“I fished a cushion or two out of my box,” said Cathalina Van Buskirk, neatly aiming one at Hilary, who was sitting on the grass. Hilary caught it, gave it a pat and settled down upon it, her hands clasped over her knees. Evelyn Calvert caught another one. Betty was already curled upon the rug and there Cathalina also sat down. Juliet Howe had recently arrived and was exchanging the summer’s experiences with Pauline Tracy, her nearest chum. Isabel Hunt’s soft curls were no less curly than they had been, her cheeks no less rosy. If she and Avalon Moore were somewhat younger than the other girls of this group, they were no less at home.

“I’d like to take a snap-shot of you girls,—all talking at once,” remarked Isabel, raising her voice that it might be heard above the chatter. “Did you ever see that picture Hilary took last year of Avalon and me? We didn’t know she was ready and were arguing about something. There we are in the picture, Avalon looking at me, and I at Avalon, for all the world like the elocution class, or Lilian making ‘tones,’ jaws dropped and mouths opened. If you want to see it, look at Hilary’s album. We couldn’t persuade her not to put it in. She has us along with the other specimens, the janitor’s lame duck and Micky’s parrot.”

“Where’s Lilian, Hilary?” inquired Betty.

“There she comes,” replied Hilary, waving a languid hand, “leading a forlorn hope.”

The girls watched Lilian, who was approaching, arm in arm, with a “new girl,” a plainly dressed one, apparently younger than Lilian.

“She was crying in her room when Lilian heard her and went to the rescue,” Hilary explained in a lower tone to the girls near her, “You know Lilian.”

“Yes, and if it hadn’t been Lilian, it would have been Hilary,” added Isabel.

By this time Lilian had arrived and found a vacant place on the steamer rug, drawing her companion down with her.

“This is Margaret Hope, girls, from—North Dakota, isn’t it, Margaret? Now you girls can go on talking if you want to, while I tell her all about you and who you are.”

“I like that, Margaret,” said Isabel pleasantly. “No telling how she will describe us, under cover of the conversation.”

“I don’t believe you need worry,” replied Margaret, feeling very shy and awkward in their midst.

“She has 

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