“Well, even pretty hats are not immune from accidents, and you saw yourself that it was an accident—pure and simple.”

A half hour later all the trunks had been packed, and the two Dalton girls sat in their little room exchanging confidences and making all sorts of school-girl promises of writing often, and sending pretty cards, besides having photographs taken of which to make especially affectionate remembrances.

“I’ll send you one just as soon as I get to Buffalo,” Tavia declared, holding Dorothy very close, for the latter seemed much inclined to cry as the hour of parting drew near.

“But it will be so lonely in North Birchland without you,” persisted Dorothy, with a sob. “I do wish you would give up that trip to Buffalo.”

Tavia assured her chum that it would be impossible as she had promised Grace Barnum to go to her home to visit her.

Dorothy finally jumped up and made an effort to pull herself together. She went over to the dresser and picked up a book.

“Is this yours?” she began, and then stopped suddenly. It was a gust of wind that had blown up the thin strip of muslin covering the top of the dresser and revealed the little red book. It had been concealed there and, as Dorothy took it up she saw on the cover:

HOW TO ACT The Beginner’s Guide.

Tavia was at the other end of the room and did not at once see the book in Dorothy’s hand.

“Did you—do you—want—this?” Dorothy stammered, again holding the volume out toward Tavia.

A deep flush instantly came over Tavia’s face. Dorothy was watching her with a look—a look at once pleading and full of sadness.

Tavia put out her hand for the book.

“Oh, that funny little leaflet,” she tried to say as if it were a joke. “I suppose I might just as well take it, but it’s full of the worst sort of nonsense. Let me show you—”

“Oh, no; don’t bother,” replied Dorothy, rather stiffly. “But that seems a queer sort of a book to take home from boarding school. Hadn’t you better destroy it, as you say it is all nonsense?”

The red covers of the pamphlet fluttered in Tavia’s hand. The flush on her cheeks threatened to match the hue of the book and told its own guilty 

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