      an' plenty more. They couldn't get rid o' me, the enemy
      couldn't! No, sir, where there was marchin' an' shootin', I
      was bound to be there! They hit me time 'n' again, but I
      didn't waste no unnecessary time in hospittles&#8212;I had to
      git back to the boys."
    </p>
    <p>
      She was interested now; she forgot she was to sell him a
      handkerchief. "Go on," she said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was great! You ought to heard the drums an' smelt the
      smoke, an' felt your feet marchin' under you, an' your
      knapsack poundin' your back&#8212;yes, sir, an' bein' hungry
      an' thirsty an' wore out! You'd ought to seen how ragged the
      boys got, an' heard 'em whistlin' 'Through Georgy' while they
      sewed on patches&#8212;oh, you'd ought to <i>whistled</i>
      'Through Georgy'!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The girl, watching the kindled old face, saw a shadow creep
      over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I useter&#8212;I useter&#8212;but someway I've lost it. It's
      pretty hard to've <i>marched</i> through Georgy an' forgot
      the tune about. Some days I 'most get holt of it
      again&#8212;I thought I could, on the organ, but I can't, not
      the hull of it. Someway I've lost it&#8212;it's pretty hard.
      It ha'nts me&#8212;if you ever be'n ha'nted, you know how bad
      it is."
    </p>
    <p>
      No, the girl who was leaning on the fence had never been
      ha'nted, but her eyes were wide with pity for the old soul
      who had marched through Georgia and forgotten the tune.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Some days I 'most ketch it. I don't suppose"&#8212;the old
      voice halted diffidently&#8212;"I don't suppose <i>you'd</i>
      whistle it, would you? Jest through once&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      But she could not whistle even once "Through Georgia." "I'm
      so sorry!" she cried. "I can't whistle, or sing, or anything.
      I wish I could!" She wished she were Billy; Billy could have
      done it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old '61 marched on, up the dusty road, and the girl went back
      to her tree. She had not sold any daisy-handkerchiefs, but
      she had her story to tell the girls. She lay in the grass
      thinking of it. Once or twice she pursed her lips and made a
      ludicrous ineffectual attempt to whistle, but she did not
      smile. Jane Cotton's Sam clicked the gate, going out, but she
      did not notice. When she did at last look up, and her gaze
      wandered over the little yard aimlessly, she suddenly uttered
      a little note of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why!" she cried.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH4"><!-- CH4 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV.
    </h2>
    <p>
      For the pump was a blue pump! A miracle had been wrought
      while she mused in the grass and listened to Old '61. The
      little old brown pump had blossomed out gayly, brilliantly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why!" Then a subdued chuckle reached her from some nearby
      ambush out beyond the fence. She put two and two
      together&#8212;the pump, the laugh, and Jane Cotton's Sam.
      Six! Jane Cotton's Sam, while she was day-dreaming and
      Marching through Georgia with Old '61, had painted the brown
      pump blue! That was his business on Mrs. Camp's premises. Mrs
      Camp had remembered&#8212;the dear, oh, the dear!&#8212;that
      she wanted a blue pump, and had got the boy to come and make
      one. And now, down behind the fence somewhere, the boy was
      laughing at her amazement. Well, let him laugh&#8212;she
      laughed, too! Suddenly she began to clap her hands by way of
      applause to her hidden audience.
    </p>
    <p>
      The pump itself was distinctly a disappointment. In gay-hued
      pictures, seen by childish eyes, blue pumps accord with green
      grass and trees&#8212;in nature, seen by maturer eyes, there
      is something wrong with the colors. They look out of
      place&#8212;either the green growing things or the gay blue
      pump do not belong there. The girl's loyalty to little, kind
      Emmeline Camp would not let her admit that it was the blue
      pump that didn't "belong." She was glad&#8212;glad&#8212;that
      it was blue, for it stood for a thoughtful kindness to her,
      and thoughtful kindnesses had been rare in her
      self-dependent, hustling life.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hurrah for the blue pump!" she cried softly. She felt like
      going up to it and hugging it, but fortunately she did not
      yield to the impulse.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other girls arrived at dusk. T.O., her knee in a chair,
      had hitched laboriously from little kitchen to little
      dining-room and got supper. Spent and triumphant, she waited
      in the doorway. She could hear their voices coming up the
      road&#8212;Billy's excited voice, Laura Ann's gay one,
      Loraine's calm and sweet. She longed to run out to meet them.
      Next best, she sent her own voice, in a clear, long call.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's T.O.! Girls, let's run!" she heard Billy say.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why doesn't <i>she</i> run?" Laura Ann demanded severely.
      "That would be perfectly appropriate under the
      circumstances."
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Tis queer, isn't it, that she didn't come to meet us?"
      Loraine added. In another moment they had reached Emmeline
      Camp's little green-painted house and found the Talented One
      waiting impatiently at the gate. Things explained themselves
      rapidly. Exclamations of pity crowded upon exclamations of
      delight and welcome. Four happy young wage-earners sat down
      to T.O.'s hardly-prepared little supper and four tongues were
      loosed. Even Loraine did her part of the chattering.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I feel so nice and <i>placid</i> already!" enthused Billy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, so do I!&#8212;so do I!" echoed Laura Ann. "It's such a
      comfort to get one's chains off!&#8212;I felt mine slip off
      back there at that dear, funny little station."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, was <i>that</i> what I heard clanking?" offered quiet
      Loraine, and was promptly cheered.
    </p>
    <p>
      The meal was a merry one. And afterwards there was exploring
      to be done about the little yard and orchard and up and down
      the road, in the dim, sweet twilight, with the Talented One
      at the gate calling soft directions.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I've got a blue pump for you," she laughed. "Just wait
      till daylight! Don't anybody feel of it in the dark to see if
      it's blue, because you'll find it's green! There's a story
      goes with the pump and one with its mother&#8212;I mean with
      the boy-who-painted-its mother! Placid Pond is full of
      stories."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nice, dozy, placid ones, I suppose," Laura Ann returned
      lightly. But the Talented One shook her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wait till you hear them," she said gravely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give us some of the titles to-night," coaxed Billy. They
      were all back on the little doorsteps and the moon was
      rising, majestic and golden, behind the trees.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well&#8212;" she considered thoughtfully, "there's 'The
      Story of Amelia', and the story of 'The Boy Who Didn't Pass',
      and the one of 'Old '61'&#8212;",
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, tell us&#8212;tell us!" Billy pleaded, and would not be
      refused. It was never easy to refuse Billy. She had her way
      this time, and there in the mellow night-light, with soft
      night-noises all about them, T.O. told her stories. She had
      never told a story before in her life, and her voice at first
      stumbled diffidently, but as she went on, a queer thing
      happened&#8212;she did not seem to be telling it herself, but
      the little old woman who loved Amelia seemed to be telling
      it! Then the Boy Who Didn't Pass, then Old '61, in his
      tremulous, halting old voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      They listened in perfect silence, and even after the stories
      ended they said nothing. Billy, quite unashamed, was crying
      over poor Old '61.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'd have thought, wouldn't you," T.O. murmured after a
      while, "that places like this would be humdrum-y and
      commonplace? But I guess there are 'stories' everywhere. I'm
      beginning to find out things, girls."
    </p>
    <p>
      The next day began in earnest the long-yearned-for time of
      rest. It was decided unanimously over the breakfast cups, to
      live and move, eat and all but sleep, out of doors. To devote
      four separate and four combined energies to having a good
      time. To abide by the rules and regulations of the Wicked
      Compact&#8212;long live the Wicked Compact! Laura Ann made an
      illuminated copy of it, framed it in a border of
      hurriedly-painted forget-me-nots and hung it on the screen
      door, where they could not help seeing it and "remembering
      their vows," Laura Ann said. It was a matter of gay
      conjecture with them who would be the first to break the
      Compact.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And be driven out of the B-Hive&#8212;not I!" Billy said
      decisively. "I shan't have the least temptation to break it,
      anyway&#8212;I feel selfish all over! You couldn't drive me
      to do a good deed with a&#8212;a pitchfork!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Me either&#8212;not even with a darning-needle!" laughed
      Laura Ann. "If anybody asks me to lend her a pin, hear me
      say, 'Can't, my dear; it's against the rules.' Needn't
      anybody worry about losing me out o' the Hive!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Loraine will be the one&#8212;you see," T.O. said lazily.
      "And what I want to know is, how are we going to live without
      Loraine? I vote we append a by-law. By-law I.: 'Resolved,
      that we except Loraine&#8212;just Loraine.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Second the motion," murmured Billy, on her back in the
      grass, nibbling clover heads.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," Loraine said severely, "I refuse to be put into a
      by-law."
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      The summer days were long days&#8212;lazy, somnolent days.
      The four girls spent them each in her own separate way.
      Sometimes the little colony met only at mealtimes&#8212;with
      glowing reports of the mornings' or afternoons' wanderings.
    </p>
    <p>
      Billy, it was noticed, although like the rest she wandered
      abroad, made no reports. Had she had a good time?
      Yes&#8212;yes, of course. Where had she been all the morning
      or all the afternoon? Oh&#8212;oh, to places. Woods?
      Yes&#8212;that is, almost woods. And more than that they
      failed to elicit. Nearly every day she started away by
      herself, and after awhile they noticed that she went in the
      same direction. She went briskly, alertly, like one with a
      definite end in view. Now, where did Billy go? Their vagrant
      curiosity was aroused, but not yet to the point of
      investigation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old '61 knew. Every morning since that first morning he had
      strained his dim old eyes to catch a glimpse of a little
      figure coming blithely up the road. On that first morning it
      had stopped in front of his little house and said pleasant
      things to him as he sat on the doorsteps. He remembered all
      the things.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morning! It's a splendid day, isn't it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      And: "What a perfectly lovely place you live in! With the
      woods so near you can shake hands with them out of your
      windows!"
    </p>
    <p>
      And: "Don't the birds wake you up mornings? I wonder what
      they sing about up here." Then she had glanced at his ancient
      army coat and added the Pleasantest Thing Of All: "I think
      they must sing Battle Hymns and Red, White and Blue songs and
      'Marching Through Georgia,' don't they?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not the last one," he had answered sadly. "They never sing
      that. If they did, I'd 'a' learnt it of 'em long ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you like that one best&#8212;very best?" she had asked,
      and he liked to remember how she had smiled. He had stood up
      then and thrown back his old shoulders proudly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, you see, marm," he had said simply, "I <i>marched</i>
      through Georgy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning, too, she had stopped and talked to him. But
      it was not until the third time that he had ventured to ask
      her to whistle it. And then&#8212;Old '61, now peering down
      the road for the blithe little figure, thrilled again at the
      remembrance of what had happened. She had laughed gently and
      said she did not know how to whistle, but if he would like
      her to sing it&#8212;
    </p>
    <p>
      There had been eight mornings all told, now, counting this
      morning, which was sure to be. Yes, clear 'way down there
      somebody was comin' swingin' along&#8212;somebody little an'
      happy an' spry. Old '61 began to laugh softly. He could
      hardly wait for her to come and sit down on the doorstep and
      sing it. Two or three times&#8212;she would sing it two or
      three times.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had a surprise for her this morning. With great pains he
      had dragged his cabinet organ out onto the little porch. It
      was all open, ready. He went a little way down the road in
      his eagerness to meet her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morning!" Billy called brightly. "Am I late to-day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Jest a little&#8212;jest a little," he quavered joyously,
      "but I'll forgive ye! There's somethin' waitin' up
      there&#8212;I've got a surprise for ye!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Honest?" Billy stood still in the road, looking into the
      eager, childish old face. "Oh, goody! I love surprises. Am I
      to guess it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, jest to come an' play on it!" he quavered. Then a
      cloud settled over his face and dimmed the delight in it.
      "Mebbe you don't know how to?" he added, a tremulous upward
      lift to his voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How to 'play on' a surprise!" cried Billy. "Well, how am I
      to know until I see it? I can play on 'most everything else!"
    </p>
    <p>
      They had got to the little front gate&#8212;were going up the
      little carefully-weeded path&#8212;were very close to it now.
      Billy sprang up the steps.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can! I can!" she laughed. "Hear me!" Her fingers ran up
      and down the keys, then settled into a soft, sweet little
      melody. Another and another&#8212;
    </p>
    <p>
      The old man on the lower step sat patiently listening and
      waiting. If she did not play it soon, he should have to ask
      her to, but he would rather have her play it without. Perhaps
      the next one&#8212;
    </p>
    <p>
      The next one was beautiful, but not It&#8212;not
      <i>It</i>&#8212;not the Right One.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There!" finished Billy with a flourish. "You see, I
      <i>can</i> play on a surprise!" She stopped abruptly at sight
      of the disappointed old face below her. For an instant she
      was bewildered, then a beautiful instinct that had lain
      unused on some shelf of Billy's mind came to life and
      whispered to her what the trouble was.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" she cried softly, "Oh, I'm sorry I forgot!" She turned
      back to the little organ and began to play again.
    </p><a name="image-4"><!-- Image 4 --></a>
    <center>
      <img src="images/comp-im4.png" height="567" width="400" alt=
      "THE OLD MAN SAT LISTENING AND WAITING.">
    </center>
    <p>
      Up went the sagging old head, up the sagging old shoulders!
      Old '61 was back in "Georgy," marching through mud and
      pine-barrens, in cold and hunger and weariness&#8212;with the
      boys, from Atlanta to the sea. Hurrah! hurrah! the flag that
      made them free!
    </p>
    <p>
      He was not old, not alone and forlorn and cumbering the
      earth. He was young and straight and loyal, defying suffering
      and death, with glory and fame, perhaps, on there ahead. His
      country needed him&#8212;he was marching through Georgia for
      his country.
    </p>
    <p>
      Billy played it over and over, untiring. A lump grew in her
      throat at the sight of the old face down there on the lower
      step. For so much was written on the old face!
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly Old '61 got up and began to march, swinging his old
      legs out splendidly. Down the walk, down the road, he went,
      as far as the music went, then came marching splendidly back.
      Head up, shoulders squared, the "boys" marching invisible
      beside him and before him and behind him, he was no longer
      Old '61, but Young '61.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next day Billy ate her breakfast quietly, helped clear
      away the things, and went quietly away. She did not stop to
      read Laura Ann's gay-painted "Compact" on the screen door. It
      might even have been noticed, if anyone cared to notice, that
      she did not look at it, that she hurried a little through the
      door, as if to avoid it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Old '61 was waiting at the gate. She smiled at the eager
      invitation she read in his face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," she said, shaking her head for emphasis, "no, I'm not
      going to play it this time. I'm going to teach you to play
      it! I shall be going back to the city before long, and then
      what will you do when you want to hear it? Perhaps you
      couldn't keep the tune in your head. I'm going to show you an
      easy way to play it&#8212;just the air. I shall have to try
      it myself first, of course. But I'm sure you can learn how,
      if you'll practice faithfully." It was queer how her
      music-teacher tone crept back into her voice. She laughed to
      herself to hear it. "Practice faithfully" sounded so natural
      to say!
    </p>
    <p>
      She sat down at the organ and experimented thoughtfully,
      trying to reduce the old man's beloved tune to its very
      lowest terms. After quite a long time she nodded and smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then began Old '61s music lessons. It was terrible work, like
      earning a living with the sweat of the brow. But the two of
      them&#8212;the young woman and the old man&#8212;bent to it
      heroically. For an hour, that first time, the cramped old
      fingers felt their way over the keyboard; for an hour Billy
      bent over them, patiently pointing the way. She had forgotten
      that she was not to think of piano-notes now&#8212;that she
      had signed the Wicked Compact. She had forgotten everything
      but her determination to teach Old '61 to play "Marching
      through Georgia." And Old '61 had, in his turn, forgotten
      things&#8212;that he was old, alone, a cumberer, everything
      but his determination to learn It.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not a scientific lesson. It did not begin with first
      principles and creep slowly upward; it began in the middle,
      in a splendid, haphazard, ambitious way. The stiff old hands
      were gently placed in position for the first notes of the
      tune, the stiff old fingers were pressed gently down, one at
      a time. Over and over and over the process was repeated. It
      was learning by sheer brute patience and love.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's all for the first lesson," Billy announced at the end
      of the hour. "You've got those first notes well enough to
      practice them. To-morrow we'll go a little bit farther." But
      she did not know the long, patient hours between now and then
      that the old man would "practice," crooked painfully over the
      keys. She did not reckon on the miracle that might be wrought
      out of intense desire.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning Old '61 at the gate proclaimed proudly:
    </p>
    <p>
      "I've got it! I've got it! I can play an' sing fur as we've
      b'en! It's ringin' in my head all the time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did the birds wake you up singing it?" Billy asked,
      smilingly. She, herself, was all eagerness to learn of her
      pupil's progress. The lesson began at once. Already, she
      found, the miracle had begun to work. The old man sat down to
      the organ with a flourish that, if it had not been full of
      pathos, would have been a little comedy act. After a brief
      preliminary search the old fingers found their place and
      pounded out triumphantly the few notes they had been taught.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good! good!" applauded the teacher heartily. "Why, you do it
      splendidly! Now we'll go on a little farther&#8212;this
      finger on this note, this one here, your thumb <i>here</i>."
      She stationed them carefully and the second lesson began. It
      was nearer two hours than one when it ended.
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      "Where have <i>you</i> been, Billy?" Loraine asked at lunch.
      They had all been describing their individual pursuits and
      experiences of the morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, to a place," answered Billy lightly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What place?" Loraine persisted curiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well," laughed Billy, "if you must know, I've been marching
      through&#8212;oh, a <i>place</i>!" she concluded hastily,
      repenting herself. "It was a pretty hard place, and I'm
      hungry as a bear. Wish somebody'd say, 'Won't you have
      another piece of pie?'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Won't you have another piece of pie?" laughed Loraine, and
      nothing further was said of an embarrassing nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      The summer days grew into summer weeks. Patiently and
      joyously Old '61 plodded his way to the sea. He practiced
      nearly all his waking hours, and when he was not at the
      little organ, practicing, he went about humming the beloved
      words. Pride and love, rather than any melody of his cracked
      old voice, made a tune of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      His progress astonished his teacher. Her praise was impetuous
      enough for further and greater exertions. One day Billy said
      the next time should be an exhibition, when he should play it
      all&#8212;from "Atlanta to the sea"&#8212;with her as
      audience, not helping, but sitting in a chair listening.
    </p>
    <p>
      She came to the Exhibition in a white dress, with sweet-peas
      at her waist. Her smiles at the foot of the steps changed to
      something like a sob when she discovered that Old '61 had
      been decorating the organ and the little porch. He, himself,
      was brushed and radiant, his old face the face of a little
      child.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The audience will sit on the steps," Billy said, a little
      tremulously. "Right here. Make believe I'm rows and rows of
      people! Now will you please favor us by 'Marching through
      Georgia'?".
    </p>
    <p>
      He went at once to the little gayly-bedecked instrument and
      began to play. The dignity and pride of the shabby old figure
      redeemed its shabbiness&#8212;the fervor of the pounded notes
      redeemed the tune. The audience&#8212;in "rows and
      rows,"&#8212;listened gravely, and at the end burst into
      genuine applause. The sound swelled and multiplied oddly, and
      then they saw the three figures at the gate who had listened,
      too. Billy was discovered!
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH5"><!-- CH5 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V.
    </h2>
    <p>
      They escorted Billy home. It was rather a silent walk until
      the end. Loraine spoke first.
    </p>
    <p>
      "One less in the B-Hive," she said sadly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I suppose I'm dropped now," responded Billy, not
      uncheerfully. "Of course I've got to take the consequences of
      my&#8212;my crime. But I don't care!" she added with
      vivacity. "I'd rather live alone in a ten-story house than
      have missed that Exhibition!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," mused Laura Ann thoughtfully, "it was a beautiful one.
      I'm glad <i>I</i> didn't miss it. When I think of what it
      stood for&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      She broke off suddenly and slipped her hand into Billy's arm.
      Another short silence. Then Laura Ann finished: "All the work
      and patience it stood for, day after day&#8212;girls, when I
      think of that I feel&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know&#8212;all of us know," T.O. hastily interposed.
      "That's about the way we all feel, I guess. No use talking
      about it, though. Billy's broken the Compact and we're under
      oath to drop her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not till we go back to work," Loraine put in emphatically,
      "and then she can live next door and come in every night to
      tea! There's nothing in the Compact against that, is there?
      Well, then, I invite you, Billy, for the very first tea!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I accept!" laughed Billy. She did not seem at all depressed.
      In her ears rang the pounding refrain of Old '61 marching
      through Georgia.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothing more was said on this subject. A little picnic had
      been planned for the afternoon, and they went briskly about
      making preparations for it, as soon as they got back to Mrs.
      Camp's little green house. While they worked they discussed
      Amelia.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If she hadn't gone with her mother we'd have taken her to
      the picnic with us," the Talented One said, over her
      egg-beating. "I wonder if Amelia likes picnics?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't! You make me feel creepy," Laura Ann laughed. "What
      <i>I</i> wonder is how she'd have looked if she'd ever been
      born. I lay awake one night trying to imagine Amelia."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Blue eyes and golden hair," Loraine chimed in dreamily, "and
      a little dimple in her chin."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You needn't any of you lie awake nights imagining. I can
      tell you," the Talented One said. "She has blue eyes, but her
      hair is brown and the dimples are in her cheeks. Her hair
      just waves a little away from the parting&#8212;it is always
      parted. She sits very still, sewing patchwork&#8212;her
      mother told me," added the Talented One quietly. "She said
      she wished she knew how to paint so she could paint Amelia's
      picture. She told me where she'd like to have it
      hung&#8212;here in the dining-room, between the windows.
      Amelia'd always been very real, she said, but the picture
      would make her realer."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did she ever say what kind of dresses Amelia wears?" asked
      Laura Ann without looking up from her stirring.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I never asked, but they must be white dresses, I
      think,&#8212;Amelia is such an innocent little thing,"
      laughed T.O. softly. It was odd how they always laughed or
      talked softly when it was about little make-believe Amelia.
    </p>
    <p>
      The picnic was in the woods, in a lovely little spot Loraine
      had discovered in her wanderings. A brook babbled noisily
      through the spot. They spread their lunch at the foot of a
      forest giant and ate it luxuriously to the tune the brook
      sang. It was hard to believe they had ever been toilers in a
      great city.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There never were any public schools," murmured Loraine,
      lying back and gazing into the thick mesh of leaves overhead.
      "Nobody ever said 'Teacher! Teacher!' to me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "There never were any negatives to be 'touched
      up'&#8212;nobody ever had their pictures taken," Laura Ann
      murmured, dreamy, too. "I've always been here beside this
      brook, lying on my back&#8212;what a beautiful world it's
      always been!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The Talented One sat rigidly straight. "There have always
      been handkerchiefs," she sighed, "and there always will be. I
      shall have to go back there and sell them. When I look at all
      these leaves, it reminds me&#8212;there are leaves on
      handkerchiefs, straggling round the borders&#8212;ugh!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It was foolish talk, perhaps, but it was the place and the
      time for foolish talk. After a little more of it they drifted
      apart, wandering this way and that in a delightful, aimless
      way. So little of their four lives had been aimless or
      especially delightful that they reveled in the sweet
      opportunity. Loraine wandered farthest. She came after awhile
      to a clearing where a small pond glimmered redly with the
      parting rays of the sun. A great boy lounged beside the pond
      dangling a pole. Loraine recognized him as Jane Cotton's Sam.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" she said, "now I've made a noise and scared away your
      fish!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ain't any fish," muttered the boy. He did not turn around.
      The pole slanted further and further, till it lay on the bank
      beside the boy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, maybe there are, if you wait long enough&#8212;and
      nobody comes crashing through the bushes! I don't
      suppose&#8212;I mean if you are not going to use it any more
      yourself&#8212;" Loraine looked toward the idle pole. "I
      never fished in my life," she explained. The boy understood
      with remarkable quickness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You mean you'd like to try it?" he asked, and this time
      turned round. It was not at all a bad face on close
      inspection, Loraine decided. The veil of sullenness had
      lifted a little.
    </p><a name="image-5"><!-- Image 5 --></a>
    <center>
      <img src="images/comp-im5.png" height="570" width="400" alt=
      " [Illustration: 'I NEVER FISHED IN MY LIFE,' SHE EXPLAINED.]">
      </center>
    <p>
      "Oh, but I just would! Only if I should have an accident and
      catch anything, whatever would I do! They&#8212;they are
      always cold and clammy, aren't they?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Jane Cotton's Sam laughed outright, and Loraine decided that
      it was a very good face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll 'tend to all you catch," the boy said. He was busily
      baiting the hook; now he extended the pole to her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wiggle it&#8212;up and down a little, like this," he
      directed, "and don't make any more noise than you can help.
      If you feel a bite, let me know."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But I don't see how I can feel a bite unless they bite
      me&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      Again the boy laughed wholesomely. They were getting
      acquainted. The fishing began, and for what seemed to her a
      long time Loraine sat absolutely still, dangling the pole.
      Nothing happened for a discouraging while. Then Loraine
      whispered: "I feel a bite, but it's on my wrist! If it's a
      mosquito I wish you would 'shoo' it off."
    </p>
    <p>
      Another wait. Then a real bite in the right place. In another
      moment Loraine landed a wriggling little fish in the grass.
      She did not squeal nor shudder, but sat regarding it with
      gentle pride.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor little thing! I suppose I ought to put you back, but
      you're my first and only fish, and I've <i>got</i> to carry
      you home for the girls to see. You'll have to forgive me this
      time!" She turned to the boy. "I suppose he ought to be
      dressed, or undressed, or something, before he's fried,
      oughtn't he? I thought I'd like to fry him for breakfast, to
      surprise the girls&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll dress him for you," Jane Cotton's Sam said eagerly,
      "and bring him over in the morning in plenty o' time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thank you," Loraine said heartily. "Now you'll have to let
      me do something for you. 'Turn about is fair play.' Couldn't
      I&#8212;" She hesitated, looking out over the still reddened
      water rather than at the boy's face. "Couldn't I help you in
      some way with your studies? That's my business, you know. It
      would really be doing me a kindness, for I may get all out of
      practice unless I teach somebody something!" Had Loraine,
      too, forgotten the Compact on the screen door?
    </p>
    <p>
      The boy fidgeted, then burst out angrily: "I s'pose they've
      all been telling you I failed up in my exams? They have,
      haven't they? You <i>knew</i> it, didn't you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes," Loraine answered quietly. "But I've heard a good many
      worse things in my life. I've heard of boys that smoked and
      drank and&#8212;and <i>stole</i>. What does missing a few
      examinations amount to beside things like those?" But the boy
      did not seem to have been listening to anything except his
      own angry thoughts. All his sun-browned young face was
      flooded with red; he had run his fingers through his hair
      till it stood up fiercely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They needn't trouble themselves 'bout me, nor you needn't,
      nor anybody needn't!" he declaimed loudly. "Anybody'd think
      they were saints themselves!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And <i>I</i> was a saint and everybody was saints!" laughed
      Loraine softly. But Jane Cotton's Sam did not laugh. He went
      striding away into the woods, his head flung up high. Loraine
      and the little dead fish were left behind. Oddly the girl was
      not thinking of the boy's rudeness in return for her kind
      offer of help, but of the flash of spirit in his eyes. It
      augured well for him, she was thinking, for spirit was
      spirit, although "gone wrong." In the right place, it should
      spur him on to a second attempt to get into college. What if
      she were to persist in her offer&#8212;were to work with him,
      urge him to work with her?
    </p>
    <p>
      But he had chosen to spurn her advances. She shook her head
      sadly. On his own head be it. She turned her attention to the
      little dead fish.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You poor dear, you look so dead and forlorn&#8212;what am I
      going to do with you? Someway you've got to go home with me
      and be fried." She took him up gingerly, but dropped him
      again&#8212;he was so slippery and damp! Wrap him in her
      handkerchief? But she had no pocket and she could never,
      never carry him in her sleeve which she had adopted as a
      pocket. So then she must leave him, must she? Poor little
      useless sacrifice!
    </p>
    <p>
      Back at the picnic spot the girls were waiting for her. They
      went home in the late, sweet twilight.
    </p>
    <p>
      A letter was tucked under the screen door where some friendly
      neighbor had left it. "Miss Thomasia O. Brown," Billy read
      aloud, and waved the letter in triumph, for the secret was
      out. The 'T' in T.O. stood for Thomasia!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well?" bristled the Talented One, "it had to stand for
      something, didn't it? It's awful, I know, but <i>I'm</i> not
      to blame&#8212;I didn't name myself, did I? I wish people
      could," she added with a sigh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it for a <i>Thomas?</i>" questioned Laura Ann curiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thomasia nodded: "There was always a Thomas in the family
      until they got to me. They did the best they could to make me
      one." She was opening the letter with careful precision.
      "Why, of course, it's from Mrs. Camp!" she cried delightedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear, I hope you are well and your friends have come, and
      Jane Cotton's Sam has not forgotten to paint the pump. I
      arrived here safely after a very long journey&#8212;my dear,
      I never dreamed the world was so big! This part of it is well
      enough, but give me Placid Pond! Now I am going to tell you
      something, and you may laugh all you're a mind to&#8212;I
      sha'n't hear! What I'm going to tell is, <i>Amelia came</i>,
      too. After I'd got good and settled down on the cars I looked
      up and knew she was sitting right opposite, on the seat I'd
      turned over. She seemed <i>there</i>&#8212;and you may laugh,
      my dear. I laughed, I was so pleased to have Amelia along.
      John doesn't know she came&#8212;Amelia never makes a mite of
      trouble! But everywhere I go she goes, my dear. I shouldn't
      tell you if I didn't feel you'd understand. If he hasn't
      painted it yet, the blue paint is on a shelf in the
      woodhouse, and you can paint it. I'm afraid Jane Cotton's Sam
      won't ever amount to much. Poor Jane!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Thomasia read the letter aloud, and at this point Loraine
      interposed warmly: "Jane Cotton's Sam is abused! It's a shame
      everybody groans over him&#8212;<i>I</i> like him. If there
      isn't a lot of good in him, then I don't know how to read
      human nature, that's all."
    </p>
    <p>
      The next morning very early someone knocked at the kitchen
      door. It was Laura Ann's turn to make the fire, and she
      answered the knock. Jane Cotton's Sam stood on the steps
      outside. He had a mysterious little package in his hand. He
      looked up eagerly, but it was evident from the disappointed
      look on his face that Laura Ann was the wrong girl. And he
      did not know the right one's name!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morning!" nodded Laura Ann, sublimely unconscious of
      the soot-patch over her nose.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-morning. I'd like to see&#8212;I've brought something
      for the one that teaches school."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Loraine? But she isn't up yet&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I am up, too," called a voice overhead, "but I won't be
      long! I'll be <i>down</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a little fish, dressed and ready to fry, that was in
      the tiny bundle. The boy extended it blushingly. Then his
      eyes lifted to Loraine's in frank petition for pardon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was mighty rude," he said. "I went back to the pond to say
      so, but you were gone. I beg your pardon."
    </p>
    <p>
      She liked the tone of his voice and his good red blushes.
      "That's all right," she nodded reassuringly. But he did not
      go away. There was something else.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If&#8212;you know what you said? If you'd offer
      <i>again</i>&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      Loraine glanced over her shoulder. Laura Ann was rattling
      stove-lids at the other end of the kitchen. "I offer
      <i>now</i>," Loraine said in a low voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I accept." The boy's voice was eager. "I'll study like
      everything! I thought about it in the night&#8212;I thought
      I'd like to surprise my mother. If I could get into college
      next year&#8212;" His eyes shone. "Oh I say, I'd do 'most
      anything for that!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The little plan was hurriedly made, in low tones, there on
      Emmeline Camp's little doorsteps. The boy was to take his
      books to the pond where Loraine had caught her fish. He was
      to study there alone for a time every day, and in the
      afternoon she was to stroll that way and go over the work
      with him and set him right in all the wrong places.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was in Latin and mathematics I failed up," Jane Cotton's
      Sam explained.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's Latin and mathematics we'll tackle!" softly laughed
      Loraine. "You wait&#8212;you see&#8212;you <i>grind!</i>"
    </p>
    <p>
      He strode away, whistling, and the tune was full of courage
      and determination. Loraine smiled as she listened. She stood
      a moment, then opened the screen door and went in. The
      "Compact" swung and tilted with the jolt of her energetic
      movements. She adjusted it with a queer little smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      For summer days on summer days the covert, earnest lessons
      went on beside the bit of sunny water. Teacher and pupil
      pored intently over the problems and difficult passages, and
      steadily the pupil's courage grew. The old sullen look had
      vanished&#8212;Jane Cotton's Sam put on manliness and a
      splendid swing to his shoulders. In her heart Loraine
      exulted. What if she were disobeying the Compact&#8212;death
      to the Wicked Compact!
    </p>
    <p>
      Laura Ann suspected, but for reasons of her own kept her own
      counsel. She had begun to suspect, when Jane Cotton's Sam
      brought the little fish. At that time the "reasons of her
      own" had begun to influence her and she had omitted to
      mention to Billy and T.O. that the boy had stood on the
      doorsteps in earnest conversation with Loraine. Mentioning it
      to Billy might not, indeed, have mattered, since Billy was
      already an "outsider." But Loraine might not want T.O. to
      know, anyway.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was significant that Laura Ann, in going in and out, now
      chose to ignore the gayly-illuminated placard that swung on
      the door&#8212;that she herself had adorned and hung there.
      But she did not go in and out as much now; for whole mornings
      she slipped away to a little attic room upstairs and busied
      herself alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was getting grievously near the time to go back to the
      great city again. Emmeline Camp was coming back then.
    </p>
    <p>
      All but T.O. mourned audibly the rapidly lessening days, but
      T.O. made no useless laments. One day she surprised them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Girls, I <i>want</i> to go back!" she announced. "I shall be
      ready when it's time&#8212;now anybody can say what anybody
      pleases. Scoff at me&#8212;do. I expect it! But I'm getting
      homesick to see a street-car and a&#8212;a policeman! It's
      lovely and peaceful here, but I've had my fill of it
      now&#8212;I want to go home and bump into crowds and hear
      big, stirry noises. It's different with you girls&#8212;you
      weren't born in the city; you didn't play with street-cars
      and policemen and get sung to sleep by the noises! I was
      tired&#8212;tired&#8212;and now I'm rested. I've had a
      perfectly beautiful time, but I shall be ready to go back.
      Honestly, girls, it would break my heart not to!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It was so much like T.O., Billy said, to keep all her
      feelings to herself and then suddenly spring them on people
      like that, and take people's breath away. Billy did not keep
      things to herself.
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      Jane Cotton came up the kitchen path one day when all but
      Loraine were sitting on the doorsteps&#8212;Loraine had
      strolled nonchalantly down the street as her afternoon habit
      was.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I've found out!" announced Jane Cotton. She was
      beaming; her sallow face was oddly cleared and
      lighted&#8212;her lips trembled with eagerness to deliver her
      news. "I've <i>found out</i>! Where's the rest o' you?" She
      counted them over. "It's the rest o' you I want&#8212;well,
      you tell her I've found out. Tell her I hardly slept a wink
      last night, I was so happy! Tell her I <i>bless</i> her, and
      I know the Lord will. They didn't want me to know yet but I
      couldn't help finding out. And they won't mind when they know
      how happy it's made me&#8212;oh, I ain't afraid but he'll
      pass this time! I know he will&#8212;I know it! You tell her
      she's saved my boy." And without further delay the slender
      figure turned and walked jubilantly down the path. It was as
      if she marched to the melody of the joy in her heart.
    </p>
    <p>
      They looked at each other silently, then at the Wicked
      Compact behind them. There did not seem any explanation
      needed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Another one dropped," murmured T.O. sighingly. But Laura Ann
      said nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p><a name="CH6"><!-- CH6 --></a>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Laura Ann stole quietly away and went upstairs to the little
      attic room. Close by the window was a rough little easel
      arrangement with a picture on it. Laura Ann stood regarding
      it thoughtfully. "I wonder"&#8212;she smiled at the whimsy of
      the thought&#8212;"I wonder if it looks like Amelia," she
      murmured.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not a wonderful picture. No committee would have hung
      it on a "line." There were rather glaring errors in it of
      draughtsmanship and coloring. But the face of the girl in it
      was appealingly sweet&#8212;brown hair, blue eyes, little
      round chin. Laura Ann had not dared to put in the dimples.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dimples need a master," she said, "besides, they only show
      when you smile, and I don't believe Amelia smiles very
      often!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She sat down and took up a brush. The picture was nearly
      done, but she found touches to be added here and there. There
      might be a stray lock&#8212;there, like that. And a little
      bit more shade under the chin, and the wistful droop of the
      mouth relieved, oh, a very little bit! Amelia looked so
      serious.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor little thing! Well, it's a serious matter to be a
      dream-child, with not an ounce of good red blood in your
      veins."
    </p>
    <p>
      Laura Ann meant to slip back after they had started for the
      station, on the last day, and hang the picture in the little
      sunny dining-room. She did not want the girls to know there
      was a picture. But still&#8212;a new thought had begun to
      obtrude itself unwelcomely. Was painting Amelia's portrait a
      breach, too, of the Compact? She had undertaken it as a
      little "offering" to Mrs. Camp, to show her own individual
      gratitude for her own share of the dear little green cottage
      all these beautiful weeks&#8212;T.O. had said Mrs. Camp had
      longed for a picture. But the fact that it had taken many
      patient hours of work "unto others," was not to be
      overlooked. If it had broken the rules of the Wicked Compact,
      and she went back to the B-Hive without letting the girls
      know of it&#8212;oh, hum! of course that would be another
      "wicked compact"! She would have to let them know&#8212;and
      she didn't want to let them know&#8212;oh, dear!
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly Laura Ann dropped her paints and gave herself up to
      laughter. She had remembered that only T.O.&#8212;Thomasia
      O.&#8212;would be left now in the B-Hive! For all the rest
      had broken the Compact. Thomasia O., living all alone in the
      dear, shabby little rooms, presented a funny picture, for of
      them all she was least fitted to live alone. Even Billy could
      do better.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The rest of us will live together," laughed Laura Ann.
      "There's nothing to prevent that, if we live outside the old
      B-Hive. We'll start a new B-Hive! Poor Thomasia O.!"
    </p>
    <p>
      They would miss T.O. very much indeed&#8212;well, they could
      invite her in to tea and keep her all night! In spite of the
      wicked old Compact, they would keep together. "And we'll
      never," vowed Laura Ann for them all, "sign any more
      nefarious bonds!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She hung the picture of Amelia on the wall when they were all
      away, and then went away herself. She stayed away until
      nearly dark. Thomasia O. went to meet her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I knew it all the time," she said quietly, without preface
      of any kind. "It's a perfect likeness."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You knew it?" said Laura Ann.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I was prowling 'round one day, to see what attics were
      like, and I found Amelia. Only her hair and her eyes, then,
      but I knew her. I'm so glad poor Mrs. Camp will have that
      picture to help her bear her troubles!"
    </p><a name="image-6"><!-- Image 6 --></a>
    <center>
      <img src="images/comp-im6.png" height="581" width="400" alt=
      "THE PICTURE WAS NEARLY DONE.">
    </center>
    <p>
      "Poor"&#8212;"troubles." This was all enigma to Laura Ann.
      But she wisely waited to be enlightened. She had divined the
      moment she saw T.O. that the girl was unusually disturbed.
      This was true.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I've had two letters&#8212;the first one came three weeks
      ago from her brother. I didn't want to spoil your good time,
      telling sad things, so I kept it to myself&#8212;Laura Ann,
      that woman <i>mothered</i> me!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Laura Ann stood still. "Do you mean Mrs. Camp? Is
      she&#8212;dead?" But the other did not seem to hear. She ran
      on in a low, troubled voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She bathed my ankle, and said 'My dear,' and waited on me,
      when she'd never set eyes on me in her life before. How did
      she know but that I was an&#8212;an <i>impostor</i>? And she
      let us have her dear little house to live in&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, yes&#8212;oh, yes, she let <i>me</i> live in it!" Laura
      Ann interposed. "You ought to have told us she was dead."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She isn't dead. She's fallen downstairs and broken her hip.
      The doctor says it's so bad she won't ever walk again without
      crutches, her brother wrote. He said he wanted her to stay
      and live with him, but she wouldn't listen to it. She wanted
      to come home as soon as she possibly could. So she's
      coming&#8212;he's coming with her, to 'start' her."
    </p>
    <p>
      T.O. fingered a letter in her hand in a nervous, undecided
      way, as if she were half inclined to read it to the other
      girl. It was not Emmeline Camp's brother's letter. It had
      come ten days ago, and she herself knew it by heart. How
      many, many times she had read it! She had cried over the
      wistful cry in it, and over Amelia's death&#8212;for the
      letter said that Amelia was dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear," it said, "I've lost Amelia&#8212;you'd think she
      would have stood by her mother in her trouble, wouldn't you?
      But she hasn't been near me since. It seems
      queer&#8212;perhaps after people break their hips they can't
      'feel' anything else but their hips! Perhaps it breaks their
      imaginations. Anyway, Amelia's dead, my dear. Sometimes I
      think mebbe I'd ought to be, too&#8212;a lone little woman
      like me, without a chick or a child. Old women with children
      can afford to tumble downstairs, but not my kind of old
      women. John is real good. He wants me to stay here, but I
      can't&#8212;I can't, I can't, my dear! I've got to be where I
      can limp out to the old pump and the gate and the orchard, on
      my crutches&#8212;I've got to see the old hills I was born
      in, and Old '61 marching past the house, and the old
      neighbors&#8212;I've got to die at <i>home</i>, my dear. So
      John can't keep me. I wish I was going to find you there. I
      keep thinking how beautiful it would be. You'd be out to the
      gate waiting, the way people's daughters wait for them. And
      mebbe you'd have the kettle all hot and we'd have a cup of
      tea together just as if I was the mother and you
      was&#8212;Amelia! All the way home I should be thinking about
      your being there. It's queer, isn't it, you went limping in
      that gate first, and now it's me? A good many things are
      queer, and some are kind of desolate. I've decided, my dear,
      that daughters have to be the kind that are born, to stay by
      a body in trouble. They have to be made of flesh and blood,
      my dear&#8212;and Amelia wasn't!
    </p>
    <p>
      "I've written this a little to a time, laying on my back.
      Mebbe you won't ever read it. Mebbe I won't ever see you
      again, but you will remember, my dear, that I've loved you
      ever since I took off your stocking and saw your poor,
      sprained ankle. If the Lord would perform a miracle for me,
      I'd ask for it to be the bringing of Amelia to life and
      finding her you."
    </p>
    <p>
      T.O. did not show the letter to Laura Ann. She put it in her
      pocket again, and they walked home slowly, talking of Mrs.
      Camp's sad accident. At the supper table it was voted that
      they all write a joint letter of sympathy to her, and
      express, at the same time, their united and separate thanks
      for her kindness to them in lending them her home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Loraine wrote the letter, Laura Ann copied it, they all
      signed it. Into cold pen-and-ink words they tried to diffuse
      warmth and gratitude and sympathy, but the result was not
      very satisfying, as such results rarely are. Still, it was
      all they could do. Billy and Laura Ann went off to mail it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you begin to feel lonesome?" laughed Loraine softly, as
      she and T.O. sat on the steps in the dark. "Thinking of being
      left all alone in the Hive, I mean? The rest of us begin to
      feel lonesome, thinking of being left out! We had a grist of
      good times all together, didn't we? Remember the little
      'treats' when you always brought home olives, and Billy sage
      cheese? Laura Ann used to change about&#8212;sometimes
      eclairs, sometimes sauerkraut! Always sardines for me. Oh,
      <i>do</i> you remember the treat with a capital 'T,' when we
      had ice cream and angel cake? And Billy wanted to divide the
      hole so as not to waste anything&#8212;there, I don't believe
      you've heard a word I said!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She had not, for she was not there. Loraine put out her hand
      in the darkness, but could not find her. She had slipped away
      unceremoniously.
    </p>
    <p>
      She was down in the road, walking fast and hard. The battle
      was on again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought I had it all decided&#8212;I <i>did</i> have! Why
      do I have to decide it over again?" she was saying stormily
      to herself. "I said I'd do it, and I'm going to do
      it&#8212;what am I down here fighting in the dark for?" But
      still she fought on.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was so still about her, and with all her girl's heart she
      longed for noise again&#8212;car-bells and rattling wheels
      and din of men's voices. There were such wide spaces all
      about, and she longed for narrow spaces&#8212;for rows on
      rows of houses and people coming and going. It was the
      city-blood in her asserting itself. She had had her breath of
      space and freedom and green, growing things, and exulted in
      it while it lasted. Now she pined for her native streets. But
      all the sympathy and gratitude in her went out to the little
      old woman who was coming home to a lonely home&#8212;whose
      one dream-child was dead.
    </p>
    <p>
      No one had ever really needed her before&#8212;to be needed
      appealed to her strongly. And in the short time between her
      own coming to Placid Pond and the coming of the other girls,
      a bond of real affection had been established between Mrs.
      Camp and herself.
    </p>
    <p>
      But hadn't she been over all this before? Long ago she had
      decided what to do. Now, suddenly, she wheeled in the dark
      road and went hurrying in the other direction. She would go
      back to Loraine on the doorstep, and laugh and talk. She had
      decided "for good."
    </p>
    <p>
      The stars came trooping out, and she lifted her face to them
      with a new sense of peace. They were such friendly, twinkling
      little stars.
    </p>
    <p>
      T.O. was humming a lilty little tune when she came up the
      path in the starlight and joined Loraine again on the
      doorstep.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other two girls were coming slowly back from the little
      country post office, both to hurry and have the pleasant walk
      over. Billy had been saying nice things about the portrait of
      Amelia they had found hanging on the wall.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a dear!" she said heartily. "I wish I could make a
      picture like that."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You've made one a thousand times better!" cried Laura Ann.
      "I saw it this afternoon."
    </p>
    <p>
      "<i>Me</i>&#8212;make a picture?" Billy's voice was
      incredulous. "I couldn't draw my breath straight!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a beautiful one. I stood still and looked at it. Your
      background was fine, dear&#8212;woods banked against a late
      afternoon sky, with bits of red light straggling through the
      branches, a little box of a house in the foreground, with
      patches of new shingles on the 'cover'; a crooked little
      front path, a funny little well, a little rosebush all a
      flame of color&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mercy!" Billy's little triangle of a face put on alarm. Was
      Laura Ann losing her mind?
    </p>
    <p>
      "But that&#8212;all that&#8212;was only the setting. The
      heart of the picture, dear, was an old man marching up and
      down the path&#8212;did I say it was a moving picture? He was
      whistling a tune in a wheezy way, and keeping step to it
      grandly. Once he seemed to lose a few notes; then he went
      into a little box of a house, and I heard an organ&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh!" breathed Billy, assured of the other's sanity, "you
      mean Old '61 practicing! That's the way he does&#8212;he's
      learning to march through Georgia without the organ, but he
      misses a step or two sometimes. <i>That</i> was the picture,
      was it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was a beautiful one," Laura Ann said softly. "You needn't
      tell me you can't paint, Billy! That's the kind of pictures
      we shall find hanging in the Great Picture Gallery."
    </p>
    <p>
      They walked on for a little in silence, with only the piping
      chorus of the little night creatures in their ears. The
      sweet, cool damp was in their faces.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here we are at Jane Cotton's Sam's," Billy whispered by and
      by, to break the spell. She could not have told why she
      whispered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So we are. Billy, look, he's studying like a trooper! That
      boy is going to walk straight into college in September!
      Let's go straight home and hug Loraine&#8212;come on! Take
      hold of my hand, and we'll run."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wait&#8212;wait! Look, there's another of your pictures,
      Laura Ann!" Billy's lips were close to the other's ear; Billy
      was pointing. Into the little lighted room where Jane
      Cotton's Sam sat poring over a book, had come another figure.
      As they looked, it stopped beside the boy and bent over him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's just the setting&#8212;all that," Laura Ann murmured.
      "The heart of the picture is her face, Billy!" For Jane
      Cotton's face was radiant.
    </p>
    <hr>
    <p>
      The day at last came for their return to the city and to the
      work they were so much better able to do. The little,
      green-painted house was in spotless order to leave behind. As
      Mrs. Camp was to come the following day, they had filled the
      little pantry with food&#8212;not remarkably light cake or
      bread, not especially flaky piecrust, but everything flavored
      with sympathy and gratitude and good will.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Go on, all of you; I'll catch up," Billy said, as they stood
      on the steps with the door locked behind them. "When you get
      out of sight I'm going to kiss the house good-by!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "T.O. had better stay behind with you, to kiss the pump!"
      Loraine said. "Or we'll all stay&#8212;I guess we can all
      find something to kiss."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did anybody think to take down the Wicked Compact?" demanded
      Laura Ann suddenly. "It would be awful to leave that behind."
    </p>
    <p>
      They were at the gate. T.O. stopped suddenly, pointing. What
      they saw was a tiny, tiny mound, rounded symmetrically.
      "There it lies&#8212;I buried it," T.O. said briefly, but
      added, "And let no one keep its grave green!" They looked at
      her a little curiously. Perhaps they were thinking that it
      might have been appropriate for her to take it home with her
      and hang it on the wall to keep her company in the lonely
      little B-Hive. But they only laughed and tramped on
      cheerfully to the station. They were a little late, and had
      to run the last of the way. The train was already in, and
      they scrambled aboard.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, here we are leaving Eldorado!" sighed breathlessly
      Loraine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And all of us heart-broken but T.O.&#8212;girls, where's
      T.O.?"
    </p>
    <p>
      She was not there. The train was getting under way. In a
      flurry they huddled to the windows.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-by! Good-by!" shouted a gay voice from the platform. A
      little white envelope flew in at one of the open windows.
      T.O., quite calm and unexcited, stood out there waving to
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What in the world!" ejaculated Laura Ann, then stopped. For
      she alone could see a little ray of light. "Read the letter,"
      she said more quietly. "The letter will tell us."
    </p>
    <p>
      They all read it together, their heads bunched closely.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear girls, I'm going to stay. I never was needed before,
      but I guess I am now. And maybe you'll think it's funny, but
      I'm <i>wanted</i>! An imaginary daughter can't wait on a poor
      little cripple&#8212;it takes the flesh-and-blood kind. I
      found out she wanted me, and so I'm going to stay. It would
      have been lonesome, anyway, all alone in the Hive! I bequeath
      all my rights to you&#8212;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "As if she had any now, any more than the rest of us!"
      muttered Billy fiercely, her eyes full of tears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sometimes when you're going and coming, some o' you listen
      to the car-wires sing, for me, and the wheels rattle," the
      letter went on. "Bump into somebody sometime for me! Good-by.
      You're all of you dears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Amelia."
    </p>
    <p>
      At the signature they choked a little, and looked away at the
      flying landscape without seeing it at all. Laura Ann saw
      another picture&#8212;a girl waiting at a little gate. Woods
      and dusty road and humble little homes for background, and an
      old stage rattling into view in the foreground. She saw it
      stop&#8212;in the picture&#8212;and a helpless little old
      figure be taken out. She saw the girl at the gate spring
      forward and hold out her hands. But the heart of the picture
      was the face of the little old woman on crutches. It was
      another picture for the Grand Gallery.
    </p>
    <center>
      <img src="images/comp-im7.png" height="56" width="100" alt=
      "[Illustration]">
    </center>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>
    <p>
      &nbsp;
    </p>








<pre>





End of Project Gutenberg's Four Girls and a Compact, by Annie Hamilton Donnell

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUR GIRLS AND A COMPACT ***

***** This file should be named 9505-h.htm or 9505-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/9/5/0/9505/

Produced by Joel Erickson, David Garcia and PG Distributed Proofreaders
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law 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. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.

START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
1.E.8.

1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country outside the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

  This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
  most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the
  United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
  are located before using this ebook.

1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
provided that

* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
  the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
  you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
  to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
  agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
  within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
  legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
  payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
  Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
  Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
  Literary Archive Foundation."

* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
  you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
  does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
  License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
  copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
  all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
  works.

* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
  any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
  electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
  receipt of the work.

* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
  distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
www.gutenberg.org



Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

For additional contact information:

    Dr. Gregory B. Newby
    Chief Executive and Director
    gbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. 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>

</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-05-07 04:27:31 +0000