FOUR GIRLS AND A COMPACT

By Annie Hamilton Donnell

1908. 

CHAPTER I. 

"Wait for T. O. , " commanded Loraine, and of course they waited. Loraine'scommands were always obeyed, Laura Ann said, because her name was such a_queeny_ one. Nobody else in the little colony--the "B-Hive"--had aqueeny name. 

"Though I just missed it, " sighed Laura Ann. "Think what a little stepfrom Loraine to Laur' Ann! I always just miss things. "

T. O. Was apt to be late. She never rode, and, being short, was not aremarkable walker. To-night she was later than usual. The three othergirls got into kimonos and slippers and prepared tea. In all their mindsthe Grand Plan was fomenting, and it was not easy to wait. A cheergreeted T. O. As she came in, wet and weary and cheerful. 

"You're overdue, my dear, " Loraine said severely. But of course T. O. Laughed and offered a weak pun:

"The 'dew' is over me, you mean! Oh, girls, this looks too cozy foranything in here! All the way up town I've been blessing you three fortaking me in. "

Said Laura Ann: "If I were pun-mad, like some folks, I could dosomething quite smart there. But there, you poor, wet dear! You sha'n'tbe outdone in your specialty, no you sha'n't! Get off your things quick, dear--we're all bursting to talk about the Grand Plan. "

It was, after all, Billy that started in. Billy was very tired indeed, and her lean, eager face was pale. 

"Girls, we _must!_" she said. "I can't hold out more than a fewweeks more. I shall be a mental wreck and go 'round muttering, _one_-two--three--four, _one_--two--three--four--flat your b's, sharp your c's--one--two--three--four--_play!_" For Billy all daytoiled at pianos, teaching unwilling little persons to play. Billy'slong name was Wilhelmina. 

They were all toilers--worker-B's. The "B" part of the name which theyhad given to the little colony came from the accident of all theirsurnames beginning with that letter--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. 

Laura Ann finished negatives part of the day to earn money to learn topaint the other part. She was poor, but the same good grit that made herloyal to her old grandmother's name, unshortened and unbeautified, gaveher courage to work on toward the distant goal. 

Loraine taught--"just everlastingly taught, " she said, until she coulddo 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 patientreiteration. She was very tired, too. The rest of the long June daysstretched ahead of her in weary perspective. 

That these three had drifted together in the great city was sufficientlycurious, but more curious yet was the "drifting together" of T. O. --aplain little clerk in a great department store. She, herself, humblyacknowledged that she did not seem to "belong, " but here she was, divesting herself of her wet wraps and getting ready for tea in the tinyflat. Handkerchiefs, initialed, "warranted, "--uninitialed, unwarranted--were behind her and ahead, but between she forgot theirexistence and took her comfort. 

"Well?" she said presently. "I'm ready. " They sat down to the simplelittle meal without further delay and with the first mouthfuls openedagain the rather time-worn discussion. Could they adopt the Grand Plan?Oh, _couldn't_ they? To get out of the hot, teeming city andbreathe air enough and pure enough, to luxuriate in idleness, to_rest_--to a girl, they longed for it. They were all orphans, andthey were all poor. The Grand Plan was ambitious, indefinite, but theycould not give it up. They had wintered it and springed it, and clungto it through bright days and dark. 

Suddenly Loraine tapped sharply on the table. "All in favor of spendingthe summer in the country say 'aye, '" she cried, "and say it hard!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"Aye!"

"_Aye_!" appended Loraine, and said it hard. "It's a vote, " sheadded calmly. Then, staring at each other, they sat for a little withrather frightened faces. For this thing that they had done was rather astupendous thing. T. O. Recovered first--courage was as the breath of herlittle lean nostrils. 

"Girls, this is great!" she laughed. "_We've gone and done it!_There's nothing left but to pack our trunks!"

"Except a few last trifles, such as deciding where to go and what to payfor it with, " put in Laura Ann with soft irony. "We could decide thosethings on the train, I suppose--"

"Let's decide 'em on the spot, " rejoined T. O. Imperturbably. "Somebodypropose something. "

Here Billy was visited with one of her inspirations and promptly sharedit with her usual generosity. "We must hunt up a place to--er--'bunk'in--just bunk and board ourselves. Of course we can't afford to_be_ boarded--"

"Of course, " in chorus. 

"Well, then, one of us must go out into the waste places--oh, anywherewhere the grass has room to grow and there are trees and birds and_barns_--I stipulate barns. " Billy made a splendid, comprehensivegesture that took in all the points of the compass impartially. "Oneof us must take a few days off and go and hunt up a nice, inexpensivelittle Eldorado for us. There!--there, my friends, you have thesolution of your knotty little problem in a nutshell. I gladly givemy 'services' free. "

"Who's going?" demanded practical Laura Ann. "Does anybody kindlyvolunteer?"

No volunteers. Silence, broken only by the chirp of the cheery littleteakettle. The immense responsibility of setting the Grand Plan inmotion was not to be lightly assumed. The utter vagueness of Billy's"waste places" was dismaying, to say the least. There might be manynice, inexpensive little Eldorados waiting to be "bunked" in andpicnicked in, but where? The world was full of places where there weretrees and birds and barns, but to pick out the particular one wherefour tired-out young toilers could lay down their tools and rest_inexpensively_, looked like a big undertaking. 

Billy had settled back in her chair with an air of having done her partand washed her hands of further responsibility. The rest must do theirparts now. Billy, who was the youngest and frailest of the little colonyof workers, had fallen into the way of dropping asleep wheneveropportunity offered; she did so now with a little sigh of contentment. Her girlish face against the faded crimson back of the chair lookedstartlingly white. In her sleep she moved her lips and the others caughta pathetic little "_one_-two-three-four" dropping from them. PoorBilly! She was giving a music lesson in her dreams!

Loraine made a little paper shade and shielded her pale face from thelight, and Laura Ann tilted the clumsy patent rocker backward andtrigged it with a book. Both their faces, tired, too, and pale, weresweet with kindness. T. O. , who did queer and unexpected things, wentround the table on her toes and kissed Billy's forehead openly. Her facehad a puckering frown on it, oddly at variance with the kiss and withthe look in her eyes. The kiss and the look were the things thatmattered--the frown was a thing of insignificance. 

"You poor little blessed!" she murmured. 

"'Flat your b, '" murmured Billy wearily, and no one laughed. They wereall laughers, but the picture of Billy toiling on monotonously in hersleep failed to appeal to them as humorous. T. O. Went back silently toher seat. 

What the initials T. O. Stood for in the way of a name had been thesubject of much guessing in the B-Hive, for the owner of the initialsrefused whimsically to explain them. Perhaps she would sometime when themoon was full or the wind was in the right quarter, she said. MeanwhileT. O. Did well enough--as well as "Billy, " anyway, or "Laura Ann"! Andthey fell in gayly with her whimsy and called her T. O. The nearest theyhad ever come to an answer to their guesses was one night when they hadbeen discussing "talents" and comparing "callings, " and T. O. Had sat by, a wistful little listener and admirer. For T. O. Had no talent, and whowould call selling handkerchiefs from morning till night a "calling"?Even sheer, fine handkerchiefs, warranted every thread linen!

"Talentless One, " she broke out startlingly. "You want to know what'T. O. ' stands for--that's it!" And the amused look in the girls' eyeschanged quickly to understanding at sight of her face. "Well, " shechallenged, "why don't you say what an appropriate name it is? It's awonder you _talented_ ones didn't guess it long ago! Listen!Loraine's talent is writing--we all know she'll be an author some day. Laura Ann's is art. Oh, you needn't laugh--need she, girls? One of thesedays we're all going to a 'hanging, ' and _it'll be Laura Ann's!_Billy's talent everybody knows. She can play wicked folks good, ifthere's a piano handy. Well, what is my talent? Don't everybody speak atonce!" The girl's flushed face defied them. It was bitter with longingto be a Talented One. 

[Illustration: "YOU POOR LITTLE BLESSED!" SHE MURMURED. ]

"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 withcool fingers. "Dear, don't you worry--your talent is _there. _"

"Where?" demanded T. O. Then she laughed. "I suppose you mean buried ina handkerchief! But I shall never be able to dig it out--never! There'ssuch an awful pile of them on top! They keep piling on new ones everyday. If I keep on selling handkerchiefs till I'm seventy-five, I'llnever get down to my talent. "

It was, after all, quite true, though none of them would acknowledgeit--except the Talentless One herself. She was, as she insisted, the oddone 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 anindefinable something that she called talent, and she was not far wrong. A subtle refinement, intellectuality, asserted itself gently in allthree of them. The dark little face of T. O. Was vivacious and keen, butnot refined or intellectual. 

Billy was the baby "B, " as Loraine was the acknowledged queen. They allfavored Billy and took care of her. Was it a rainy morning? Somebody gotBilly's rubbers, somebody else her umbrella! Was the child paler thanusual? She must have the softest chair and be babied. Poor littletoiler-Billy, created to have a mother and a home, to sit always in softchairs and be taken care of! Yet without them all she was making asplendid struggle for independence, with the best of them, and they wereconscious of a certain element of heroism in her toiling that none ofthe rest of them laid claim to in their own. The other B. 's were proudof Billy. 

T. O. Was as small and thin as Billy, but no one thought of taking careof T. O. Or babying her. Instead, T. O. --the Talentless One--took care ofthem all. She had always been a toiler, always been alone, and to therest it was comparatively a new experience. T. O. , as she herself said, was able to give them all "points. "

While tired Billy slept to-night, the Grand Plan discussion was taken upagain and entertained with new enthusiasm. It was now a definite Plan, since they had voted unanimously to adopt it--it was no longer merelya unanimous wish, to be bandied about longingly. It remained only tochoose a brave soul to go forth and find for it a "local habitation. "

"When Billy wakes up, we'll draw lots, " Loraine decided gently. "The onewho gets the longest slip _will go_--but mercy! I hope I sha'n't bethe one! Girls, there really ought to be one to--er--oversee the drawingof the lots--"

"Hear! Hear!" from T. O. 

"You will take your chances with the common herd, my dear, " Laura Annsaid firmly. "You really need not be alarmed, though, for I shall drawthe fatal slip. I always do. Then I shall go up-country and engage fourboards at a nice white house with green blinds, and forget to ask howmuch they will cost--the 'boards, ' I mean--and whether they'll takeBilly at half-price. You'll all like my white house, but you won't beable to stay more than one night on account of the expense. So you'llturn me out of the B-Hive and I shall--"

"Oh, don't do anything else--don't!" T. O. Groaned. "That will be doingenough. "

"We shall have to find a _very_ cheap place, " Loraine said, thoughtfully, too intent on the fate of the Grand Plan to listen topleasantries. "Somewhere where it won't cost much of anything. "

"Such an easy place to find!" murmured Laura Ann. "I see myself goingstraight to it!"

"We've _got_ to go to it, on account of--" Loraine nodded towardthe sleeping little figure in the softest chair. "Girls, Billy is allworn out. "

"So are you, " Laura Ann said tenderly. 

"And you, " retorted Loraine. 

The Talentless One, unintentionally left out, sighed an infinitesimalsigh, preparatory to smiling stoutly. 

"Of course we're going to find the right place, " she said convincingly. "You wait and see. _I_ see it now"--this dreamily; it was odd forthe Talentless One to be dreaming. "It looks this way: Green, grassy andpine-woodsy and roomy. And cornfields--think of it!"

"'Woods and cornfields--the picture must not be over-done, '" quotedsoftly and a little accusingly Laura Ann. But the Talentless One hadnever heard of Miss Cary's beautiful poem, and went on calmly:

"And a--pump. Girls, if _I_ find the 'Eldorado, ' there'll be apump--painted blue!"

Here Billy woke up. There was no time to discountenance the pump. 

"Why, I believe I've been asleep!" Billy laughed restedly. "And I'vebeen somewhere else, too. Guess!"

"To Eldorado, " someone ventured. 

"Well, I have. It was the loveliest place! There weren't any pianos orschools or photograph salons or _handkerchiefs_ in it!"

"Then we'll go there!" the Talentless One cried. 

Loraine was busy cutting strips of paper. She cut four of varyinglengths and dropped them into an empty cracker-box. 

"Somebody shake them up, everyone shut her eyes and draw one, " sheordered. "And the person that draws the longest slip must be the oneto find our Eldorado. "

They shut their eyes and fumbled in the cracker-box. The room was oddlyquiet. Laura Ann, who always drew the fatal slip, breathed a littlehard. 

But the lot fell to the Talentless One. 

CHAPTER II. 

"Why, I didn't get it!" exclaimed Laura Ann, in surprise. "And maybe I'mnot thankful! Poor T. O. !"

"Yes, poor T. O. !" agreed Loraine and Billy. The honor of drawing thelongest slip was not, it appeared, a coveted one. But T. O. Actuallybeamed!

"Needn't anyone pity me!" she said, briskly. "I like it! You see, " sheadded, explanatorily, "I never did anything remarkable before! Of courseI 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 trustme--"

"We do! We do!" Loraine said, warmly, speaking for them all. "And wepity you, too, poor dear! It looks like an awful undertaking to me. "

"How long can you take? Are you sure they'll let you get off down atTorrey's?" asked Billy, languidly. 

"Oh, " the Talentless One said, calmly, "I shall get a substitute, ofcourse. They let the girls do that, if the substitute suits 'em. There'sa girl that used to be at the handkerchief counter that will be gladenough to earn a little money, I know. She'll be tickled! And she cankeep the place open for me when I get back from the country in thefall--" Suddenly the Talentless One laughed out joyously. "Hear me!'When I get back from the country!' Doesn't that sound splendid! Makesme think of cows and chickens and strawberries and--"

"Pumps painted blue!" laughed Laura Ann. "We're in for a blue pump, girls!"

 * * * * *

The substitution at the handkerchief counter could not be arrangedfor at once, so the proposed voyage of discovery was a little delayed. Meanwhile the Grand Plan and a newly-born family of lesser plansoccupied the interim of waiting. One thing they all agreed upon. It was tired little Billy who voiced it. 

"We won't be good this summer, will we? I've been good so long thatI want to rest!"

"It would seem comfortable not to have to be, wouldn't it?" Lorainelaughed. As if Loraine could rest from being good! "Not to have to doanything for anybody--just be good to yourself! Now, I call that theluxury of selfishness! And really, girls, we deserve one littleluxury--"

"We'll indulge ourselves, " T. O. Nodded gravely. "I'm sure I've beenpolite to people and patient with people long enough to have avacation--a summer vacation!"

"Give me a paper and pencil, somebody, quick!" This from Laura Ann. She fell to scribbling industriously. The purring of her pencil overthe paper had a smooth, wicked sound as if it were writing wicked things. It was. 

"Be it known, " read Laura Ann, flourishing her pencil, "that we, theundersigned, having endeavored, up to the present, to be good, considerourselves entitled to be selfish during our summer vacation. That wemean to be selfish--that we herewith swear to be! That we do not mean to'do good unto' anybody except ourselves! Inasmuch as we have faithfullytried to do our several duties hitherto, we feel justified in restingfrom the same until such time as we may--er--wish to begin again. 

"Furthermore, resolved: That any or all persons hereunto subscribed, whofail to keep the letter of this compact, be summarily _dropped!_"

(Signed) "LAURA ANN BYERS. "

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 thehead of the paper. 

"The Wicked Compact!" read Billy over her shoulder, and noddedagreeingly. "That's a good name for it. Doesn't it make you feel lovelyand shuddery to belong to a Wicked Compact! Oh, you needn't think Ishall go back on the rules and regulations! If somebody gets down on hisknees and implores, 'Which note shall I flat?' I shall turn coldly away, or else say, 'Suit yourself, my dear!' But, girls, oh girls, I hopethere won't be any pianos in Eldorado!"

"Probably there will be only cabinet organs--don't worry, dear!" soothedLaura Ann. 

 * * * * *

The day after the Wicked Compact was drawn up and signed, T. O. Startedon her quest for Eldorado. She would have no one escort her to thestation; she would give no intimation of her plans. They were all towait as patiently as possible till she came back. It was only becauseshe had to, poor child, that she accepted the contributions of theothers toward her expenses of travel. 

At the station she straightened her short stature to its utmost andapproached the ticket window. She might have been, from her splendiddignity of manner, six feet instead of five. 

"Will you please tell me which road is the cheapest to travel on?" sheasked, clearly, undismayed outwardly, inwardly quailing before theticket man's amazement. His curious eyes surveyed her through the littleopening. 

"Why--er--well, there's the most competition on the X & Y Road, " hesaid, slowly. "The rates on that line are about down to the limit--"

"Thank you, " the dignified one said, and turned away. She found the timetable of the X & Y Road on the station wall, and studied itthoughtfully. She had resolved to select the place with the mostpromising name. Back at the ticket window she patiently waited her turnin a little stream of people. The woman ahead of her was flourishing adainty, embroidered handkerchief, and she wondered idly if it had comefrom her counter at Torrey's. If so, why was it not a little white flagof truce that gave her a right to say "How do you do?" to the woman?The Talentless One suddenly felt a little lonely. 

"Ticket to Placid Pond, please, " she said, when her turn came. The verysound of the peaceful little name gave her courage. Placid Pond! PlacidPond! Could any place be more indicative of rest? Then she bethought herof the Wicked Compact, and felt almost impelled to hand back theticket--Placid Pond could not be the right place to be bad in!

But it was too late!

"Two-twenty, " the ticket man said, monotonously, and she fumbled in herlean, little purse. To Placid Pond she would go, and, if there werebarns and cornfields and a blue-painted pump--the thrill of expectancyran through her veins, and she forgot the Wicked Compact. 

The Talentless One had never glided through green places like thisbefore, between slow, clear little streams, by country children wavingtheir hats. She had never seen far, splendid reaches of hills, undulating softly against the sky. Wonder and delight filled her. Shefound herself envying the little, brown children who waved their hats. 

"It's pretty, ain't it?" a fresh, old voice said in her ear. When sheturned, it was to look into a fresh, old face behind her. 

"Ain't it a pretty world the Lord's made? The 'firmament showeth hishandiwork, ' don't it? Where are you going to, deary?"

"A place called Placid Pond, " answered the girl, smiling back. 

"_No?_ Well, I declare! That's where Emmeline Camp lives that was aJones an' spelt out o' my spellin'-book! If you see Emmeline, you tellher you saw me on the cars. Emmeline and I have always kep' up ourinterest in each other. She'll be tickled--you tell her I've learnt thatleaf-stitch at last! She'll understand!"

The thin, old voice tinkled on pleasantly in the Talentless One's ears. 

"Come back here an' set with me, deary, an' I'll tell you which house isEmmeline's, so, if you go past, you'll know it--it's painted green! Didyou ever! But Emmeline was always set on green. She was married in agreen silk, an' we girls said she married a green husband!"

T. O. Laughed enjoyingly. She began to feel acquainted with Emmeline, andto hope she should find the green house--perhaps it would be theEldorado house! Wonders happened sometimes. 

"I don't suppose--there isn't a blue pump, is there? I've set my hearton a blue pump!" she laughed, as if the little, old woman who knewEmmeline would understand. The little, old woman smiled delightedly--asif she understood!

"Dear land, no! I hope Emmeline ain't painted her pump blue--and herlivin' in a green house! But she'd go out an' do it--it would be justlike 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!"

The Talentless One buttoned her jacket and clutched her little blackbag. 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 behinda counter nearly all her days, an Adventure began with a capital A. The train slowed up and stood panting--in a hurry to go again. 

"Oh, I wish you were going to get out here!" T. O. Said, wistfully. 

The little, old woman seemed like an old friend to her. She felt oddlyyoung and inexperienced. Then, remembering the girls left behind in theB-Hive and their confidence in her, she threw up her small head andhurried away valiantly. 

"Good-by!" she called back, from the bit of platform outside. 

"Good-by! Give my love to Emmeline!" nodded and beamed the little, oldface in the car window. 

It was a tiny place. T. O. Could see only the great, placid sheet ofwater and the diminutive station at first. She accosted the only humanbeing in sight. 

"Which way is the city--village, I mean?" she asked. 

He was an old man and held a scooped palm behind his ear. 

"Eh?"

"The village--please direct me to it. "

"Well, " he laughed good-humoredly, "all the village they is you'llstrike yonder, " pointing. "You keep a-goin', an' you'll git thar!"

She thanked him and set out courageously. She kept "a-goin'. " Thecountry road was shady and dusty and sweet with mystic, unseen, growingthings. Her feet, used to hard pavements, sank into the soft dustluxuriously. She breathed deep and swung along at a splendid pace. Itwas hard to believe that she was a clerk at Torrey's! There did not seemto have ever been handkerchiefs in the world--even all-linen, warrantedones!

"This is Eldorado!" she said aloud, and was proud of herself for findingit so soon--coming straight to it! Lucky she had been the one to drawthe longest strip. 

She passed one or two houses, but none of them were painted green. Shesaid to herself she would keep on to "Emmeline's" house. The whim hadseized her and was holding on tight that Emmeline's might be the RightPlace. So she swung on buoyantly. 

[Illustration: "WHICH WAY IS THE VILLAGE?" SHE ASKED. ]

A stone wall bordered the road on one side, and over the wall she spieda 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 daintyand sweet and beckoned to her. She paused an instant uncertainly, andthen climbed the wall. It was rather an arduous undertaking for a clerkat a handkerchief counter, and she went about it clumsily. The wall washigh and the stones "jiggled" in a terrifying way. One big stone climbeddown on the other side with her--they went together unceremoniously. 

The Talentless One laughed a little under her breath as she sat up amongthe 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. Itrequired considerable strength to roll it off--then she got up. Then shesank down again very suddenly. 

"Oh!" she cried, sharply. For several moments she said nothing more, didnothing 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 painwere telegraphed all over her body. She sat, a sorry little heap, amongthe stranger flowers that had brought about her ruin. The roadwaystretched dustily and emptily up and down, on the other side of thewall. 

"Oh!" breathed the Talentless One. It had been a sigh before, now it wasa groan. What was she to do? A sort of terror seized her. She had neverbeen really frightened before. The beautiful country about her no longerwas beautiful. It was no longer Eldorado to her. 

Then she discovered a green fleck down the road, a different green fromthe grass and trees. If it should be Emmeline's house--if she could getto it!

"I must!" she said, and hobbled to her feet. Somehow she got over thewall, and went stumbling toward the green spot. The agony in her footincreased every moment; she grew dizzy with it. 

It must be Emmeline's house--a little, green-painted one beside theroad! There could not be two green houses in Placid Pond. With a longbreath of relief she got to the door. After that she did not knowanything for a little time, then her eyes opened. Someone with a kind, anxious face was bending over her. It was Emmeline! It looked like theface of an old friend to the poor, little Talentless One. 

"There, there, poor dear! Never mind where you be, or who I be--you'tend right to gettin' out o' your faint! Sniff this bottle--there!You'll be all right in a minute. It's your foot, ain't it? It's allswollen up--how'd you sprain it?"

She had the injured foot in her tremulous old hands, gently looseningthe shoe. The girl, though she winced with pain, did not utter a sound. 

"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 willdoctor you up. "

And the girl, looking up into the peaceful old "lineaments, " smiledfaintly, and knew there was healing in them. Even in her throbbing painshe could think of this new pun that she would regale the girls withwhen she got back to them--if she ever got back!

"You are 'Emmeline, ' aren't you!" she presently questioned, feebly, likean old woman, for the pain seemed to have made her old. "I'm so glad youare Emmeline!"

Poor dear, she was wandering in her mind, and no wonder, with a footswollen up like that! It was queer, though, hitting on the right namein that way. 

"There! there! Yes, I am Emmeline, though I might've been Sophia orDebby Jane! Namin' people is sort o' accidental. I always wished they'dnamed me somethin' prettier by accident! But I guess Emmeline will haveto do. "

It was long after this before any explanation was made. The fact thatit was Emmeline was enough for those first hours. 

"Now, you kind of bear on to yourself, poor dear! This boot has got tocome off!" the kind voice crooned. But, in the awful process of "bearingon, " the Talentless One shot out into the dark, as if pushed by a heavyhand. How long it was before she came back into the light she did notknow--it seemed to be a point of light that pricked her eyes. She shutthem against it, and longed to drift away again; the dark had been cooland pleasant. 

It was a lighted lamp on a tiny, round table. She found it out the nexttime she opened her eyes. She was in a little bedroom, on the bed. Thedoor was open, and a voice drifted in to her:

"She was coming to beautifully when I left her. I thought mebbe she'dfeel 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 walkagain this one while--"

"But, Emmeline Camp, what are you going to do with her all that time?"The second voice was a little shrill. 

"Sh! I'm goin' to doctor her up, just as if she was the little girl theLord never gave me. I've always known what I'd do if my little girlbroke anything--There! you'll have to excuse me, Mrs. Williams, whileI take this cup o'tea in. "

It is odd how many little confidences can be exchanged in the time ofcooling and drinking a cup of tea. The caller had gone away, and the oldwoman and the girl were left alone. Little by little the story of theB-Hive and the quest for an Eldorado came out. Emmeline Camp sat andnodded, and clandestinely wiped her eyes. 

"I see--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--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 mylittle Amelia's foot! I've always known what I'd do if she sprainedhers, and so I did it to yours, deary!"

"Is Amelia your daughter?"

The old face wavered between a smile and tears. "Yes, " she nodded, "butshe 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 patchworktogether, ever since she grew up. When she was little--there, deary, hear me run on! But you remind me so much of Amelia. You can laugh justas much as you want to at me runnin' on like this about a little girlthat warn't ever born--mebbe laughin' will help your foot. "

She took up the empty cup and went away, but she came back and stood aminute in the doorway. 

"There's this about it, " she laughed, in a tender, little way, "if shewarn't ever born, she won't ever die. I sha'n't lose Amelia!"

 * * * * *

To the three girls waiting at the B-Hive came a letter. They read it, three heads in a bunch:

"Eldorado, June 26. 

"Come whenever you want to. Directions enclosed. "

CHAPTER III. 

There was a postscript. It was like T. O. To put the most of the letterinto the postscript. 

"P. S. --Never call me the Talentless One again" (as if they ever had!), "when I came straight to the Eldorado--tumbled right into it. I'vedecided to stay here until you come--please tell my substitute so. Iknow she'll be so glad she'll throw up her hat. Bring your sheets andpillow-cases. Come by way of the X. & Y. R. R. To a place called PlacidPond. "

The three readers, bunched together over the letter, uttered a cry ofdelight. "Placid Pond!"--of all the dear, delightful, placid names! Thevery look of it on paper was restful; it _sounded_ restful when yousaid it over and over--"Placid Pond. Placid Pond. Placid Pond. "

"Oh, she's a dear--she's an _artist!_" cried Laura Ann, whomeasured all things by their relationship to art. This was an owncousin!

"Read on--somebody hold the letter still!" Billy cried excitedly. Andthey read on: "Take the only road there is to take, and keep on to ahouse that's painted green. It will be Emmeline's house, though theymight have named her Sophia, she says, by accident. But you will be gladshe is Emmeline. She has a beautiful daughter that never was born andnever will die--oh, girls, come as quick as ever you can!"

Yours, "The Talented One. "

"P. S. No. 2. --Don't climb any stone walls. The stones are not stuck on. "

For a tiny space the three girls looked at each other in silence. Theletter in Loraine's hand was a masterpiece, full of enticing mysteriesthat beckoned to them to come and find the "answers. " What kind of anEldorado was this that was called Placid Pond, and was full ofmysteries? How could they wait! They must pack up and go at once!

"'Talented One, ' indeed!--she's a genius! See how she's left us to guessthings, instead of explaining them all out in a nice, tame way--oh, _girls_"--Laura Ann's eyes shone--"won't we have the greatesttime!"

"What I want to know is, who is Emmeline--"

"Yes, who is Emmeline?"

"And who _can_ her daughter _be_? She sounds so lovely and ghostly!"

"Everything sounds lovely and ghostly. When can we go, girls?" This frompractical Loraine. "_I_ can't till after the Fourth. "

"Nor I, " groaned Billy, dolefully. 

"I could, but I shall not--I shall wait for you two, " Laura Ann saidquietly. 

Loraine turned upon her. "You needn't, " she said, "now that you'vesigned the compact--you can do whatever you _want_ to now, youknow. Needn't think of anybody but yourself. "

"The privilege of being selfish doesn't begin till we get to Eldorado, "laughed Laura Ann. "You'll see what I do then!"

It was arranged that they should start on the fifth of July. "With oursheets and pillow-cases, " appended Billy. No one thought of writing toT. O. For further particulars. No one wanted further particulars. Theuncertainly and mystery that enveloped Eldorado was its greatest charm. They speculated, to be sure, at odd moments, as to the identity of theperson who might have been Sophia but was Emmeline, and they wrestled alittle with the hidden meaning of Postscript Number Two. Why were theyespecially bidden not to climb stone walls? And _why_ was theTalented One "staying over" till they came?

"Why? Why? Why?" chanted Billy, "but don't anybody dare to guess why!Who wants to know!"

"Not me!" echoed ungrammatically Laura Ann. 

While they waited and speculated mildly, and packed and repacked theirthings, T. O. Lay on the bed in Emmeline Camp's little bedroom and wincedwith pain whenever she moved her wounded foot. But she was very happy. "Peace is in my soul, if not my _sole!_" she thought, a slave stillto the punning habit. She had never been so peaceful in her life. Thelittle old woman who had befriended her bustled happily in and out ofthe little bedroom. She bathed and rubbed the swollen ankle, and smiledand chattered to the girl at the other end of it. Her "lineaments" wereworking a cure, surely. 

It had all been decided upon. The B-Hive was to be transplanted for thesummer to the little, green-painted house trailed over withmorning-glory vines and roses. Emmeline Camp had wanted, she said, forforty years, to go upon a long journey, to visit her brother. Here washer chance. The small sum she had at last consented to be paid for theuse of her little house would pay her traveling expenses one way, atleast, 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. 

"I've kind of hankered to go to see John all these years. Forty years isquite a spell to hanker, isn't it? But I never felt like leaving thehouse behind, and I couldn't take it along very conveniently, so Istayed to home. And then--my dear, you can laugh as well as not, butI didn't like to leave Amelia. "

"But you might have taken her with--"

"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-gloriesand roses. I'd have had to leave Amelia if I'd gone, and it didn't seemright. "

"But now--"

"Now, " the little, old woman laughed in her odd, tender way that "wentwith" Amelia, "now she'll have plenty of young company--all o' you herewith her. I shall make believe she's coming and going with you, andit'll be a sight of comfort. Yes, deary, I guess this is going to be mychance to visit John. "

"And our chance to have a summer in the country, " completed the TalentedOne. "Oh, I think you are--_dear_! Whatever will the other girlssay when I tell them about you!"

One day T. O. Remembered the blue pump. She gazed out of the window atthe brown one in the little yard. "Who would have thought, " she sighed, "that I could be so happy without a blue pump!"

"What's that, deary?" The little, old woman was sewing patchwork near by. 

"Oh, " laughed the girl, "I always _did_ want a pump that waspainted blue. I saw a picture of one once when I was a little mite, andit impressed me--such a lovely, bright blue! I thought it wentbeautifully with the green grass! But I can get along without it, Iguess. "

"We have to get along without having things painted to suit us, " noddedthe little, old woman philosophically. But she remembered the blue pump. There was a can of paint out in the shed room, and there was JaneCotton's Sam. 

Jane Cotton's Sam was a "feature" of Placid Pond--a whole set offeatures, T. O. Said. He was a lumbering, awkward fellow, well up to theend of his teens, the only hope of widowed Jane. The Lord had given hima splendid head, but the Placid Pond people were secretly triumphing inthe knowledge that Sam had failed to pass in his college examinations, "head or no head. " Jane had always boasted so of Sam's brains, andpredicted such a wonderful future for him! All her soul was set on Sam'ssuccess--well, wasn't it time her pride had a fall? Mebbe now she'd seeSam wasn't much different from other people's boys. 

Jane's heart was reported to be broken by the boy's failure, and Samwent about sulkily defiant. He made a great pretense of loftyindifference, but maybe he didn't care!--maybe not! Emmeline Camp knewin her gentle old heart that he cared. She worried about Sam. 

All this the Talented One learned, little by little, in the way countrygossip is learned. She learned many other things, too, about theneighbors--things that she lay and pondered about. It seemed queer tofind out that even a placid little place like this, set among thepeaceful hills, had its tragedies and comedies--its pitiful littleskeletons behind the doors. 

"That's Old '61, " Mrs. Camp said, pointing to an old figure in the road. "See him go marching past!--he always marches, as if he heard drumsbeating and he was keeping time. I tell 'em he _does_ hear 'em. He lives all alone up on the edge o' the woods, and folks say he spendsmost all his time trying to pick march tunes out on the organ. A fewyears ago he got some back pension money, and up and spent it for acabinet organ! Dear land! it seemed a pity, when he might have got himsome nice clothes or something sensible. But there he sets and sets overthat organ, trying to pick out tunes! Well, "--the gentle old voice tookon charity--"well, if that's his way of being happy, I s'pose he's gotas good a right to it as I have to--Amelia, " a whimsical little smilelighting up the old face, but underlying it the tenderness that the girlon the bed had come to look for whenever any reference was made toAmelia. 

"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'sare pretty considerable deep!"

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 inroom and freedom and rest. Her ankle was still very painful, but sheregarded it with philosophical toleration: "You needn't have climbed astone wall, need you? Well, then, what have you to complain of? The bestthing 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!"

It was decided that Mrs. Camp should start on her trip before the othergirls 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 dustycountry road. Her lean, brown, crumpled old face had an exaltedexpression; the joy of anticipation and the triumph of patient waitingmet in it and blended oddly. It was a great day for Emmeline Camp. 

"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 theshelf to kind of set you going. Take good care o' yourselves. "

"And Amelia, " whispered the girl, drawing the old face down to her. "We'll take good care of Amelia. "

It was a little lonely after the old stage rumbled away. The TalentedOne 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 thesweet, elusive face, the hair, the eyes, the grave little mouth ofAmelia. The little old woman had taken away with her love, the key. Shemust have taken Amelia away with her, too, the girl thought, smiling ather own fancy. So, for company, she must wait until Loraine and Billyand Laura Ann came, on the further edge of the day. She lay in the coolgrass, and made beatific plans for all the long, lazy days to come. Nohurrying, or worrying--each one for herself, happy in her own way. Onlythemselves to think of for the space of a golden summer!

"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--Ameliawould never have signed a 'Wicked Compact'!" Which, in the event ofgentle, unsinning Amelia ever having been born, might or might not havebeen true. It would have been harder work, reflected the girl in thegrass, for Amelia to have been unsinning and gentle, if she had been born. 

Jane Cotton's Sam came lounging down the road, cap over one eye, facesurlily defiant. T. O. Watched him with displeasure. So that was the kindof 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 knowthat giving up was worse than failing in his examinations? Somebodyought to tell him--why, he was stopping at Mrs. Camp's little frontgate! He was coming in!

The girl lying in the long grass under the tree sat up hurriedly. Quick, quick! what was his name? Oh, yes, Sam!

"Good-morning, Sam, " she said pleasantly. But the boy, with a mere nodof his splendidly-modeled head, hurried away toward the tiny barn. Thegirl had seen the dark flush that mounted upward from his neck over hispink and white cheeks. 

"Poor thing! He knows _I_ know that he didn't pass--that is theonly 'out' about living in the country: everybody knows everything. Well, if it makes him blush, then his mother needn't break her heart_yet_. I like the looks of that boy, if he does go 'roundscowling. " Whereupon the Talented One promptly dismissed Jane Cotton'sSam from her meditations. It did not occur to her to question his rightto be on Mrs. Camp's premises. She lay back in the grass and took upagain the interrupted thread of her musings. By gentle degrees oddfancies took possession of her. 

[Illustration: THE BOY, WITH A MERE NOD, HURRIED AWAY. ]

The sprinkling of great, white daisies in the grass beside her--suppose, now, this minute, they changed into white handkerchiefs, spread out ona green counter! Then she would have to sell them to passers-by; it washer business to sell handkerchiefs. Someone was coming marching up theroad--suppose she tried to sell him one, for the fun of it!--to make agood story for the girls. Laughing, she got up and leaned on the fence. She "dared" herself to do it. Then, courteously, "Can I sell youanything in handkerchiefs to-day? Initialed, embroidered--"

The marching feet stopped. Shrewd old eyes studied her face andtwinkled, responsive to the harmless mischief visible in it. 

"You got any with flags on--in the corners or anywhere? Or drums on?"It was Old '61. "Or red, white an' blue ones? I'd like one o'_them_--I fit in the war, " explanatorily. 

"Yes?" The saleswoman was not especially interested in the war; it isnot the way with many of her kind to be interested in things. 

"I fit clear through--in the Wilderness, and Bull Run, an' plenty more. They couldn't get rid o' me, the enemy couldn't! No, sir, where therewas 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--I had togit back to the boys. "

She was interested now; she forgot she was to sell him a handkerchief. "Go on, " she said. 

"It was great! You ought to heard the drums an' smelt the smoke, an'felt your feet marchin' under you, an' your knapsack poundin' yourback--yes, sir, an' bein' hungry an' thirsty an' wore out! You'd oughtto seen how ragged the boys got, an' heard 'em whistlin' 'ThroughGeorgy' while they sewed on patches--oh, you'd ought to _whistled_'Through Georgy'!"

The girl, watching the kindled old face, saw a shadow creep over it. 

"I useter--I useter--but someway I've lost it. It's pretty hard to've_marched_ through Georgy an' forgot the tune about. Some days I'most get holt of it again--I thought I could, on the organ, but Ican't, not the hull of it. Someway I've lost it--it's pretty hard. Itha'nts me--if you ever be'n ha'nted, you know how bad it is. "

No, the girl who was leaning on the fence had never been ha'nted, buther eyes were wide with pity for the old soul who had marched throughGeorgia and forgotten the tune. 

"Some days I 'most ketch it. I don't suppose"--the old voice halteddiffidently--"I don't suppose _you'd_ whistle it, would you? Jestthrough once--"

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. 

Old '61 marched on, up the dusty road, and the girl went back to hertree. She had not sold any daisy-handkerchiefs, but she had her story totell the girls. She lay in the grass thinking of it. Once or twice shepursed her lips and made a ludicrous ineffectual attempt to whistle, butshe did not smile. Jane Cotton's Sam clicked the gate, going out, butshe did not notice. When she did at last look up, and her gaze wanderedover the little yard aimlessly, she suddenly uttered a little note ofsurprise. 

"Why!" she cried. 

CHAPTER IV. 

For the pump was a blue pump! A miracle had been wrought while she musedin the grass and listened to Old '61. The little old brown pump hadblossomed out gayly, brilliantly. 

"Why!" Then a subdued chuckle reached her from some nearby ambush outbeyond the fence. She put two and two together--the pump, the laugh, andJane Cotton's Sam. Six! Jane Cotton's Sam, while she was day-dreamingand Marching through Georgia with Old '61, had painted the brown pumpblue! That was his business on Mrs. Camp's premises. Mrs Camp hadremembered--the dear, oh, the dear!--that she wanted a blue pump, andhad got the boy to come and make one. And now, down behind the fencesomewhere, the boy was laughing at her amazement. Well, let him laugh--she laughed, too! Suddenly she began to clap her hands by way ofapplause to her hidden audience. 

The pump itself was distinctly a disappointment. In gay-hued pictures, seen by childish eyes, blue pumps accord with green grass and trees--innature, seen by maturer eyes, there is something wrong with the colors. They look out of place--either the green growing things or the gay bluepump do not belong there. The girl's loyalty to little, kind EmmelineCamp would not let her admit that it was the blue pump that didn't"belong. " She was glad--glad--that it was blue, for it stood for athoughtful kindness to her, and thoughtful kindnesses had been rare inher self-dependent, hustling life. 

"Hurrah for the blue pump!" she cried softly. She felt like going up toit and hugging it, but fortunately she did not yield to the impulse. 

The other girls arrived at dusk. T. O. , her knee in a chair, had hitchedlaboriously from little kitchen to little dining-room and got supper. Spent and triumphant, she waited in the doorway. She could hear theirvoices coming up the road--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. 

"That's T. O. ! Girls, let's run!" she heard Billy say. 

"Why doesn't _she_ run?" Laura Ann demanded severely. "That wouldbe perfectly appropriate under the circumstances. "

"'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-paintedhouse and found the Talented One waiting impatiently at the gate. Thingsexplained themselves rapidly. Exclamations of pity crowded uponexclamations of delight and welcome. Four happy young wage-earners satdown to T. O. 's hardly-prepared little supper and four tongues wereloosed. Even Loraine did her part of the chattering. 

"I feel so nice and _placid_ already!" enthused Billy. 

"Oh, so do I!--so do I!" echoed Laura Ann. "It's such a comfort to getone's chains off!--I felt mine slip off back there at that dear, funnylittle station. "

"Oh, was _that_ what I heard clanking?" offered quiet Loraine, andwas promptly cheered. 

The meal was a merry one. And afterwards there was exploring to be doneabout the little yard and orchard and up and down the road, in the dim, sweet twilight, with the Talented One at the gate calling softdirections. 

"And I've got a blue pump for you, " she laughed. "Just wait tilldaylight! 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 andone with its mother--I mean with the boy-who-painted-its mother! PlacidPond is full of stories. "

"Nice, dozy, placid ones, I suppose, " Laura Ann returned lightly. Butthe Talented One shook her head. 

"Wait till you hear them, " she said gravely. 

"Give us some of the titles to-night, " coaxed Billy. They were all backon the little doorsteps and the moon was rising, majestic and golden, behind the trees. 

"Well--" 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'--", "Oh, tell us--tell us!" Billy pleaded, and would not be refused. It wasnever easy to refuse Billy. She had her way this time, and there in themellow night-light, with soft night-noises all about them, T. O. Told herstories. She had never told a story before in her life, and her voice atfirst stumbled diffidently, but as she went on, a queer thinghappened--she did not seem to be telling it herself, but the little oldwoman who loved Amelia seemed to be telling it! Then the Boy Who Didn'tPass, then Old '61, in his tremulous, halting old voice. 

They listened in perfect silence, and even after the stories ended theysaid nothing. Billy, quite unashamed, was crying over poor Old '61. 

"You'd have thought, wouldn't you, " T. O. Murmured after a while, "thatplaces like this would be humdrum-y and commonplace? But I guess thereare 'stories' everywhere. I'm beginning to find out things, girls. "

The next day began in earnest the long-yearned-for time of rest. It wasdecided unanimously over the breakfast cups, to live and move, eat andall but sleep, out of doors. To devote four separate and four combinedenergies to having a good time. To abide by the rules and regulationsof the Wicked Compact--long live the Wicked Compact! Laura Ann made anilluminated copy of it, framed it in a border of hurriedly-paintedforget-me-nots and hung it on the screen door, where they could not helpseeing it and "remembering their vows, " Laura Ann said. It was a matterof gay conjecture with them who would be the first to break the Compact. 

"And be driven out of the B-Hive--not I!" Billy said decisively. "Ishan't have the least temptation to break it, anyway--I feel selfish allover! You couldn't drive me to do a good deed with a--a pitchfork!"

"Me either--not even with a darning-needle!" laughed Laura Ann. "Ifanybody asks me to lend her a pin, hear me say, 'Can't, my dear; it'sagainst the rules. ' Needn't anybody worry about losing me out o' theHive!"

"Loraine will be the one--you see, " T. O. Said lazily. "And what I wantto know is, how are we going to live without Loraine? I vote we append aby-law. By-law I. : 'Resolved, that we except Loraine--just Loraine. '"

"Second the motion, " murmured Billy, on her back in the grass, nibblingclover heads. 

"No, " Loraine said severely, "I refuse to be put into a by-law. "

 * * * * *

The summer days were long days--lazy, somnolent days. The four girlsspent them each in her own separate way. Sometimes the little colony metonly at mealtimes--with glowing reports of the mornings' or afternoons'wanderings. 

Billy, it was noticed, although like the rest she wandered abroad, madeno reports. Had she had a good time? Yes--yes, of course. Where had shebeen all the morning or all the afternoon? Oh--oh, to places. Woods?Yes--that is, almost woods. And more than that they failed to elicit. Nearly every day she started away by herself, and after awhile theynoticed that she went in the same direction. She went briskly, alertly, like one with a definite end in view. Now, where did Billy go? Theirvagrant curiosity was aroused, but not yet to the point ofinvestigation. 

Old '61 knew. Every morning since that first morning he had strained hisdim old eyes to catch a glimpse of a little figure coming blithely upthe road. On that first morning it had stopped in front of his littlehouse and said pleasant things to him as he sat on the doorsteps. Heremembered all the things. 

"Good-morning! It's a splendid day, isn't it?"

And: "What a perfectly lovely place you live in! With the woods so nearyou can shake hands with them out of your windows!"

And: "Don't the birds wake you up mornings? I wonder what they singabout up here. " Then she had glanced at his ancient army coat and addedthe Pleasantest Thing Of All: "I think they must sing Battle Hymns andRed, White and Blue songs and 'Marching Through Georgia, ' don't they?"

"Not the last one, " he had answered sadly. "They never sing that. Ifthey did, I'd 'a' learnt it of 'em long ago. "

"Do you like that one best--very best?" she had asked, and he liked toremember how she had smiled. He had stood up then and thrown back hisold shoulders proudly. 

"Why, you see, marm, " he had said simply, "I _marched_ throughGeorgy!"

The next morning, too, she had stopped and talked to him. But it was notuntil the third time that he had ventured to ask her to whistle it. Andthen--Old '61, now peering down the road for the blithe little figure, thrilled again at the remembrance of what had happened. She had laughedgently and said she did not know how to whistle, but if he would likeher to sing it--

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--somebody little an' happy an' spry. Old '61 began tolaugh softly. He could hardly wait for her to come and sit down on thedoorstep and sing it. Two or three times--she would sing it two or threetimes. 

He had a surprise for her this morning. With great pains he had draggedhis 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. 

"Good-morning!" Billy called brightly. "Am I late to-day?"

"Jest a little--jest a little, " he quavered joyously, "but I'll forgiveye! There's somethin' waitin' up there--I've got a surprise for ye!"

"Honest?" Billy stood still in the road, looking into the eager, childish old face. "Oh, goody! I love surprises. Am I to guess it?"

"No, no, jest to come an' play on it!" he quavered. Then a cloud settledover his face and dimmed the delight in it. "Mebbe you don't know howto?" he added, a tremulous upward lift to his voice. 

"How to 'play on' a surprise!" cried Billy. "Well, how am I to knowuntil I see it? I can play on 'most everything else!"

They had got to the little front gate--were going up the littlecarefully-weeded path--were very close to it now. Billy sprang up thesteps. 

"I can! I can!" she laughed. "Hear me!" Her fingers ran up and down thekeys, then settled into a soft, sweet little melody. Another andanother--

The old man on the lower step sat patiently listening and waiting. Ifshe did not play it soon, he should have to ask her to, but he wouldrather have her play it without. Perhaps the next one--

The next one was beautiful, but not It--not _It_--not the RightOne. 

"There!" finished Billy with a flourish. "You see, I _can_ play ona surprise!" She stopped abruptly at sight of the disappointed old facebelow her. For an instant she was bewildered, then a beautiful instinctthat had lain unused on some shelf of Billy's mind came to life andwhispered to her what the trouble was. 

"Oh!" she cried softly, "Oh, I'm sorry I forgot!" She turned back tothe little organ and began to play again. 

[Illustration: THE OLD MAN SAT LISTENING AND WAITING. ]

Up went the sagging old head, up the sagging old shoulders! Old '61 wasback in "Georgy, " marching through mud and pine-barrens, in cold andhunger and weariness--with the boys, from Atlanta to the sea. Hurrah!hurrah! the flag that made them free!

He was not old, not alone and forlorn and cumbering the earth. He wasyoung and straight and loyal, defying suffering and death, with gloryand fame, perhaps, on there ahead. His country needed him--he wasmarching through Georgia for his country. 

Billy played it over and over, untiring. A lump grew in her throat atthe sight of the old face down there on the lower step. For so much waswritten on the old face!

Suddenly Old '61 got up and began to march, swinging his old legs outsplendidly. Down the walk, down the road, he went, as far as the musicwent, 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. 

The next day Billy ate her breakfast quietly, helped clear away thethings, and went quietly away. She did not stop to read Laura Ann'sgay-painted "Compact" on the screen door. It might even have beennoticed, if anyone cared to notice, that she did not look at it, thatshe hurried a little through the door, as if to avoid it. 

Old '61 was waiting at the gate. She smiled at the eager invitation sheread in his face. 

"No, " she said, shaking her head for emphasis, "no, I'm not going toplay it this time. I'm going to teach you to play it! I shall be goingback to the city before long, and then what will you do when you want tohear it? Perhaps you couldn't keep the tune in your head. I'm going toshow you an easy way to play it--just the air. I shall have to try itmyself first, of course. But I'm sure you can learn how, if you'llpractice faithfully. " It was queer how her music-teacher tone crept backinto her voice. She laughed to herself to hear it. "Practice faithfully"sounded so natural to say!

She sat down at the organ and experimented thoughtfully, trying toreduce the old man's beloved tune to its very lowest terms. After quitea long time she nodded and smiled. 

Then began Old '61s music lessons. It was terrible work, like earning aliving with the sweat of the brow. But the two of them--the young womanand the old man--bent to it heroically. For an hour, that first time, the cramped old fingers felt their way over the keyboard; for an hourBilly bent over them, patiently pointing the way. She had forgotten thatshe was not to think of piano-notes now--that she had signed the WickedCompact. 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--that he was old, alone, a cumberer, everything but hisdetermination to learn It. 

It was not a scientific lesson. It did not begin with first principlesand creep slowly upward; it began in the middle, in a splendid, haphazard, ambitious way. The stiff old hands were gently placed inposition for the first notes of the tune, the stiff old fingers werepressed gently down, one at a time. Over and over and over the processwas repeated. It was learning by sheer brute patience and love. 

"That's all for the first lesson, " Billy announced at the end of thehour. "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 thatmight be wrought out of intense desire. 

The next morning Old '61 at the gate proclaimed proudly:

"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. "

"Did the birds wake you up singing it?" Billy asked, smilingly. She, herself, was all eagerness to learn of her pupil's progress. The lessonbegan at once. Already, she found, the miracle had begun to work. Theold man sat down to the organ with a flourish that, if it had not beenfull of pathos, would have been a little comedy act. After a briefpreliminary search the old fingers found their place and pounded outtriumphantly the few notes they had been taught. 

"Good! good!" applauded the teacher heartily. "Why, you do itsplendidly! Now we'll go on a little farther--this finger on this note, this one here, your thumb _here_. " She stationed them carefully andthe second lesson began. It was nearer two hours than one when it ended. 

 * * * * *

"Where have _you_ been, Billy?" Loraine asked at lunch. They hadall been describing their individual pursuits and experiences of themorning. 

"Oh, to a place, " answered Billy lightly. 

"What place?" Loraine persisted curiously. 

"Well, " laughed Billy, "if you must know, I've been marchingthrough--oh, a _place_!" she concluded hastily, repenting herself. "It was a pretty hard place, and I'm hungry as a bear. Wish somebody'dsay, 'Won't you have another piece of pie?'"

"Won't you have another piece of pie?" laughed Loraine, and nothingfurther was said of an embarrassing nature. 

The summer days grew into summer weeks. Patiently and joyously Old '61plodded his way to the sea. He practiced nearly all his waking hours, and when he was not at the little organ, practicing, he went abouthumming the beloved words. Pride and love, rather than any melody of hiscracked old voice, made a tune of them. 

His progress astonished his teacher. Her praise was impetuous enough forfurther and greater exertions. One day Billy said the next time shouldbe an exhibition, when he should play it all--from "Atlanta to thesea"--with her as audience, not helping, but sitting in a chairlistening. 

She came to the Exhibition in a white dress, with sweet-peas at herwaist. Her smiles at the foot of the steps changed to something like asob when she discovered that Old '61 had been decorating the organ andthe little porch. He, himself, was brushed and radiant, his old face theface of a little child. 

"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 youplease favor us by 'Marching through Georgia'?". 

He went at once to the little gayly-bedecked instrument and began toplay. The dignity and pride of the shabby old figure redeemed itsshabbiness--the fervor of the pounded notes redeemed the tune. Theaudience--in "rows and rows, "--listened gravely, and at the end burstinto genuine applause. The sound swelled and multiplied oddly, and thenthey saw the three figures at the gate who had listened, too. Billy wasdiscovered!

CHAPTER V. 

They escorted Billy home. It was rather a silent walk until the end. Loraine spoke first. 

"One less in the B-Hive, " she said sadly. 

"Yes, I suppose I'm dropped now, " responded Billy, not uncheerfully. "Of course I've got to take the consequences of my--my crime. But I don'tcare!" she added with vivacity. "I'd rather live alone in a ten-storyhouse than have missed that Exhibition!"

"Yes, " mused Laura Ann thoughtfully, "it was a beautiful one. I'm glad_I_ didn't miss it. When I think of what it stood for--"

She broke off suddenly and slipped her hand into Billy's arm. Anothershort silence. Then Laura Ann finished: "All the work and patience itstood for, day after day--girls, when I think of that I feel--"

"I know--all of us know, " T. O. Hastily interposed. "That's about the waywe all feel, I guess. No use talking about it, though. Billy's brokenthe Compact and we're under oath to drop her. "

"Not till we go back to work, " Loraine put in emphatically, "and thenshe can live next door and come in every night to tea! There's nothingin the Compact against that, is there? Well, then, I invite you, Billy, for the very first tea!"

"I accept!" laughed Billy. She did not seem at all depressed. In herears rang the pounding refrain of Old '61 marching through Georgia. 

Nothing more was said on this subject. A little picnic had been plannedfor the afternoon, and they went briskly about making preparations forit, as soon as they got back to Mrs. Camp's little green house. Whilethey worked they discussed Amelia. 

"If she hadn't gone with her mother we'd have taken her to the picnicwith us, " the Talented One said, over her egg-beating. "I wonder ifAmelia likes picnics?"

"Don't! You make me feel creepy, " Laura Ann laughed. "What _I_wonder is how she'd have looked if she'd ever been born. I lay awake onenight trying to imagine Amelia. "

"Blue eyes and golden hair, " Loraine chimed in dreamily, "and a littledimple in her chin. "

"You needn't any of you lie awake nights imagining. I can tell you, " theTalented One said. "She has blue eyes, but her hair is brown and thedimples are in her cheeks. Her hair just waves a little away from theparting--it is always parted. She sits very still, sewing patchwork--hermother told me, " added the Talented One quietly. "She said she wishedshe knew how to paint so she could paint Amelia's picture. She told mewhere she'd like to have it hung--here in the dining-room, between thewindows. Amelia'd always been very real, she said, but the picture wouldmake her realer. "

"Did she ever say what kind of dresses Amelia wears?" asked Laura Annwithout looking up from her stirring. 

"No, I never asked, but they must be white dresses, I think, --Amelia issuch an innocent little thing, " laughed T. O. Softly. It was odd how theyalways laughed or talked softly when it was about little make-believeAmelia. 

The picnic was in the woods, in a lovely little spot Loraine haddiscovered in her wanderings. A brook babbled noisily through the spot. They spread their lunch at the foot of a forest giant and ate itluxuriously to the tune the brook sang. It was hard to believe they hadever been toilers in a great city. 

"There never were any public schools, " murmured Loraine, lying back andgazing into the thick mesh of leaves overhead. "Nobody ever said'Teacher! Teacher!' to me. "

"There never were any negatives to be 'touched up'--nobody ever hadtheir pictures taken, " Laura Ann murmured, dreamy, too. "I've alwaysbeen here beside this brook, lying on my back--what a beautiful worldit's always been!"

The Talented One sat rigidly straight. "There have always beenhandkerchiefs, " she sighed, "and there always will be. I shall have togo back there and sell them. When I look at all these leaves, it remindsme--there are leaves on handkerchiefs, straggling round theborders--ugh!"

It was foolish talk, perhaps, but it was the place and the time forfoolish talk. After a little more of it they drifted apart, wanderingthis way and that in a delightful, aimless way. So little of their fourlives had been aimless or especially delightful that they reveled in thesweet opportunity. Loraine wandered farthest. She came after awhile to aclearing where a small pond glimmered redly with the parting rays of thesun. A great boy lounged beside the pond dangling a pole. Lorainerecognized him as Jane Cotton's Sam. 

"Oh!" she said, "now I've made a noise and scared away your fish!"

"Ain't any fish, " muttered the boy. He did not turn around. The poleslanted further and further, till it lay on the bank beside the boy. 

"Oh, maybe there are, if you wait long enough--and nobody comes crashingthrough the bushes! I don't suppose--I mean if you are not going to useit any more yourself--" Loraine looked toward the idle pole. "I neverfished in my life, " she explained. The boy understood with remarkablequickness. 

"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. Theveil of sullenness had lifted a little. 

[Illustration: "I NEVER FISHED IN MY LIFE, " SHE EXPLAINED. ]

"Oh, but I just would! Only if I should have an accident and catchanything, whatever would I do! They--they are always cold and clammy, aren't they?"

Jane Cotton's Sam laughed outright, and Loraine decided that it was avery good face. 

"I'll 'tend to all you catch, " the boy said. He was busily baiting thehook; now he extended the pole to her. 

"Wiggle it--up and down a little, like this, " he directed, "and don'tmake any more noise than you can help. If you feel a bite, let me know. "

"But I don't see how I can feel a bite unless they bite me--"

Again the boy laughed wholesomely. They were getting acquainted. Thefishing began, and for what seemed to her a long time Loraine satabsolutely still, dangling the pole. Nothing happened for a discouragingwhile. Then Loraine whispered: "I feel a bite, but it's on my wrist! Ifit's a mosquito I wish you would 'shoo' it off. "

Another wait. Then a real bite in the right place. In another momentLoraine landed a wriggling little fish in the grass. She did not squealnor shudder, but sat regarding it with gentle pride. 

"Poor little thing! I suppose I ought to put you back, but you're myfirst and only fish, and I've _got_ to carry you home for the girlsto 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, beforehe's fried, oughtn't he? I thought I'd like to fry him for breakfast, to surprise the girls--"

"I'll dress him for you, " Jane Cotton's Sam said eagerly, "and bringhim over in the morning in plenty o' time. "

"Thank you, " Loraine said heartily. "Now you'll have to let me dosomething for you. 'Turn about is fair play. ' Couldn't I--" Shehesitated, looking out over the still reddened water rather than at theboy's face. "Couldn't I help you in some way with your studies? That'smy business, you know. It would really be doing me a kindness, for I mayget all out of practice unless I teach somebody something!" Had Loraine, too, forgotten the Compact on the screen door?

The boy fidgeted, then burst out angrily: "I s'pose they've all beentelling you I failed up in my exams? They have, haven't they? You_knew_ it, didn't you?"

"Yes, " Loraine answered quietly. "But I've heard a good many worsethings in my life. I've heard of boys that smoked and drank and--and_stole_. What does missing a few examinations amount to besidethings like those?" But the boy did not seem to have been listening toanything except his own angry thoughts. All his sun-browned young facewas flooded with red; he had run his fingers through his hair till itstood up fiercely. 

"They needn't trouble themselves 'bout me, nor you needn't, nor anybodyneedn't!" he declaimed loudly. "Anybody'd think they were saintsthemselves!"

"And _I_ was a saint and everybody was saints!" laughed Lorainesoftly. But Jane Cotton's Sam did not laugh. He went striding away intothe woods, his head flung up high. Loraine and the little dead fish wereleft behind. Oddly the girl was not thinking of the boy's rudeness inreturn for her kind offer of help, but of the flash of spirit in hiseyes. 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 asecond attempt to get into college. What if she were to persist in heroffer--were to work with him, urge him to work with her?

But he had chosen to spurn her advances. She shook her head sadly. Onhis own head be it. She turned her attention to the little dead fish. 

"You poor dear, you look so dead and forlorn--what am I going to do withyou? Someway you've got to go home with me and be fried. " She took himup gingerly, but dropped him again--he was so slippery and damp! Wraphim 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 thenshe must leave him, must she? Poor little useless sacrifice!

Back at the picnic spot the girls were waiting for her. They went homein the late, sweet twilight. 

A letter was tucked under the screen door where some friendly neighborhad left it. "Miss Thomasia O. Brown, " Billy read aloud, and waved theletter in triumph, for the secret was out. The 'T' in T. O. Stood forThomasia!

"Well?" bristled the Talented One, "it had to stand for something, didn't it? It's awful, I know, but _I'm_ not to blame--I didn'tname myself, did I? I wish people could, " she added with a sigh. 

"Is it for a _Thomas?_" questioned Laura Ann curiously. 

Thomasia nodded: "There was always a Thomas in the family until they gotto me. They did the best they could to make me one. " She was opening theletter with careful precision. "Why, of course, it's from Mrs. Camp!"she cried delightedly. 

"My dear, I hope you are well and your friends have come, and JaneCotton's Sam has not forgotten to paint the pump. I arrived here safelyafter a very long journey--my dear, I never dreamed the world was sobig! This part of it is well enough, but give me Placid Pond! Now I amgoing to tell you something, and you may laugh all you're a mind to--Isha'n't hear! What I'm going to tell is, _Amelia came_, too. AfterI'd got good and settled down on the cars I looked up and knew she wassitting right opposite, on the seat I'd turned over. She seemed_there_--and you may laugh, my dear. I laughed, I was so pleased tohave Amelia along. John doesn't know she came--Amelia never makes a miteof trouble! But everywhere I go she goes, my dear. I shouldn't tell youif I didn't feel you'd understand. If he hasn't painted it yet, the bluepaint is on a shelf in the woodhouse, and you can paint it. I'm afraidJane Cotton's Sam won't ever amount to much. Poor Jane!"

Thomasia read the letter aloud, and at this point Loraine interposedwarmly: "Jane Cotton's Sam is abused! It's a shame everybody groans overhim--_I_ like him. If there isn't a lot of good in him, then I don'tknow how to read human nature, that's all. "

The next morning very early someone knocked at the kitchen door. It wasLaura Ann's turn to make the fire, and she answered the knock. JaneCotton's Sam stood on the steps outside. He had a mysterious littlepackage in his hand. He looked up eagerly, but it was evident from thedisappointed look on his face that Laura Ann was the wrong girl. And hedid not know the right one's name!

"Good-morning!" nodded Laura Ann, sublimely unconscious of thesoot-patch over her nose. 

"Good-morning. I'd like to see--I've brought something for the one thatteaches school. "

"Loraine? But she isn't up yet--"

"Yes, I am up, too, " called a voice overhead, "but I won't be long! I'llbe _down_. "

It was a little fish, dressed and ready to fry, that was in the tinybundle. The boy extended it blushingly. Then his eyes lifted toLoraine's in frank petition for pardon. 

"I was mighty rude, " he said. "I went back to the pond to say so, butyou were gone. I beg your pardon. "

She liked the tone of his voice and his good red blushes. "That's allright, " she nodded reassuringly. But he did not go away. There wassomething else. 

"If--you know what you said? If you'd offer _again_--"

Loraine glanced over her shoulder. Laura Ann was rattling stove-lids atthe other end of the kitchen. "I offer _now_, " Loraine said in alow voice. 

"Then I accept. " The boy's voice was eager. "I'll study like everything!I thought about it in the night--I thought I'd like to surprise mymother. If I could get into college next year--" His eyes shone. "Oh Isay, I'd do 'most anything for that!"

The little plan was hurriedly made, in low tones, there on EmmelineCamp's little doorsteps. The boy was to take his books to the pond whereLoraine had caught her fish. He was to study there alone for a timeevery day, and in the afternoon she was to stroll that way and go overthe work with him and set him right in all the wrong places. 

"It was in Latin and mathematics I failed up, " Jane Cotton's Samexplained. 

"It's Latin and mathematics we'll tackle!" softly laughed Loraine. "You wait--you see--you _grind!_"

He strode away, whistling, and the tune was full of courage anddetermination. Loraine smiled as she listened. She stood a moment, thenopened the screen door and went in. The "Compact" swung and tilted withthe jolt of her energetic movements. She adjusted it with a queer littlesmile. 

For summer days on summer days the covert, earnest lessons went onbeside the bit of sunny water. Teacher and pupil pored intently over theproblems and difficult passages, and steadily the pupil's courage grew. The old sullen look had vanished--Jane Cotton's Sam put on manliness anda splendid swing to his shoulders. In her heart Loraine exulted. What ifshe were disobeying the Compact--death to the Wicked Compact!

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 littlefish. At that time the "reasons of her own" had begun to influence herand she had omitted to mention to Billy and T. O. That the boy had stoodon the doorsteps in earnest conversation with Loraine. Mentioning it toBilly might not, indeed, have mattered, since Billy was already an"outsider. " But Loraine might not want T. O. To know, anyway. 

It was significant that Laura Ann, in going in and out, now chose toignore the gayly-illuminated placard that swung on the door--that sheherself had adorned and hung there. But she did not go in and out asmuch now; for whole mornings she slipped away to a little attic roomupstairs and busied herself alone. 

It was getting grievously near the time to go back to the great cityagain. Emmeline Camp was coming back then. 

All but T. O. Mourned audibly the rapidly lessening days, but T. O. Madeno useless laments. One day she surprised them. 

"Girls, I _want_ to go back!" she announced. "I shall be ready whenit's time--now anybody can say what anybody pleases. Scoff at me--do. I expect it! But I'm getting homesick to see a street-car and a--apoliceman! It's lovely and peaceful here, but I've had my fill of itnow--I want to go home and bump into crowds and hear big, stirry noises. It's different with you girls--you weren't born in the city; you didn'tplay with street-cars and policemen and get sung to sleep by the noises!I was tired--tired--and now I'm rested. I've had a perfectly beautifultime, but I shall be ready to go back. Honestly, girls, it would breakmy heart not to!"

It was so much like T. O. , Billy said, to keep all her feelings toherself and then suddenly spring them on people like that, and takepeople's breath away. Billy did not keep things to herself. 

 * * * * *

Jane Cotton came up the kitchen path one day when all but Loraine weresitting on the doorsteps--Loraine had strolled nonchalantly down thestreet as her afternoon habit was. 

"Well, I've found out!" announced Jane Cotton. She was beaming; hersallow face was oddly cleared and lighted--her lips trembled witheagerness to deliver her news. "I've _found out_! Where's the resto' you?" She counted them over. "It's the rest o' you I want--well, youtell her I've found out. Tell her I hardly slept a wink last night, I was so happy! Tell her I _bless_ her, and I know the Lord will. They didn't want me to know yet but I couldn't help finding out. Andthey won't mind when they know how happy it's made me--oh, I ain'tafraid but he'll pass this time! I know he will--I know it! You tell hershe's saved my boy. " And without further delay the slender figure turnedand walked jubilantly down the path. It was as if she marched to themelody of the joy in her heart. 

They looked at each other silently, then at the Wicked Compact behindthem. There did not seem any explanation needed. 

"Another one dropped, " murmured T. O. Sighingly. But Laura Ann saidnothing. 

CHAPTER VI. 

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 pictureon it. Laura Ann stood regarding it thoughtfully. "I wonder"--she smiledat the whimsy of the thought--"I wonder if it looks like Amelia, " shemurmured. 

It was not a wonderful picture. No committee would have hung it on a"line. " There were rather glaring errors in it of draughtsmanship andcoloring. But the face of the girl in it was appealingly sweet--brownhair, blue eyes, little round chin. Laura Ann had not dared to put inthe dimples. 

"Dimples need a master, " she said, "besides, they only show when yousmile, and I don't believe Amelia smiles very often!"

She sat down and took up a brush. The picture was nearly done, but shefound touches to be added here and there. There might be a straylock--there, like that. And a little bit more shade under the chin, andthe wistful droop of the mouth relieved, oh, a very little bit! Amelialooked so serious. 

"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. "

Laura Ann meant to slip back after they had started for the station, onthe last day, and hang the picture in the little sunny dining-room. Shedid not want the girls to know there was a picture. But still--a newthought had begun to obtrude itself unwelcomely. Was painting Amelia'sportrait a breach, too, of the Compact? She had undertaken it as alittle "offering" to Mrs. Camp, to show her own individual gratitude forher own share of the dear little green cottage all these beautifulweeks--T. O. Had said Mrs. Camp had longed for a picture. But the factthat it had taken many patient hours of work "unto others, " was not tobe overlooked. If it had broken the rules of the Wicked Compact, and shewent back to the B-Hive without letting the girls know of it--oh, hum!of course that would be another "wicked compact"! She would have to letthem know--and she didn't want to let them know--oh, dear!

Suddenly Laura Ann dropped her paints and gave herself up to laughter. She had remembered that only T. O. --Thomasia O. --would be left now in theB-Hive! For all the rest had broken the Compact. Thomasia O. , living allalone in the dear, shabby little rooms, presented a funny picture, forof them all she was least fitted to live alone. Even Billy could dobetter. 

"The rest of us will live together, " laughed Laura Ann. "There's nothingto prevent that, if we live outside the old B-Hive. We'll start a newB-Hive! Poor Thomasia O. !"

They would miss T. O. Very much indeed--well, they could invite her in totea and keep her all night! In spite of the wicked old Compact, theywould keep together. "And we'll never, " vowed Laura Ann for them all, "sign any more nefarious bonds!"

She hung the picture of Amelia on the wall when they were all away, andthen went away herself. She stayed away until nearly dark. Thomasia O. Went to meet her. 

"I knew it all the time, " she said quietly, without preface of any kind. "It's a perfect likeness. "

"You knew it?" said Laura Ann. 

"Yes, I was prowling 'round one day, to see what attics were like, andI found Amelia. Only her hair and her eyes, then, but I knew her. I'mso glad poor Mrs. Camp will have that picture to help her bear hertroubles!"

[Illustration: THE PICTURE WAS NEARLY DONE. ]

"Poor"--"troubles. " This was all enigma to Laura Ann. But she wiselywaited to be enlightened. She had divined the moment she saw T. O. Thatthe girl was unusually disturbed. This was true. 

"I've had two letters--the first one came three weeks ago from herbrother. I didn't want to spoil your good time, telling sad things, so I kept it to myself--Laura Ann, that woman _mothered_ me!"

Laura Ann stood still. "Do you mean Mrs. Camp? Is she--dead?" But theother did not seem to hear. She ran on in a low, troubled voice. 

"She bathed my ankle, and said 'My dear, ' and waited on me, when she'dnever set eyes on me in her life before. How did she know but that I wasan--an _impostor_? And she let us have her dear little house to livein--"

"Yes, yes--oh, yes, she let _me_ live in it!" Laura Ann interposed. "You ought to have told us she was dead. "

"She isn't dead. She's fallen downstairs and broken her hip. The doctorsays it's so bad she won't ever walk again without crutches, her brotherwrote. He said he wanted her to stay and live with him, but she wouldn'tlisten to it. She wanted to come home as soon as she possibly could. Soshe's coming--he's coming with her, to 'start' her. "

T. O. Fingered a letter in her hand in a nervous, undecided way, as ifshe were half inclined to read it to the other girl. It was not EmmelineCamp's brother's letter. It had come ten days ago, and she herself knewit by heart. How many, many times she had read it! She had cried overthe wistful cry in it, and over Amelia's death--for the letter said thatAmelia was dead. 

"My dear, " it said, "I've lost Amelia--you'd think she would have stoodby her mother in her trouble, wouldn't you? But she hasn't been near mesince. It seems queer--perhaps after people break their hips they can't'feel' anything else but their hips! Perhaps it breaks theirimaginations. Anyway, Amelia's dead, my dear. Sometimes I think mebbeI'd ought to be, too--a lone little woman like me, without a chick or achild. Old women with children can afford to tumble downstairs, but notmy kind of old women. John is real good. He wants me to stay here, but Ican't--I can't, I can't, my dear! I've got to be where I can limp out tothe old pump and the gate and the orchard, on my crutches--I've got tosee the old hills I was born in, and Old '61 marching past the house, and the old neighbors--I've got to die at _home_, my dear. So Johncan't keep me. I wish I was going to find you there. I keep thinking howbeautiful it would be. You'd be out to the gate waiting, the waypeople's daughters wait for them. And mebbe you'd have the kettle allhot and we'd have a cup of tea together just as if I was the mother andyou was--Amelia! All the way home I should be thinking about your beingthere. It's queer, isn't it, you went limping in that gate first, andnow it's me? A good many things are queer, and some are kind ofdesolate. I've decided, my dear, that daughters have to be the kind thatare born, to stay by a body in trouble. They have to be made of fleshand blood, my dear--and Amelia wasn't!

"I've written this a little to a time, laying on my back. Mebbe youwon't ever read it. Mebbe I won't ever see you again, but you willremember, my dear, that I've loved you ever since I took off yourstocking and saw your poor, sprained ankle. If the Lord would performa miracle for me, I'd ask for it to be the bringing of Amelia to lifeand finding her you. "

T. O. Did not show the letter to Laura Ann. She put it in her pocketagain, 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 ofsympathy to her, and express, at the same time, their united andseparate thanks for her kindness to them in lending them her home. 

Loraine wrote the letter, Laura Ann copied it, they all signed it. Intocold pen-and-ink words they tried to diffuse warmth and gratitude andsympathy, but the result was not very satisfying, as such results rarelyare. Still, it was all they could do. Billy and Laura Ann went off tomail it. 

"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 theHive, I mean? The rest of us begin to feel lonesome, thinking of beingleft out! We had a grist of good times all together, didn't we? Rememberthe little 'treats' when you always brought home olives, and Billy sagecheese? Laura Ann used to change about--sometimes eclairs, sometimessauerkraut! Always sardines for me. Oh, _do_ you remember the treatwith a capital 'T, ' when we had ice cream and angel cake? And Billywanted to divide the hole so as not to waste anything--there, I don'tbelieve you've heard a word I said!"

She had not, for she was not there. Loraine put out her hand in thedarkness, but could not find her. She had slipped away unceremoniously. 

She was down in the road, walking fast and hard. The battle was onagain. 

"I thought I had it all decided--I _did_ have! Why do I have todecide it over again?" she was saying stormily to herself. "I said I'ddo it, and I'm going to do it--what am I down here fighting in the darkfor?" But still she fought on. 

It was so still about her, and with all her girl's heart she longed fornoise again--car-bells and rattling wheels and din of men's voices. There were such wide spaces all about, and she longed for narrowspaces--for rows on rows of houses and people coming and going. It wasthe city-blood in her asserting itself. She had had her breath of spaceand freedom and green, growing things, and exulted in it while itlasted. Now she pined for her native streets. But all the sympathy andgratitude in her went out to the little old woman who was coming home toa lonely home--whose one dream-child was dead. 

No one had ever really needed her before--to be needed appealed to herstrongly. And in the short time between her own coming to Placid Pondand the coming of the other girls, a bond of real affection had beenestablished between Mrs. Camp and herself. 

But hadn't she been over all this before? Long ago she had decided whatto do. Now, suddenly, she wheeled in the dark road and went hurrying inthe other direction. She would go back to Loraine on the doorstep, andlaugh and talk. She had decided "for good. "

The stars came trooping out, and she lifted her face to them with a newsense of peace. They were such friendly, twinkling little stars. 

T. O. Was humming a lilty little tune when she came up the path in thestarlight and joined Loraine again on the doorstep. 

The other two girls were coming slowly back from the little country postoffice, both to hurry and have the pleasant walk over. Billy had beensaying nice things about the portrait of Amelia they had found hangingon the wall. 

"It's a dear!" she said heartily. "I wish I could make a picture likethat. "

"You've made one a thousand times better!" cried Laura Ann. "I saw itthis afternoon. "

"_Me_--make a picture?" Billy's voice was incredulous. "I couldn'tdraw my breath straight!"

"It was a beautiful one. I stood still and looked at it. Your backgroundwas fine, dear--woods banked against a late afternoon sky, with bits ofred light straggling through the branches, a little box of a house inthe foreground, with patches of new shingles on the 'cover'; a crookedlittle front path, a funny little well, a little rosebush all a flame ofcolor--"

"Mercy!" Billy's little triangle of a face put on alarm. Was Laura Annlosing her mind?

"But that--all that--was only the setting. The heart of the picture, dear, was an old man marching up and down the path--did I say it was amoving picture? He was whistling a tune in a wheezy way, and keepingstep to it grandly. Once he seemed to lose a few notes; then he wentinto a little box of a house, and I heard an organ--"

"Oh!" breathed Billy, assured of the other's sanity, "you mean Old '61practicing! That's the way he does--he's learning to march throughGeorgia without the organ, but he misses a step or two sometimes. _That_ was the picture, was it?"

"It was a beautiful one, " Laura Ann said softly. "You needn't tell meyou can't paint, Billy! That's the kind of pictures we shall findhanging in the Great Picture Gallery. "

They walked on for a little in silence, with only the piping chorus ofthe little night creatures in their ears. The sweet, cool damp was intheir faces. 

"Here we are at Jane Cotton's Sam's, " Billy whispered by and by, tobreak the spell. She could not have told why she whispered. 

"So we are. Billy, look, he's studying like a trooper! That boy is goingto walk straight into college in September! Let's go straight home andhug Loraine--come on! Take hold of my hand, and we'll run. "

"Wait--wait! Look, there's another of your pictures, Laura Ann!" Billy'slips were close to the other's ear; Billy was pointing. Into the littlelighted room where Jane Cotton's Sam sat poring over a book, had comeanother figure. As they looked, it stopped beside the boy and bent overhim. 

"That's just the setting--all that, " Laura Ann murmured. "The heart ofthe picture is her face, Billy!" For Jane Cotton's face was radiant. 

 * * * * *

The day at last came for their return to the city and to the work theywere so much better able to do. The little, green-painted house was inspotless order to leave behind. As Mrs. Camp was to come the followingday, they had filled the little pantry with food--not remarkably lightcake or bread, not especially flaky piecrust, but everything flavoredwith sympathy and gratitude and good will. 

"Go on, all of you; I'll catch up, " Billy said, as they stood on thesteps with the door locked behind them. "When you get out of sight I'mgoing to kiss the house good-by!"

"T. O. Had better stay behind with you, to kiss the pump!" Loraine said. "Or we'll all stay--I guess we can all find something to kiss. "

"Did anybody think to take down the Wicked Compact?" demanded Laura Annsuddenly. "It would be awful to leave that behind. "

They were at the gate. T. O. Stopped suddenly, pointing. What they sawwas a tiny, tiny mound, rounded symmetrically. "There it lies--I buriedit, " T. O. Said briefly, but added, "And let no one keep its gravegreen!" They looked at her a little curiously. Perhaps they werethinking that it might have been appropriate for her to take it homewith her and hang it on the wall to keep her company in the lonelylittle B-Hive. But they only laughed and tramped on cheerfully to thestation. They were a little late, and had to run the last of the way. The train was already in, and they scrambled aboard. 

"Well, here we are leaving Eldorado!" sighed breathlessly Loraine. 

"And all of us heart-broken but T. O. --girls, where's T. O. ?"

She was not there. The train was getting under way. In a flurry theyhuddled to the windows. 

"Good-by! Good-by!" shouted a gay voice from the platform. A littlewhite envelope flew in at one of the open windows. T. O. , quite calmand unexcited, stood out there waving to them. 

"What in the world!" ejaculated Laura Ann, then stopped. For she alonecould see a little ray of light. "Read the letter, " she said morequietly. "The letter will tell us. "

They all read it together, their heads bunched closely. 

"Dear girls, I'm going to stay. I never was needed before, but I guessI am now. And maybe you'll think it's funny, but I'm _wanted_! Animaginary daughter can't wait on a poor little cripple--it takes theflesh-and-blood kind. I found out she wanted me, and so I'm going tostay. It would have been lonesome, anyway, all alone in the Hive!I bequeath all my rights to you--"

"As if she had any now, any more than the rest of us!" muttered Billyfiercely, her eyes full of tears. 

"Sometimes when you're going and coming, some o' you listen to thecar-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. 

"Amelia. "

At the signature they choked a little, and looked away at the flyinglandscape without seeing it at all. Laura Ann saw another picture--agirl waiting at a little gate. Woods and dusty road and humble littlehomes for background, and an old stage rattling into view in theforeground. She saw it stop--in the picture--and a helpless little oldfigure be taken out. She saw the girl at the gate spring forward andhold out her hands. But the heart of the picture was the face of thelittle old woman on crutches. It was another picture for the GrandGallery. 

[Illustration]