"'Gay go up and gay go down To ring the bells of London town,"

sang the Little Colonel. "I am having such a good time that I'd like to stay on right heah all the rest of the summah."

But she thought that about nearly every other place they visited, Windsor, and Warwick Castle, and Shakespeare's birthplace,—the quaint little village on the Avon; Ambleside, where they took the coach for long rides among the lakes made famous by the poets who lived among them and made them immortal with their songs.

From these English lakes to Scottish moors, from the land of hawthorne to the land of heather, from low green meadows where the larks sang, to the highlands where plaided shepherds watched their flocks, they went with enthusiasm that never waned. They found the "banks and braes o' Bonnie Doon," and wandered along the banks of more than one little river that they had loved for years in song and story.

"Haven't we learned a lot!" exclaimed Eugenia, as they journeyed back by rail to Liverpool, where the Shermans and Betty were to take the steamer. "I'm sure that I've learned ten times as much as I would in school, this last year."

"And had such a lovely time in the bargain," added Lloyd. "It's goin' to make a difference in the way I study this wintah, and in what I read. If we evah come ovah heah again, I intend to know something about English history. Then the places we visit will be so much moah interestin'. I'll not spend so much time on fairy tales and magazine stories. I'm goin' to make my reading count for something aftah this. It was dreadfully mawtifyin' to find out that I was so ignorant, and how much there is in the world to know, that I had nevah even heard of."

That afternoon, in the big Liverpool hotel, the trunks were packed for the last time.

"Seems something like the night befo' Christmas," said the Little Colonel, as she counted the packages piled on the floor beside her trunk. They were the presents that she had chosen for the friends at home.

"Nineteen, twenty," she went on counting, "and that music box for Mom Beck makes twenty-one, and the souvenir spoons for the Walton girls make twenty-five. Oh, I didn't show you these," she said.

"This is Allison's," she explained, opening a little box. "See the caldron and the bells on the handle? I got this in Denmark. That's from Andersen's tale of the swineherd's magic kettle, you know. Kitty's is from Tam O'Shanter's town. That's why there is a witch and a broomstick engraved on it. This spoon for Elise came from Berne. I think that's a darling little bear's head on the handle. What did you get, Betty?" she continued, turning to her suddenly. "You haven't shown me a single thing."

Betty laid down the spoons she was admiring. "You'll not think they are worth carrying home," she said, slowly. "I couldn't buy handsome presents like yours, you know, so I just picked up little things here and there, that wouldn't be worth anything at all if they hadn't come from famous places."

"Show them to me, anyhow," persisted Lloyd.

Betty untied a small box. "It's only a handful of lava," she explained, "that I picked up on Vesuvius. But Davy will like it because he thinks a volcano is such a wonderful thing. Here are some pebbles the boys will be interested in, because I found them on the field of Waterloo. They are making collections of such things, and Waterloo is a long way from the Cuckoo's Nest. They haven't any foreign things at all.

"I wanted to take something nice to Miss Allison, but I couldn't afford to buy anything fine enough. So I just pressed these buttercups that grew by the gate of Anne Hathaway's cottage. See how sunshiny and satiny they are? Cousin Carl gave me a photograph of the cottage, and I fastened the buttercups here on the side. I couldn't offer such a little gift to some people, but Miss Allison is the kind that appreciates the thought that prompts a gift more than the thing itself."

There were a few more photographs, a handkerchief for Mom Beck, and a string of cheap Venetian beads for May Lily. The most expensive article in the collection was a little mosaic pin for her Cousin Hetty. "I got that in Venice," said Betty. "Cousin Hetty hasn't a single piece of jewelry to her name, and she never gets any presents but plain, useful things, so I am sure she will be pleased."

Lloyd turned away, thinking of the great contrast between her gifts and Betty's, and wishing that she had not made such a display of hers.

"If I were in Betty's place," she said to herself, "I'd be so jealous of me that I could hardly stand it. She's just a little orphan alone in the world, and I have mothah and Papa Jack and Hero and Tarbaby for my very own."

But the Little Colonel need not have wasted any sympathy on Betty. While one stowed away her expensive presents in her trunk, the other wrapped up her little souvenirs, humming softly to herself. It would have been hard to find anywhere in the queen's dominion, a happier child than Betty, as she sat beside her trunk, thinking of the beautiful journey with Cousin Carl, just ending, and the life awaiting her at Locust with her godmother and the Little Colonel. There was only one cloud on her horizon, and that was the parting with Eugenia and her father.

That last evening they spent together in the private parlour adjoining Mrs. Sherman's room. Early after dinner Lloyd and her father went down to pay a visit to Hero, and see that he was properly cared for. He had had a hard time since reaching England, for the laws regarding the quarantining of dogs are strict, and it had taken many shillings on Mr. Sherman's part and some tears on the Little Colonel's to procure him the privileges he had.

"The whole party will be glad when he is safely landed in Kentucky, I am sure," said Mrs. Sherman, as the door closed after them. "I'd never consent to take another dog on such a journey, after all the trouble and expense this one has been. Lloyd is so devoted to him that she is heartbroken if he has to be tied up or made uncomfortable in any way. She'll probably come up-stairs in tears to-night because he wants to follow her, and must be kept a prisoner."

While they waited for her return, Mrs. Sherman drew Eugenia into her room for a last confidential talk, and Betty, nestling beside Cousin Carl on the sofa, tried to thank him for all his fatherly kindness to her on their long pilgrimage together. But he would not let her put her gratitude in words. His answer was the same that it had been that last night of the house party, when, looking down the locust avenue gleaming with its myriad of lights, like some road to the City of the Shining Ones, she had cried out: "Oh, why is everybody so good to me?"

The others came in presently, and the evening seemed to be on wings, it flew so swiftly, as they planned for another summer to be spent at Locust, when Eugenia should come home from her year in the Paris school. And never, it seemed, were good nights followed so quickly by good mornings, or good mornings by good-byes.

Almost before they realised that the parting time had actually come, the Little Colonel and Betty were leaning over the railing of the great steamer, waving their handkerchiefs to Eugenia and her father on the dock. Smaller and smaller grew the familiar outlines, wider and wider the distance between the ship and the shore, until at last even Eugenia's red jacket faded into a mere speck, and it was no longer of any use to wave good-bye.



CHAPTER XI.

HOMEWARD BOUND

On that long, homeward journey it was well for Hero that he wore the Red Cross on his collar. The little symbol was the open sesame to many a privilege that ordinary dogs are not allowed on shipboard. Instead of being confined to the hold, he was given the liberty of the ship, and when his story was known he received as much flattering attention as if he had been some titled nobleman.

The captain shook the big white paw, gravely put into his hand at the Little Colonel's bidding, and then stooped to stroke the dog's head. As he looked into the wistful, intelligent eyes his own grew tender.

"I have a son in the service," he said, "sent back from South Africa, covered with scars. I know what that Red Cross meant to him for a good many long weeks. Go where you like, old fellow! The ship is yours, so long as you make no trouble."

"Oh, thank you!" cried the Little Colonel, looking up at the big British captain with a beaming face. "I'd rathah be tied up myself than to have Hero kept down there in the hold. I'm suah he'll not bothah anybody."

Nor did he. No one from stoker to deck steward could make the slightest complaint against him, so dignified and well behaved was he. Lloyd was proud of him and his devotion. Wherever she went he followed her, lying at her feet when she sat in her steamer-chair, walking close beside her when she and Betty promenaded the deck.

Everybody stopped to speak to him, and to question Lloyd and Betty about him, so that it was not many days before the little girls and the great St. Bernard had made friends of all the passengers who were able to be on deck.

The hours are long at sea, and people gladly welcome anything that provides entertainment, so Lloyd and Betty were often called aside as they walked, and invited to join some group, and tell to a knot of interested listeners all they knew of Hero and the Major, and the training of the French ambulance dogs.

In return Lloyd's stories nearly always called forth some anecdote from her listeners about the Red Cross work in America, and to her great surprise she found five persons among them who had met Clara Barton in some great national calamity of fire, flood, or pestilence.

One was a portly man with a gruff voice, who had passed through the experiences of the forest fires that swept through Michigan, over twenty years ago. As he told his story, he made the scenes so real that the children forgot where they were. They could almost smell the thick, stifling smoke of the burning forest, hear the terrible crackling of the flames, feel the scorching heat in their faces, and see the frightened cattle driven into the lakes and streams by the pursuing fire.

They listened with startled eyes as he described the wall of flame, hemming in the peaceful home where his little son played around the door-step. They held their breath while he told of their mad flight from it, when, lashing his horses into a gallop, he looked back to see it licking up everything in the world he held dear except the frightened little family huddled at his feet. He had worked hard to build the cottage. It was furnished with family heirlooms brought West with them from the old homestead in Vermont. It was hard to see those great red tongues devouring it in a mouthful.

In the morning, although they had reached a place of safety, they were out in a charred, blackened wilderness, without a roof to shelter them, a chair to sit on, or a crust to eat. "The hardest thing to bear," he said, "was to hear my little three-year-old Bertie begging for his breakfast, and to know that there was nothing within miles of us to satisfy his hunger, and that the next day it would be the same, and the next, and the next.

"We were powerless to help ourselves. But while we sat there in utter despair, a neighbour rode by and hailed us. He told us that Red Cross committees had started out from Milwaukee and Chicago at first tidings of the fire, with car-loads of supplies, and that if we could go to the place where they were distributing we could get whatever we needed.

"I wish you could have seen what they were handing out when we got there: tools and lumber to put up cabins, food and beds and clothes and coal-oil. They'd thought of everything and provided everything, and they went about the distributing in a systematic, businesslike way that somehow put heart and cheer into us all.

"They didn't make us feel as if they were handing out alms to paupers, but as if they were helping some of their own family on to their feet again, and putting them in shape to help themselves. Even my little Bertie felt it. Young as he was, he never forgot that awful night when we fled from the fire, nor the hungry day that followed, nor the fact that the arm that carried him food, when he got it at last, wore a brassard marked like that." He touched the Red Cross on Hero's collar.

"And when the chance came to show the same brotherly spirit to some one else in trouble and pass the help along, he was as ready as the rest of us to do his share.

"Three years afterward I read in the papers of the floods that had swept through the Ohio and Mississippi valleys, and of the thousands that were homeless. Bertie,—he was six then,—he listened to the account of the children walking the streets, crying because they hadn't a roof over them or anything to eat. He didn't say a word, but he climbed up to the mantel and took down his little red savings-bank.

"We were pretty near on our feet again by that time, although we were still living in a cabin. The crops had been good, and we had been able to save a little. He poured out all the pennies and nickels in his bank,—ninety-three cents they came to,—and then he got his only store toy, a box of tin soldiers that had been sent to him Christmas, and put that on the table beside the money. We didn't appear to notice what he was doing. Presently he brought the mittens his grandmother up in Vermont had knit for him. Then he waited a bit, and seemed to be weighing something in his mind. By and by he slipped away to the chest where his Sunday clothes were kept and took them out, new suit, shoes, cap and all, and laid them on the table with the money and the tin soldiers.

"'There, daddy,' he said, 'tell the Red Cross people to send them to some little boy like me, that's been washed out of his home and hasn't anything of toys left, or his clothes.'

"I tell you it made a lump come up in my throat to see that the little fellow had taken his very best to pay his debt of gratitude. Nothing was too great for him to sacrifice. Even his tin soldiers went when he remembered what the Red Cross had done for him."

"My experience with the Red Cross was in the Mississippi floods of '82," said a gentleman who had joined the party. "One winter day we were attracted by screams out in the river, and found that they came from some people who were floating down on a house that had been washed away. There they were, that freezing weather, out in the middle of the river, their clothes frozen on them, ill from fright and exposure. I went out in one of the boats that was sent to their rescue, and helped bring them to shore. I was so impressed by the tales of suffering they told that I went up the river to investigate.

"At every town, and nearly every steamboat landing, I found men from the relief committees already at work, distributing supplies. They didn't stop when they had provided food and clothing. They furnished seed by the car-load to the farmers, just as in the Galveston disaster, a few years ago, they furnished thousands of strawberry plants to the people who were wholly dependent on their crops for their next year's food."

"Where did they get all those stores?" asked Lloyd. "And the seeds and the strawberry plants?"

"Most of it was donated," answered the gentleman. "Many contributions come pouring in after such a disaster, just as little Bertie's did. But the society is busy all the time, collecting and storing away the things that may be needed at a moment's notice. People would contribute, of course, even if there were no society to take charge of their donations, but without its wise hands to distribute, much would be lost.

"A number of years ago a physician in Bedford, Indiana, gave a tract of land to the American National Red Cross; more than a square mile, I believe, a beautiful farm with buildings and fruit-trees, a place where material can be accumulated and stored. By the terms of the treaty of Geneva, forty nations are pledged to hold it sacred for ever against all invading armies, to the use of the Red Cross. It is the only spot on earth pledged to perpetual peace."

It was from a sad-faced lady in black, who had had two sons drowned in the Johnstown flood, that Lloyd and Betty heard the description of Clara Barton's five months' labour there. A doctor's wife who had been in the Mt. Vernon cyclone, and a newspaper man who had visited the South Carolina islands after the tidal wave, and Charleston after the earthquake, piled up their accounts of those scenes of suffering, some of them even greater than the horrors of war, so that Lloyd could not sleep that night, for thinking of them.

"Betty," she whispered, across the stateroom, turning over in her berth. "Betty, are you awake?"

"Yes. Do you want anything?"

"I can't sleep. That's all. Every time I shut my eyes I see all those awful things they told about: cities in ruins, and dead people lying around in piles, and the yellow fevah camps, and floods and fiah. It is a dreadful world, Betty. No one knows what awful thing is goin' to happen next."

"Don't think about the dreadful part," urged Betty. "Think of the funny things Mrs. Brown told, of the time the levee broke at Shawneetown. The table all set for supper, and the water pouring in until the table floated up to the ceiling, and went bobbing around like a fish."

"That doesn't help any," said Lloyd, after a moment. "I see the watah crawlin' highah and highah up the walls, above the piano and pictuahs, till I feel as if it is crawlin' aftah me, and will be all ovah the bed in a minute. Did you evah think how solemn it is, Betty Lewis, to be away out in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but a few planks between us and drownin'? Seems to me the ship pitches around moah than usual, to-night, and the engine makes a mighty strange, creakin' noise."

"Do you remember the night I put you to sleep at the Cuckoo's Nest?" asked Betty. "The night after you fell down the barn stairs, playing barley-bright? Shut your eyes and let me try it again."

It was no nursery legend or border ballad that Betty crooned this time, but some peaceful lines of the old Quaker poet, and the quiet comfort of them stole into Lloyd's throbbing brain and soothed her excited fancy. Long after Betty was asleep she went on repeating to herself the last lines:

"I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air, I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care."

She did dream of fires and floods that night, but the horror of the scenes was less, because a baby voice called cheerfully through them, "Here, daddy, give these to the poor little boys that are cold and homesick?" and a great St. Bernard, with a Red Cross on his back, ran around distributing mittens and tin soldiers.

"Now that we are half-way across the ocean," said Mrs. Sherman, next morning, "I may give you Allison Walton's letter. She enclosed it in one her mother wrote, and asked me not to give it to you until we were in mid-ocean. I suppose her experience in coming over from Manila taught her that letters are more appreciated then than at the beginning of the voyage."

The Little Colonel unfolded it, exclaiming in surprise, "It is dated 'The Beeches.' I thought that they were in Lloydsboro Valley all summah, in the cottage next to the churchyard. That one you used to like," she added, turning to Betty. "The one with the high green roof and deah little diamond-shaped window-panes."

"So they are in the Valley," answered her mother. "But their new house is finished now, and they have moved into that. As they have left all the beautiful beech grove standing around it, they have decided to call the place The Beeches, as ours is called Locust, on account of the trees in front of it."

Beckoning to Betty to come and listen, Lloyd sat down to read the letter, and Mrs. Sherman turned to an acquaintance next her. "It is General Walton's family of whom we were speaking," she explained. "Since his death in Manila they have been living in Louisville, until recently. We are so delighted to think that they have now come to the Valley to live. It was Mrs. Walton's home in her girlhood, and her mother's place, Edgewood, is just across the avenue from The Beeches. Lloyd and the little girls are the best of friends, and we are all interested in Ranald, the only son. He was the youngest captain in the army, you know. He received his appointment and was under fire before he was twelve years old."

"Oh, mothah," spoke up Lloyd, so eagerly that she did not notice that she had interrupted the conversation. "Listen to this, please. You know I wrote to Allison about Hero, and this lettah is neahly all about him. She said her fathah knew Clara Barton, and that in Cuba and Manila the games and books that the Red Cross sent to the hospitals were appreciated by the soldiahs almost as much as the delicacies. And she says her mothah thinks it would be fine for us all to start a fund for the Red Cross. They wanted to get up a play because they're always havin' tableaux and such things.

"They've been readin' 'Little Women' again, and Jo's Christmas play made them want to do something like that. They can have all the shields and knights' costumes that the MacIntyre boys had when they gave Jonesy's benefit. They were going to have an entahtainment last week, but couldn't agree. Allison wanted to play 'Cinda'ella,' because there are such pretty costumes in that, but Kitty wanted to make up one all about witches and spooks and robbah-dens, and call it 'The One-Eyed Ghost of Cocklin Tower.'

"She wanted to be the ghost. They've decided to wait till we get home befo' they do anything."

"There's your opportunity, Betty," said Mrs. Sherman, turning to her goddaughter with a smile. "Why can't you distinguish yourself by writing a play that will make us all proud of you, and at the same time swell the funds of the Red Cross?"

"Oh, do you really think I could, godmother? Are you in earnest?" cried Betty, her face shining with pleasure.

"Entirely so," answered Mrs. Sherman, running her hand caressingly over Betty's brown hair. "This little curly head is full of all sorts of tales of goblins and ogres and witches and fairy folk. String them together, dear, in some sort of shape, and I'll help with the costumes."

The suggestion was made playfully, but Betty looked dreamily out to sea, her face radiant. The longing to do something to please her godmother and make her proud of her was the first impulse that thrilled her, but as she began to search her brain for a plot, the joy of the work itself made her forget everything else, even the passing of time. She was amazed when Lloyd called to her that they were going down to lunch. She had sat the entire morning wrapped in her steamer-rug, looking out across the water with far-seeing eyes. As the blue waves rose and fell, her thoughts had risen and swayed to their rhythmic motion, and begun to shape themselves into rhyme. Line after line was taking form, and she wished impatiently that Lloyd had not called her. How could one be hungry when some inward power, past understanding, was making music in one's soul?

She followed Lloyd down to the table like one in a trance, but the spell was broken for awhile by Lloyd's persistent chatter.

"You know there's all sort of things you could have," she suggested, "if you wanted to use them in the piece. Tarbaby and the Filipino pony, and we could even borrow the beah from Fairchance if you wanted anything like Beauty and the Beast. We had that once though, at Jonesy's benefit, so maybe you wouldn't want to use it again."

"There's to be a knight in it," answered Betty, "and he'll be mounted in one scene. So we may need one of the ponies." Then she turned to her godmother. "Do you suppose there is a spinning-wheel anywhere in the neighbourhood that we could borrow?"

"Yes, I have one of my great-grandmother's stored away in the trunk-room. You may have that."

The Little Colonel shrugged her shoulders impatiently. "Oh, I can't wait to know what you're goin' to do with a spinnin'-wheel in the play. Tell me now, Betty."

But the little playwright only shook her head "I'm not sure myself yet. But I keep thinking of the humming of the wheel, and a sort of spinning-song keeps running through my head. I thought, too, it would help to make a pretty scene."

"You're goin' to put Hero in it, aren't you?" was the Little Colonel's question.

"Oh, Lloyd! I can't," cried Betty, in dismay. "A dog couldn't have a part with princes and witches and fairies."

"I don't see why not," persisted Lloyd. "I sha'n't take half the interest if he isn't in it. I think you might put him in, Betty," she urged. "I'd do as much for you, if it was something you had set your heart on. Please, Betty!" she begged.

"But he won't fit anywhere!" said Betty, in a distressed tone. "I'd put him in, gladly, if he'd only go, but, don't you see, Lloyd, he isn't appropriate. It would spoil the whole thing to drag him in."

"I don't see why," said Lloyd, a trifle sharply. "Isn't it going to be a Red Cross entahtainment, and isn't Hero a Red Cross dog? I think it's very appropriate for him to have a part, even one of the principal ones."

"I can't think of a single thing for him to do—" began Betty.

"You can if you try hard enough," insisted Lloyd.

Betty sighed hopelessly, and turned to her lunch in silence. She wanted to please the Little Colonel, but it seemed impossible to her to give Hero a part without spoiling the entertainment.

"Maybe some of the books in the ship's library might help you," said Mr. Sherman, who had been an amused listener. "I'll look over some of them for you."

Later in the day he came up to Betty where she stood leaning against the deck railing. He laid a book upon it, open at a picture of seven white swans, "Do you remember this?" he asked. "The seven brothers who were changed to swans, and the good sister who wove a coat for each one out of flax she spun from the churchyard nettles? The magic coats gave them back their human forms. Maybe you can use the same idea, and have your prince changed into a dog for awhile."

"Oh, thank you!" she cried. "I'd forgotten that story. I am sure it will help."

He walked away, leaving her poring over the picture, but presently, as he paced the deck, he felt her light touch on his arm, and turned to see her glowing little face looking up into his.

"I've got it!" she cried. "The picture made me think of the very thing. I had been fumbling with a tangled skein, trying to find a place to begin unwinding. Now you have given me the starting thread, and it all begins to smooth out beautifully. I'm going for pencil and paper now, to write it all down before I forget."

That pencil and note-book were her constant companions the rest of the voyage. Sometimes Lloyd, coming upon her suddenly, would hear her whispering a list of rhymes such as more, core, pour, store, shore, before, or creature, teacher, feature, at which they would both laugh and Betty exclaim, hopelessly, "I can't find a word to fit that place." At other times Lloyd passed her in respectful silence, for she knew by the rapt look on Betty's face that the mysterious business of verse-making was proceeding satisfactorily, and she dared not interrupt.

The day they sighted land, Lloyd exclaimed: "Oh, I can hardly wait to get home! I've had a perfectly lovely summah, and I've enjoyed every mile of the journey, but the closah I get to Locust the moah it seems to me that the very nicest thing my wondah-ball can unroll (except givin' me Hero, of co'se) is the goin' back home."

"Your wonder-ball," repeated Betty, who knew the birthday story. "That gives me an idea. The princess shall have a wonder-ball in the play."

Lloyd laughed. "I believe that's all you think about nowadays, Betty. Put up yoah scribblin' for awhile and come and watch them swing the trunks up out of the hold. We're almost home, Betty Lewis, almost home!"



CHAPTER XII.

HOME AGAIN

Meanwhile in Lloydsboro Valley the summer had slipped slowly by. Locust seemed strangely quiet with the great front gates locked, and never any sound of wheels or voices coming down the avenue. Judge Moore's place was closed also, and Tanglewood, just across the way, had been opened only a few weeks in the spring. So birds and squirrels held undisputed possession of that part of the Valley, and the grass grew long and the vines climbed high, and often the soft whisper of the leaves was the only sound to be heard.

But in the shady beech grove, next the churchyard, and across the avenue from Mrs. MacIntyre's, the noise of hammer and saw and trowel had gone on unceasingly, until at last the new home was ready for its occupants. The family did not have far to move to "The Beeches"; only over the stile from the quaint green-roofed cottage next door, where they had spent the summer.

Allison, Kitty, and Elise climbed back and forth over the stile, their arms full of their particular treasures, which they could not trust to the moving-vans. All the week that Betty and Lloyd were tossing out on the ocean, they were flitting about the new house, growing accustomed to its unfamiliar corners. By the time the Majestic steamed into the New York harbour, they were as much at home in their new surroundings as if they had always lived there. The tent was pitched on the lawn, the large family of dolls was brought out under the trees, and the games, good times, and camp-fire cooking went on as if they had never been interrupted for an instant by the topsy-turvy work of moving.

"Whose day is it for the pony-cart?" asked Mrs. Walton, coming out on the steps one morning.

"It was mine," answered Kitty, speaking up from the hammock, where she swung, half in, half out, watching a colony of ants crawling along the ground underneath. "But I traded my turn to Elise, for her biggest paper boy doll."

"And I traded my turn to Allison, if she would let me use all the purple and yellow paint I want in her paint-box, while I am making my Princess Pansy's ball dress," said Elise.

Mrs. Walton smiled at the transfer of rights. The little girls had an arrangement by which they took turns in using the cart certain days in the week, when Ranald did not want to ride his Filipino pony.

"Whoever has it to-day may do an errand for me," Mrs. Walton said, adding, as she turned toward the house, "Do you know that Lloyd and Betty are coming on the three o'clock train this afternoon?"

"Then I don't want the pony-cart," exclaimed Allison, quickly. "I'm going down to the depot to meet them."

The depot was in sight of The Beeches, not more than three minutes' walk distant.

"Can't go back on your trade!" sang out Elise. "Can't go back on your trade!"

"Oh, you take it, Elise," coaxed Allison. "It's my regular turn to-morrow. I'll make some fudge in the morning, if you will."

Elise considered a moment. "Well," she said, finally, "I'll let you off from your trade if Kitty will let me off from mine."

"No, sir!" answered Kitty. "A trade's a trade. I want that paper boy doll."

"But it's your regular turn," coaxed Elise, "and I'd much rather go down to the depot to meet the girls than go riding."

"So would I," said Kitty, spurring the procession of ants to faster speed with her slipper toe. Then she sat up and considered the matter a moment.

"Oh, well," she said, presently, "I don't care, after all. If it will oblige you any I'll let you off, and take the pony myself."

"Oh, thank you, sister," cried Elise.

"They'll only be at the depot a few minutes," continued the wily Kitty. "So I'll drive down to meet them in style in the cart, and then I'll go up to Locust with them, beside the carriage, and hear all about the trip first of anybody."

"I wish I'd thought of that," said Elise, a shade of disappointment in her big dark eyes.

"I'll tell you," proposed Allison, enthusiastically, "We'll all go down in the pony-cart to meet them together. That would be the nicest way to do."

"Oh!" was Kitty's cool reply, "I had thought of going by for Katy or Corinne." Then, seeing the disappointment in the faces opposite, she added, "But maybe I might change my mind. Have you got anything to trade for a chance to go?"

This transfer of possessions which they carried on was like a continuous game, of which they never tired, because of its endless variety. It was a source of great amusement to the older members of the family.

"It is a mystery to me," said Miss Allison, "how they manage to keep track of their property, and remember who is the owner. I have known a doll or a dish to change hands half a dozen times in the course of a forenoon."

Elise promptly offered the paper boy doll again, which was promptly accepted. Allison had nothing to offer which Kitty considered equivalent to a seat in the cart, but by a roundabout transfer the trade was finally made. Allison gave Elise the amount of purple and yellow paint she needed for the Princess Pansy's ball gown, in return for which Elise gave her a piece of spangled gauze which Kitty had long had an eye upon. Allison in turn handed the gauze to Kitty for her right to a seat in the pony-cart, and the affair was thus happily settled to the satisfaction of all parties.

"It isn't that we are selfish with each other," Allison had retorted, indignantly, one day when Corinne remarked that she didn't see how sisters who loved each other could be so particular about everything. "It's only with our toys and the cart that we do that way. It's a kind of game that we've played always, and we think it's lots of fun."

So it happened that that afternoon, when the train stopped at Lloydsboro Valley, the first thing the Little Colonel saw was the pony-cart drawn close to the platform. Then three little girls in white dresses and fresh ribbons, smiling broadly under their big flower-wreathed hats, sprang out to give them a warm welcome home, with enthusiastic hugs and kisses.

Hero's turn came next. Released from his long, tiresome confinement in the baggage-car, he came bounding into their midst, almost upsetting the Little Colonel in his joy at having his freedom again. He put out his great paw to each of the little girls in turn as Lloyd bade him shake hands with his new neighbours, but he growled suspiciously when Walker came up and laid black fingers upon him. He had never seen a coloured man before.

It was Betty's first meeting with the Walton girls. She had looked forward to it eagerly, first because they were the daughters of a man whom her little hero-loving heart honoured as one of the greatest generals of the army, who had given his life to his country, and died bravely in its service, and secondly because Lloyd's letters the winter before had been full of their sayings and doings. Mrs. Sherman, too, had told her many things of their life in Manila, and she felt that children who had such unusual experiences could not fail to be interesting. There was a third reason, however, that she scanned each face so closely. She had given them parts in the new play, and she was wondering how well they would fit those parts.

They in turn cast many inquiring glances at Betty, for they had heard all about this little song-bird that had been taken away from the Cuckoo's Nest. They had read her poem on "Night," which was published in a real paper, and they could not help looking upon her with a deep feeling of respect, tinged a little with awe, that a twelve-year-old girl could write verses good enough to be published. They had heard Keith's enthusiastic praises of her.

"Betty's a brick!" he had said, telling of several incidents of the house party, especially the picnic at the old mill, when she had gone so far to keep her "sacred promise." "She's the very nicest girl I know," he had added, emphatically, and that was high praise, coming from the particular Keith, who judged all girls by the standard of his mother.

As soon as the trunks were attended to, Mr. Sherman led the way to the carriage, waiting on the other side of the platform. Hero was given a place beside Walker, and although he sprang up obediently when he was bidden, he eyed his companion suspiciously all the way. The pony-cart trundled along beside the carriage, the girls calling back and forth to each other, above the rattle of the wheels.

"Oh, isn't Hero the loveliest dog that ever was! But you ought to see our puppy—the cutest thing—nothing but a bunch of soft, woozy curls." ... "We're in the new house now, you must come over to-morrow." ... "Mother is going to take us all camping soon. You are invited, too." This from the pony-cart in high-pitched voices in different keys.

"Oh, I've had a perfectly lovely time, and I've brought you all something in my trunk. And say, girls, Betty is writing a play for the Red Cross entertainment. There's a witch in it, Kitty, and lots of pretty costumes, Allison. And, oh, deah, I'm so glad to get home I don't know what to do first!" This from the carriage.

The great entrance gates were unlocked now, the lawn smoothly cut, the green lace-work of vines trimly trained around the high white pillars of the porches. The pony-cart turned back at the gate, and the carriage drove slowly up the avenue alone. The mellow sunlight of the warm September afternoon filtered down like gold, through the trees arching overhead.

"'Oh, the sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home,'" sang Lloyd, softly, leaning out of the carriage to wave her hand to Mom Beck, who, in whitest of aprons and gayest of head bandanas, stood smiling and curtseying on the steps. The good old black face beamed with happiness as she cried, "Heah comes my baby, an' li'l' Miss Betty, too, bless her soul an' body!"

Around the house came May Lily and a tribe of little pickaninnies, who fell back at sight of Hero leaping out of the carriage. He was the largest dog they had ever seen. Lloyd called them all around her and made them each shake hands with the astonished St. Bernard, who did not seem to relish this part of his introduction to Kentucky.

"He'll soon get used to you," said the Little Colonel. "May Lily, you run tell Aunt Cindy to give you a cooky or a piece of chicken for him to eat. Henry Clay, you bring a pan of watah. If you all fly around and wait on him right good, he'll like you lots bettah."

Leaving Lloyd to offer Hero the hospitality of Locust in the midst of her little black admirers, Betty slowly followed her godmother up the wide stairs.

"You're to have the same white and gold room again, dear," said Mrs. Sherman, peeping in as she passed the door. "I see that it is all in readiness. So walk in and take possession."

Betty was glad that she was alone, those first few minutes, the joy of the home-coming was so keen. Going in, she shut the door and gave a swift glance all around, from the dark polished floor, with its white angora rugs, to the filmy white curtains at the open casement windows. Everything was just as she had seen it last,—the dear little white dressing-table, with its crystal candlesticks, that always made her think of twisted icicles; the little heart-shaped pincushion and all the dainty toilet articles of ivory and gold; the pictures on the wall; the freshly gathered plumes of goldenrod in the crystal bowl on the mantel. She stood a moment, looking out of the open window, and thinking of the year that had gone by since she last stood in that room. Many a long and perilous mile she had travelled, but here she was back in safety, and instead of bandaged eyes and the horror of blindness hovering over her, she was able to look out on the beautiful world with strong, far-seeing sight.

The drudgery of the Cuckoo's Nest was far behind her now, and the bare little room under the eaves. Henceforth this was to be her home. She remembered the day in the church when her godmother's invitation to the house party reached her, and just as she had knelt then in front of the narrow, bench-like altar, she knelt now, beside the little white bed. Now, as then, the late afternoon sun streamed across her brown curls and shining face, and "Thank you, dear God," came in the same grateful whisper from the depths of the same glad little heart.

"Betty! Betty!" called Lloyd, under her window. "Come and take a run over the place. I want to show Hero his new home."

Tired of sitting still so long on the cars, Betty was glad to join in the race over the smooth lawn and green meadows. Out in the pasture, Tarbaby waited by the bars. The grapevine swing in the mulberry-tree, every nook and corner where the guests of the house party had romped and played the summer before, seemed to hold a special greeting for them, and every foot of ground in old Locust seemed dearer for their long absence.

The next morning, when Tarbaby was led around for Lloyd to take her usual ride, both girls gave a cry of delight, for another pony followed close at his heels. It was the one that had been kept for Betty's use during the house party.

"It is Lad!" called the Little Colonel, excitedly. "Oh, Papa Jack! Is he goin' to stay heah all the time?"

"Yes, he belongs here now," answered Mr. Sherman. "I want both my little girls to be well mounted, and to ride every day."

He motioned to a card hanging from Lad's bridle, and, leaning over, Lloyd read aloud, "For Betty from Papa Jack."

Betty could hardly realise her good fortune.

"Is he really mine?" she insisted, "the same as Tarbaby is Lloyd's?"

"Really yours, and just the same," answered Mr. Sherman, holding out his hand to help her mount.

She tried to thank him, tried to tell him how happy the gift had made her, but words could not measure either her gratitude or her pleasure. He read them both, however, in her happy face. As he swung her into the saddle, she leaned forward, saying, "I want to whisper something in your ear, Mr. Sherman." As he bent his head she whispered, "Thank you for writing Papa Jack on the card. That made me happier than anything else."

"That is what I want you to call me always now, my little daughter," he answered, kissing her lightly on the cheek. "Locust is your home now, and you belong to all of us. Your godmother, the Little Colonel, and I each claim a share."

"What makes you so quiet?" asked Lloyd, as they rode on down the avenue.

"I was thinking of the way Joyce's fairy tale ended," said Betty. "'So the prince came into his kingdom, the kingdom of loving hearts and gentle hands.' Only this time it's the princess who's come into her kingdom."

"What do you mean?" asked Lloyd, with a puzzled look.

"Oh, it's only some of my foolishness," said Betty, looking back over her shoulder with a laugh. "I'm just so glad that I'm alive, and so glad that I am me, and so happy because everybody is so heavenly kind to me, that I wouldn't change places with the proudest princess that ever sat on a throne."

"Then come on, and let's race to the post-office," cried Lloyd, dashing off, with Hero bounding along beside her.

From the post-office they rode to The Beeches, where Allison was cooking something over the camp-fire, beside the tent on the lawn.

It proved to be candy, and she waved a sticky spoon in welcome. Mrs. Walton was in a hammock, near by, her mending basket beside her, and Kitty and Elise on the grass at her feet, watching the molasses bubble up in the kettle. Betty felt a little shy at first, for this was her first meeting with the General's wife, and she wished that the girls would not insist on having an immediate outline of the play. It had seemed very fine indeed to her when she read it aloud to herself, or repeated it to Lloyd. It had not seemed a very childish thing to her even when she read it to her godmother. But she shrank from Mrs. Walton's criticism. It was with many blushes that she began. Afterward she wondered why she should have been timid about it. Mrs. Walton applauded it so heartily, and entered into plans for making the entertainment a success as enthusiastically as any of the girls.

"I bid to be witch!" cried Kitty, when Betty had finished.

"I'd like to be the queen, if you don't care," said Allison, "for I am the largest, and I'd rather act with Rob than the other boys. But it doesn't make any difference. I'll be anything you want me to."

"That's the way Betty planned it," said Lloyd. "I'm to be the captive princess, and Keith will be my brother whom the witch changes into a dog. That's Hero, of co'se. Malcolm will be the knight who rescues me. Rob Moore will be king, and Elise the queen of the fairies, and Ranald the ogah."

"Ranald said last night that he wouldn't be in the play if he had to learn a lot of foolishness to speak, or if he couldn't be disguised so that nobody would know him," said Kitty. "He'll help any other way, fixing the stage and the red lights and all that, but the Captain has a dread of making himself appear ridiculous. Now I don't. I'd rather have the funny parts than the high and mighty ones."

"He might be Frog-eye-Fearsome," suggested Betty. "Then he wouldn't have anything to do but drag the prince and princess across the stage to the ogre's tower, and the costume could be so hideous that no one could tell whether a human or a hobgoblin was inside of it."

"Who'll buy all the balloons for the fairies, and make our spangled wings?" asked Elise. "Oh, I know," she cried, instantly answering her own question. "I'll tell Aunt Elise all about it, and I know that she'll help."

"How will you go all the way to the seashore to tell her?" asked Kitty.

"She isn't at the seashore," answered Elise, with an air of triumph. "She came back from Narragansett Pier last night. Didn't she, mamma? And she and Malcolm and Keith are coming out to grandmother's this afternoon as straight as the train can carry them, you might know. They always do, first thing. Don't they, mamma?"

Mrs. Walton nodded yes, then said: "Suppose you bring the play down this afternoon, Betty. Ask your mother to come too, Lloyd, and we'll read it out under the trees. Now are all the characters decided upon?"

"All but the ogre," said Betty.

"Joe Clark is the very one for that," exclaimed Lloyd. "He is head and shouldahs tallah than all the othah boys, although he is only fifteen, and his voice is so deep and gruff it sounds as if it came out of the cellah. We can stop and ask him if he'll take the part."

"Invite him to come down to the reading of the play, too," said Mrs. Walton. "I'll look for you all promptly at four."

Betty almost lost her courage that afternoon when she saw the large group waiting for her under the beech-trees on Mrs. Walton's lawn. Mrs. MacIntyre was there, fresh and dainty as Betty always remembered her, with the sunshine flickering softly through the leaves on her beautiful white hair. Miss Allison, who, in the children's opinion, knew everything, sat beside her, and worst of all, the younger Mrs. MacIntyre was there; Malcolm's and Keith's mother, whom Betty had never seen before, but of whom she had heard glowing descriptions from her admiring sons.

Lloyd pointed her out to Betty as they drove in at the gate. "See, there she is, in that lovely pink organdy. Wouldn't you love to look like her? I would. She's like a queen."

Betty sank back, faint with embarrassment. "Oh, godmother!" she whispered. "I know I can't read it before all those people. It will choke me. There's at least a dozen, and some of them are strangers."

Mrs. Sherman smiled, encouragingly. "There's nothing to be afraid of, dear. Your play is beautiful, in my opinion, and every one there will agree with me when they've all heard it. Go on and do your best and make us all proud of you."

There was no time to hesitate. Keith was already swinging on the carriage steps to welcome them, and Malcolm and Ranald were bringing out more chairs to make places for them with the group under the beeches. Nobody mentioned the play for some time. The older people were busy questioning Mrs. Sherman about her summer abroad, and Malcolm and Keith had much to tell the others of their vacation at the seashore; of polo and parties and ping-pong, and several pranks that sent the children into shrieks of laughter.

In the midst of the hum of conversation Betty's heart almost stood still. Mrs. Walton was calling the company to order. Coming forward, she led Betty to a chair in the centre of the circle, and asked her to begin. It was with hands that trembled visibly that Betty opened her note-book and began to read "The Rescue of the Princess Winsome."



CHAPTER XIII.

"THE RESCUE OF THE PRINCESS WINSOME"

AN ENTERTAINMENT FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE RED CROSS

CHARACTERS

King Rob Moore. Queen Allison Walton. Prince Hero Keith MacIntyre. PRINCESS WINSOME Lloyd Sherman. Knight Malcolm MacIntyre. Ogre Joe Clark. Witch Kitty Walton. Godmother Elizabeth Lloyd Lewis. Frog-eye Fearsome Ranald Walton. Titania Elise Walton. Bewitched Prince HERO, THE RED CROSS DOG.

Chorus of Fairies. {Morning-glory. {Pansy. Flower Messengers {Rose. {Forget-me-not. {Poppy. {Daisy.

ACT I.

SCENE I. In the Witch's Orchard. Frog-eye Fearsome drags the captive Prince and Princess to the Ogre's tower. At Ogre's command Witch brews spell to change Prince Hero into a dog.

SCENE II. In front of Witch's Orchard. King and Queen bewail their loss. The Godmother of Princess promises aid. The Knight starts in quest of the South Wind's silver flute with which to summon the Fairies to his help.

ACT II.

SCENE I. In the Tower Room. Princess Winsome and Hero. Godmother brings spinning-wheel on which Princess is to spin Love's golden thread that shall rescue her brother. Dove comes with letter from Knight. Flower messengers in turn report his progress. Counting the Daisy's petals the Princess learns that her true Knight has found the flute.

ACT III.

SCENE I. In Witch's Orchard. Knight returns from quest. Blows the flute and summons Titania and her train. They bind the Ogre and Witch in the golden thread the Princess spun. Knight demands the spell that binds the Prince and plucks the seven golden plums from the silver apple-tree. Prince becomes a prince again, and King gives the Knight the hand of the Princess and half of his Kingdom. Chorus of Fairies.

ACT I.

SCENE I. Witch bends over fire in middle of orchard, brewing a charm in her caldron. Ogre stalks in, grinning frightfully, swinging his bludgeon in triumph.

Ogre. Ha, old witch, it is done at last! I have broken the King's stronghold! I have stolen away his children twain From the clutch of their guardsmen bold. I have dragged them here to my castle tower. Prince Hero is strong and fair. But he and his sister shall rue my power, When once up yon winding stair.

Witch. Now why didst thou plot such a wicked thing? The children no harm have done.

Ogre. But I have a grudge 'gainst their father, the King, A grudge that is old as the sun. And hark ye, old hag, I must have thy aid Before the new moon be risen. Now brew me a charm in thy caldron black, That shall keep them fast in their prison!

Witch. I'll brew thee no charm, thou Ogre dread! Knowest thou not full well The Princess thou hast stolen away Is guarded by Fairy spell? Her godmother over her cradle bent "O Princess Winsome," she said, "I give thee this gift: thou shalt deftly spin, As thou wishest, Love's golden thread." So I dare not brew thee a spell 'gainst her My caldron would grow acold And never again would bubble up, If touched by her thread of gold.

Ogre. Then give me a charm to bind the prince. Thou canst do that much at least. I'll give thee more gold than hands can hold, If thou'lt change him into some beast.

Witch. I have need of gold—so on the fire I'll pile my fagots higher and higher, And in the bubbling water stir This hank of hair, this patch of fur, This feather and this flapping fin, This claw, this bone, this dried snake skin! Bubble and boil And snake skin coil, This charm shall all plans But the Ogre's foil.

[As Witch stirs and sings, the Ogre, stalking to the side, calls.

Ogre. Ho, Frog-eye Fearsome, let the sport begin! Hence to the tower! Drag the captives in!

[Frog-eye Fearsome drags Prince Hero and Princess Winsome across the stage, and into the door leading up the tower stair. They are bound by ropes. Prince tries to reach his sword. Princess shrieks.

Princess. Oh, save us, good, wise witch, In pity, save us, pray. The King, our royal father, Thy goodness will repay. [Pulls back, wringing hand. Oh, I cannot, cannot mount the tower! Oh, save us from the bloody Ogre's power!

[They are dragged into the tower, door bangs and Ogre locks it with key a yard long. Goes back to Witch, who hands him vial filled from caldron with black mixture.

Witch. Pour drop by drop upon Prince Hero's tongue. First he will bark. His hands and feet Will turn to paws, and he will seem a dog. Seven drops will make the change complete. The poison has no antidote save one, And he a prince again can never be, Unless seven silver plums he eats, Plucked from my golden apple-tree.

Ogre. Revenge is sweet, And soon 'twill be complete! Then to my den I'll haste for gold to delve. I'll bring it at the black, bleak hour of twelve!

Witch. And I upon my broomstick now must fly To woodland tryst. Come, Horned Owl And Venomed Toad! Now play the spy! Let no one through my orchard prowl.

[Exit Witch and Ogre to dirge music.

SCENE II. Enter King and Queen weeping. They pace up and down, wringing hands, and showing great signs of grief. Godmother enters from opposite side. King speaks.

King. Good dame, Godmother of our daughter dear, Perhaps thou'st heard our tale of woe. Our children twain are stolen away By Ogre Grim, mine ancient foe.

All up and down the land we've sought For help to break into his tower. And now, our searching all for nought, We've come to beg the Witch's power.

[Godmother springs forward, finger to lip, and anxiously waves them away from orchard.

Godmother. Nay! Nay! Your Majesty, go not Within that orchard, now I pray! The Witch and Ogre are in league. They've wrought you fearful harm this day. She brewed a draught to change the prince Into a dog! Oh, woe is me! I passed the tower and heard him bark: Alack! That I must tell it thee!

[Queen shrieks and falls back in the King's arms, then recovering falls to wailing.

Queen. My noble son a dog? A beast? It cannot, must not, shall not be! I'll brave the Ogre in his den, And plead upon my bended knee!

Godmother. Thou couldst not touch his heart of stone. He'd keep thee captive in his lair. The Princess Winsome can alone Remove the cause of thy despair. And I unto the tower will climb, And ere is gone the sunset's red, Shall bid her spin a counter charm— A skein of Love's own Golden Thread. Take heart, O mother Queen! Be brave! Take heart, O gracious King, I pray! Well can she spin Love's Golden Thread, And Love can always find a way! [Exit Godmother.

Queen. She's gone, good dame. But what if she Has made mistake, and thread of gold Is not enough to draw our son From out the Ogre's cruel hold? Canst think of nought, your Majesty? Of nothing else? Must we stand here And powerless lift no hand to speed The rescue of our children dear?

[King clasps hand to his head in thought, then starts forward.

King. I have it now! This hour I'll send Swift heralds through my wide domains, To say the knight who rescues them Shall wed the Princess for his pains.

Queen. Quick! Let us fly! I hear the sound of feet, As if some horseman were approaching nigher. 'Twould not be seemly should he meet Our royal selves so near the Witch's fire.

[They start to run, but are met by Knight on horseback in centre of stage. He dismounts and drops to one knee.

King. 'Tis Feal the Faithful! Rise, Sir Knight, And tell us what thou doest here!

Knight. O Sire, I know your children's plight I go to ease your royal fear.

Queen. Now if thou bringst them back to us, A thousand blessings on thy head.

King. Ay, half my kingdom shall be thine. The Princess Winsome thou shalt wed.

Queen. But tell us, how dost thou think to cope With the Ogre so dread and grim? What is the charm that bids thee hope Thou canst rout and vanquish him?

Knight. My faithful heart is my only charm, But my good broadsword is keen, And love for the princess nerves my arm With the strength of ten, I ween. Come weal, come woe, no knight can fail Who goes at Love's behest. Long ere one moon shall wax and wane, I shall be back from my quest. I have only to find the South Wind's flute. In the Land of Summer it lies. It can awaken the echoes mute, With answering replies. And it can summon the fairy folk Who never have said me nay. They'll come to my aid at the flute's clear call. Love always can find a way.

King. Go, Feal the Faithful. It is well! Successful mayst thou be, And all the way that thou dost ride, Our blessings follow thee. [Curtain.

ACT II.

SCENE. Room in Ogre's tower. Princess Winsome kneeling with arm around Dog's neck.

Princess. Art thou my brother? Can it be That thou hast taken such shape? Oh turn those sad eyes not on me! There must be some escape. And yet our parents think us dead. No doubt they weep this very hour, For no one ever has escaped, Ere this, the Ogre's power.

Oh cruel fate! We can but die! Each moment seems a week. Is there no hope? Oh, Hero dear, If thou couldst only speak! But no! Within this tower room We're captive, and despair Must settle on us. 'Tis the doom Of all dragged up yon winding stair.

[Drops her head and weeps. Enter Godmother, who waves wand and throwing back curtain, displays a spinning-wheel.

Godmother. Rise, Princess Winsome, Dry your weeping eyes. The way of escape Within your own hand lies.

Waste no time in sorrow, Spin and sing instead. Spin for thy brother's sake, A skein of golden thread.

Question not the future, Mourn not the past, But keep thy wheel a-turning, Spinning well and fast.

All the world helps gladly Those who help themselves, And the thread thou spinnest, Shall be woven by elves.

All good things shall speed thee! Thy knight, the Faithful Feal, Is to thy rescue riding. Up! To thy spinning-wheel! [Disappears behind curtain.

Princess. All good things shall speed me? Sir Knight, the Faithful Feal, Is to my rescue riding? [In joyful surprise. Turn, turn, my spinning-wheel! (She sings.)

[Spinning Wheel Song.

My godmother bids me spin, that my heart may not be sad. Spin and sing for my brother's sake, and the spinning makes me glad. Spin, sing with humming whir, the wheel goes round and round. For my brother's sake, the charm I'll break, Prince Hero shall be found. Spin, sing, the golden thread, Gleams in the sun's bright ray, The humming wheel my grief can heal, For love will find a way.]

[Pauses with uplifted hand.

What's that at my casement tapping? Some messenger, maybe. Pause, good wheel, in thy turning, While I look out and see.

[Opens casement and leans out, as if welcoming a carrier dove, which may be concealed in basket outside window.

Little white dove, from my faithful knight, Dost thou bring a message to me? Little white dove with the white, white breast, What may that message be?

[Finds note, tied to wing.

Here is his letter. Ah, well-a-day! I'll open it now, and read. Little carrier dove, with fluttering heart, I'm a happy maiden, indeed. (She reads.) "O Princess fair, in the Ogre's tower, In the far-off Summer-land I seek the South Wind's silver flute, To summon a fairy band. Now send me a token by the dove That thou hast read my note. Send me the little heart of gold From the chain about thy throat. And I shall bind it upon my shield, My talisman there to stay. And then all foes to me must yield, For Love will find the way.

Here is set the hand and seal Of thy own true knight, the faithful—Feal."

[Princess takes locket from throat and winds chain around dove's neck.

Princess sings.

[The Dove Song.

Now, flutter and fly, flutter and fly, Bear him my heart of gold, Bid him be brave little carrier dove! Bid him be brave and bold! Tell him that I at my spinning wheel, Will sing while it turns and hums, And think all day of his love so leal, Until with the flute he comes. Now fly, flutter and fly, Now flutter and fly, away, away.]

[Sets dove at liberty. Turning to wheel again, repeats song.

Princess repeats. My Godmother bids me spin, That my heart may not be sad; Spin and sing for my brother's sake, And the spinning makes me glad.

Sing! Spin! With hum and whir The wheel goes round and round. For my brother's sake the charm I'll break! Prince Hero shall be found.

Spin! Sing! The golden thread Gleams in the sunlight's ray! The humming wheel my grief can heal, For Love will find a way.

[First messenger appears at window, dressed as a Morning-glory.

Morning-glory. Fair Princess, This morning, when the early dawn Was flushing all the sky, Beside the trellis where I bloomed, A knight rode slowly by.

He stopped and plucked me from my stem, And said, "Sweet Morning-glory, Be thou my messenger to-day, And carry back my story.

"Go bid the Princess in the tower Forget all thought of sorrow. Her true knight will return to her With joy, on some glad morrow." [Disappears.

Princess sings. Spin! spin! The golden thread Holds no thought of sorrow. My true knight he shall come to me With joy on some glad morrow.

[Second flower messenger, dressed at Pansy, appears at window.

Pansy. Gracious Princess, I come from Feal the Faithful. He plucked me from my bower, And said, speed to the Princess And say, "Like this sweet flower The thoughts within my bosom Bloom ever, love, of thee. Oh, read the pansy's message, And give a thought to me." [Pansy disappears.

Princess sings. Spin, spin, O golden thread! And turn, O humming wheel. This pansy is his thought of me, My true knight, brave and leal.

[Third flower messenger, a pink Rose.

Rose. Thy true knight battled for thee to-day, On a fierce and bloody field, But he won at last in the hot affray, By the heart of gold on his shield.

He saw me blushing beside a wall, My petals pink in the sun With pleasure, because such a valiant knight The hard-fought battle had won.

And he kissed me once on my soft pink cheek, And once in my heart of gold, And bade me hasten to thee and speak. Pray take the message I hold.

[Princess goes to the window, takes a pink rose from the messenger. As she walks back, kisses it and fastens it on her dress. Then turns to wheel again.

Princess sings. Spin, spin, O golden thread, And turn, O happy wheel. The pink rose brought in its heart of gold, A kiss, his love to seal.

[Fourth messenger, a Forget-me-not.

Forget-me-not. Fair Princess, Down by the brook, when the sun was low, A brave knight paused to slake His thirst in the water's silver flow, As he journeyed far for thy sake, He saw me bending above the stream, And he said, "Oh, happy spot! Ye show me the Princess Winsome's eyes In each blue forget-me-not." He bade me bring you my name to hide In your heart of hearts for ever, And say as long as its blooms are blue, No power true hearts can sever.

Princess sings. Spin, spin, O golden thread. O wheel; my happy lot It is to hide within my heart That name, forget-me-not.

[Fifth messenger, a Poppy.

Poppy. Dear Princess Winsome, Within the shade of a forest glade He laid him down to sleep, And I, the Poppy, kept faithful guard That it might be sweet and deep. But oft in his dreams he stirred and spoke, And thy name was on his tongue, And I learned his secret ere he woke, When the fair new day was young. And this is what he, whispering, said, As he journeyed on in his way: "Bear her my dreams in your chalice red, For I dream of her night and day."

Princess sings. Spin, spin, O golden thread. He dreams of me night and day! The poppy's chalice is sweet and red. Oh, Love will find a way!

[Sixth messenger, a Daisy.

Daisy. O Princess fair, Far on the edge of the Summer-land I stood with my face to the sun, And the brave knight counted with strong hand My petals, one by one.

And he said, "O Daisy, white and gold, The princess must count them too. By thy petals shall she be told If my long, far quest is through.

"Whether or not her knight has found The South Wind's flute that he sought." So over the hills from the Summer-land, Your true knight's token I've brought.

[Gives Princess a large artificial daisy. She counts petals, slowly dropping them one by one.

Princess. Far on the edge of the Summer-land, O Daisy, white and gold, My true love held you in his hand. What was the word he told? He's found it. Found it not. Found it. Found it not.

That magic flute of the South Wind, sweet, Will he blow it, over the lea? Will the fairy folk its call repeat, And hasten to rescue me?

He's found it, found it not. Found it, found it not. Found it, found it not. He's found it! [Turning to the dog.

Come, Hero! Hear me, brother mine; Thy gladness must indeed be mute, But oh, the joy! We're saved! We're saved! My knight has found the silver flute!

(Sings.)

["Spin, Wheel, Reel Out Thy Golden Thread."

Spin, wheel, reel out thy golden thread, My happy heart sings glad and gay, Hero shall 'scape the Ogre dread, And I my own true love shall wed. For love has found a way, For love has found a way.]

[Curtain.

ACT III.

SCENE. In front of Witch's Orchard. Knight comes riding by, blows flute softly under the tower window. Princess leans out and waves her hand. Knight dismounts, and little page takes horse, leading it off stage.

Knight. Lean out of thy window, O Princess fair, Rescuers now are at hand. Thou shalt be led down the winding stair By the Queen of the Fairy band.

Listen, as low on the South Wind's flute I call the elves to our tryst Down rainbow bubbles they softly float, Light-winged as stars in a mist.

[He blows on flute, and from every direction the Fairies come floating in, their gauzy wings spangled, and each one carrying a toy balloon, attached to a string. They trip back and forth, their balloons bobbing up and down like rainbow bubbles, singing.

[Fairy Chorus.

We come, we come at thy call, On rainbow bubbles we float. We fairies, one and all, Have answered the wind flute's note.

The south wind's silver flute, From the far-off summer land, It bade us hasten here, To lend a helping hand. It bade us hasten, hasten here, To lend a helping hand.

2. To the aid of the gallant knight, To the help of the princess fair, To the rescue of the prince, We come to the Ogre's lair. To the rescue of the prince, We come to the Ogre's lair.

3. And now, at thy behest, We pause in our bright array, To end thy weary quest, For love has found a way. To end thy weary, weary quest, For love has found a way.]

[Titania coming forward, waves Her star-tipped wand, and looks up toward Princess at the window.

Titania. Princess Winsome, When thy good Godmother Bade thee spin Love's thread, It was with this promise, These the words she said:

All the world helps gladly Those who help themselves. The thread thou spinnest bravely, Shall be woven by elves. And now, O Princess Winsome, How much hast thou spun, As thy wheel, a-whirling, Turned from sun to sun?

Princess. This, O Queen Titania. [Holding up mammoth ball. To the humming wheel's refrain, I sang, and spun the measure Of one great golden skein.

And winding, winding, winding, At last I wound it all, Until the thread all golden Made a mammoth wonder-ball.

Titania. Here below thy casement Thy true knight waiting stands. Drop the ball thou holdest Into his faithful hands.

[_Princess drops the ball, Knight catches it, and as Titania waves her wand, he starts along the line of Fairies. They each take hold as the Witch and Ogre come darting in, she brandishing her broomstick, he his bludgeon. They come through gate of the Orchard in the background. As the ball unwinds, the Fairies march around them, tangling them in the yards and yards of narrow yellow ribbon, singing as they go.

Fairy Chorus._ We come, we come at thy call, On rainbow bubbles we float. We fairies, one and all, Have answered the Wind-flute's note. To the aid of the gallant Knight, To the help of the Princess fair, To the rescue of the Prince, We come to the Ogre's lair. We come, we come at thy call, The Witch and Ogre to quell, And now they both must bow To the might of the fairies' spell. Love's Golden Thread can bind The strongest Ogre's arm, And the spell of the blackest Witch Must yield to its mighty charm.

[Ogre and Witch stand bound and helpless, tangled in golden cord. They glower around with frightful grimaces. King and Queen enter unnoticed from side. Knight draws his sword, and brandishing it before Ogre, cries out fiercely.

Knight. The key! The key that opens yonder tower! Now give it me, or by my troth Your head shall from your shoulders fly! To stab you through I'm nothing loath!

[Ogre gives Knight the key. He rushes to the door, unlocks it, and Princess and dog burst out. Queen rushes forward and embraces her, then the King, and Knight kneels and kisses her hand. Princess turns to Titania.

Princess. Oh, happy day that sets me free From yon dread Ogre's prison! Oh, happy world, since 'tis for me Such rescuers have 'risen. But see, your Majesty! the plight Of Hero—he the Prince, my brother! Wilt thou his wrong not set aright? Another favour grant! One other!

[Titania waves wand toward Knight who springs at Witch with drawn sword.

Knight. The spell! The spell that breaks the power That holds Prince Hero in its thrall! Now give it me, or in this hour Thy head shall from its shoulders fall!

Witch. Pluck with your thumbs Seven silver plums [Speaking in high, cracked voice. From my golden apple-tree! These the dog must eat. The change will be complete, And a prince once more the dog will be!

[Princess darts back into Orchard, followed by dog, who crouches behind hedge, and is seen no more. She picks plums, and, stooping, gives them to him, under cover of the hedge. The real Prince Hero leaps up from the place where he has been lying, waiting, and hand in hand they run back to the centre of the stage, where the Prince receives the embraces of King and Queen. Prince then turns to Knight.

Prince Hero. Hail, Feal the Faithful! My gratitude I cannot tell, That thou at last hath freed me From the Witch's fearful spell. But wheresoe'er thou goest, Thou faithful knight and true, The favours of my kingdom Shall all be showered on you. [Turns to Titania. Hail, starry-winged Titania! And ye fairies, rainbow-hued! I have not words sufficient To tell my gratitude, But if the loyal service Of a mortal ye should need, Prince Hero lives to serve you, No matter what the deed!

[Characters now group themselves in tableau. Queen and Prince on one side, Godmother and Titania on the other. King in centre, with Princess on one hand, Knight on other. He places her hand in the Knight's, who kneels to receive it. Ogre and Witch, still making horrible faces, are slightly in background, bound. Fairies form an outer semicircle.

King. And now, brave Knight, requited stand! Here is the Princess Winsome's hand. To-morrow thou shalt wedded be, And half my kingdom is for thee!

Fairy Chorus. Love's golden cord has bound The strongest Ogre's arm, And the spell of the blackest Witch Has yielded to its charm. The Princess Winsome plights Her troth to the Knight to-day, So fairies, one and all, We need no longer stay.

The golden thread is spun, The Knight has won his bride, And now our task is done, We may no longer bide. On rainbow bubbles bright, We fairies float away. The wrong is now set right And Love has found the way!

[Curtain.

As Betty finished reading, there was a babel of voices and a clapping of hands that made her face grow redder and redder. They were all trying to congratulate her at once, and she was so confused that she wished she could run away and hide. But the applause was very sweet to shy little Betty. She felt that she had done her best, and that not only her godmother was proud of her, but Keith, and Keith's beautiful mother, who bent from her queenly height to kiss Betty's flushed cheek, and whisper a word of praise that made her glow for weeks afterward, whenever she thought of it.

"'And he kissed me once on my soft pink cheek, And once in my heart of gold,'"

hummed Keith. "Say, Betty, that's mighty pretty. How did you ever think of it?"

Before she could answer, one of the maids came out with a tray of sherbet and cake, and the boys sprang up to help serve the girls.

"I know some of my part already," said Kitty, stirring her sherbet suggestively, and repeating in a sepulchral tone:

"'I'll stir This hank of hair, this patch of fur, This feather and this flapping fin, This claw, this bone, this dried snake skin.'"

"Oh, Kitty, for mercy's sake hush!" said Allison; "you make my blood run cold."

"But I must, if we've only a week to get ready in. I expect to say it day and night. It's better to do that than to take more than a week, and give up the camping party, isn't it?"

"It's going to be a howling success," prophesied Malcolm. "When mamma and auntie and Aunt Mary go into a scheme the way they are doing now, costumes and drills, and all sorts of impossible things don't count at all. We'll be ready in plenty of time."

"Especially," said the Little Colonel, with dignity, "when mothah and Papa Jack are goin' to do so much. My pa'ht is longah than anybody's."

Next morning at the depot, the post-office, and the blacksmith shop a sign was displayed which everybody stopped to read. Similar announcements nailed on various trees throughout the Valley caused many an old farmer to pull up his team and adjust his spectacles for a closer view of this novel poster.

They were all Miss Allison's work. Each one bore at the top a crayon sketch of a huge St. Bernard, with a Red Cross on its collar and shoulder-bags. Underneath was a notice to the effect that an entertainment would be given the following Friday night in the college hall, a short concert, followed by a play called "The Princess Winsome's Rescue," in which Hero, the Red Cross dog recently brought from Switzerland, would take a prominent part. The proceeds were to be given to the cause of the Red Cross.

That announcement alone would have drawn a large crowd, but added to that was the fact that twenty families in the Valley had each contributed a child to the fairy chorus or the group of flower messengers, and were thus personally interested in the success of the entertainment.

There was scarcely standing-room when the doors were opened Friday evening. Papa Jack felt well repaid for his part in the hurried preparations when, after the musical part of the programme, he heard the buzz of admiration that went around the room, as the curtain rose on the first scene of the play. It was the dimly lighted witch's orchard.

Across the stage, five feet back from the footlights, ran a snaky-looking fence with high-spiked posts. It had taken him all morning to build it, even with Alec's and Walker's help. Above this peered a thicket of small trees and underbrush bearing a marvellous crop of gold and silver apples and plums. Real gold and silver fruit it looked to be in the dim light, and not the discarded ornaments of a score of old Christmas-trees. A stuffed owl kept guard on one high gate-post, and a huge black velvet cat on the other.

In the centre of the stage, showing plainly through the open double gates, the witch's caldron hung on a tripod, over a fire of fagots. Here Kitty, dressed like an old hag, leaned on her blackened broomstick, stirring the brew, and muttering to herself.

At one side of the stage could be seen the door leading into the ogre's tower, and above it a tiny casement window.

Mrs. Walton gave a nod of satisfaction over her work, when the ogre came roaring in. His costume was of her making, even to the bludgeon which he carried. "Nobody could guess that it was only an old Indian club painted red to hide the lumps of sealing-wax I had to stick on to make the regulation knots," she whispered to Keith's father, who sat next her. "And no one would ever dream that the ogre is Joe Clark. I had hard work to persuade him to take the part, but an invitation to my camping party next week proved to be effective bait. And such a time as I had to get Ranald's costume! I was about to ask Betty to change his name, when Elise found that Mardi Gras frog at some costumer's. Those webbed feet and hideous eyes are enough to strike terror to any one's soul."

It was a play in which every one was pleased with the part given him. Allison and Rob swept up and down in their gilt crowns and ermine-trimmed robes of royal purple, feeling that as king and queen they had the most important parts of all. Keith looked every inch the charming Prince Hero he personated, and Malcolm made such a dashing knight that there was a burst of applause every time he appeared.

Betty made a dear old godmother, and Elise, with crown and star-tipped wand, filmy spangled wings, and big red bubble of a balloon, was supremely happy as Queen of the Fairies. But it was the Little Colonel who won the greatest laurels, in the tower room, making the prettiest picture of all as she bent over the great St. Bernard, bewailing their fate.

The scenery had been changed with little delay between acts. Three tall screens, hastily unfolded just in front of the spiked fence, hid the orchard from view, and a fourth screen served the double purpose of forming the side wall of the room, and hiding the ogre's tower. The narrow space between the screens and the footlights was ample for the scene that took place there, and the arrangement saved much trouble. For in the last act, the screens had only to be carried away, to leave the stage with its original setting.

"Lloyd never looked so pretty before, in her life," said Mr. Sherman to his wife, as they watched the Princess Winsome tread back and forth beside the spinning-wheel, the golden cord held lightly in her white fingers. But she was even prettier in the next scene, when with the dove in her hands she stood at the window, twining the slender gold chain about its neck and singing in a high, sweet voice, clear as a crystal bell:

"Flutter and fly, flutter and fly, Bear him my heart of gold. Bid him be brave, little carrier dove, Bid him be brave and bold."

Twice many hands called her back, and many eyes looked admiringly as she sang the song again, holding the dove to her breast and smoothing its white feathers as she repeated the words:

"Tell him that I at my spinning-wheel Will sing while it turns and hums, And think all day of his love so leal Until with the flute he comes."

"Jack," said some one in a low tone to Mr. Sherman, as the applause died away for the third time, "Jack, when the Princess Winsome is a little older, you'd be wise to call in the ogre's help. You'll have more than one Kentucky Knight trying to carry her away if you don't."

Mr. Sherman made some laughing reply, but turned away so absorbed by a thought that his friend's words had suggested that he lost all of the flower messengers' speeches. That some knight might want to carry off his little Princess Winsome was a thought that had never occurred to him except as some remote possibility far in the future. But looking at her as she stood in her long court train, he realised that in a few more months she would be in her teens, and then—time goes so fast! He sighed, thinking with a heavy sinking of the heart that it might be only a few years until she would be counting the daisy petals in earnest.

The curtain hitched just at the last, so that it would not go down, so with their rainbow bubbles bright the fairies ran off the stage toward various points in the audience, for the coveted admiration and praise which they knew was their due.

"Wasn't Hero fine? Didn't he do his part beautifully?" cried Lloyd, as her father, with one long step, raised himself up to a place beside her on the stage, where the children were holding an informal reception.

"Show him the money-box," cried Keith, pressing down through the crowds from the outer door whither he had gone after the entrance receipts.

"Just look, old fellow. There's dollars and dollars in there. See what you've done for the Red Cross. If it hadn't been for you, Betty never would have written the play."

"And if it hadn't been for Betty's writing the play you never would have sent me this heart of gold," said Malcolm in an aside to Lloyd, as he unfastened her locket and chain from his shield. "Am I to keep it always, fair princess?"

"No, indeed!" she answered, laughingly, holding out her hand to take it. "Papa Jack gave me that, and I wouldn't give it up to any knight undah the sun."

"That's right, little daughter," whispered her father, "I am not in such a hurry to give up my Princess Winsome as the old king was. Come, dear, help me find Betty. I want to tell her what a grand success it was."

Lloyd slipped a hand in her father's and led him toward a wing whither the shy little godmother had fled, without a glance in Malcolm's direction. But afterward, when she came out of the dressing-room, wrapped in her long party-cloak, she saw him standing by the door. "Good night!" he said, waving his plumed helmet. Then, with a mischievous smile, he sang in an undertone:

"Go bid the princess in the tower Forget all thought of sorrow. Her true knight will return to her With joy, on some glad morrow."



CHAPTER XIV.

IN CAMP

Several miles from Lloydsboro Valley, where a rapid brook runs by the ruins of an old paper-mill, a roaring waterfall foams and splashes. Even in the long droughts of midsummer it is green and cool there, for the spray, breaking on the slippery stones, freshens the ferns on the bank, and turns its moss to the vivid hue of an emerald. Near by, in an open pasture, sloping down from a circle of wooded hills, lies an ideal spot for a small camp.

It was here that Mrs. Walton and Miss Allison came one warm afternoon, the Monday following the entertainment, with a wagonette full of children. Ranald, Malcolm, Keith, and Rob Moore had ridden over earlier in the day to superintend the coloured men who dug the trenches and pitched the tents. By the time the wagonette arrived, fuel enough to last a week was piled near the stones where the camp-fire was laid, and everything was in readiness for the gay party. Flags floated from the tent poles, and Dinah, the young coloured woman who was to be the cook, came up from the spring, balancing a pail of water on her head, smiling broadly.

As the boys and girls swarmed out and scurried away in every direction like a horde of busy ants, Mrs. Walton turned to her sister with a laugh. "Did we lose any of them on the way, Allison? We'd better count noses."

"No, we are all here: eight girls, four boys, the four already on the field, Dinah and her baby, and ourselves, twenty in all."

"Twenty-one, counting Hero," corrected Mrs. Walton, as the great St. Bernard went leaping after Lloyd, sniffing at the tents, and barking occasionally to express his interest in the frolic. "He seems to be enjoying it as much as any of us."

"I wish that they were all as able to take care of themselves as he is. It would save us a world of anxiety. Do you begin to realise, Mary, what a load of responsibility we have taken on our shoulders? Sixteen boys and girls to keep out of harm's way for a week in the woods is no easy matter."

"We'll keep them so busy that they'll have no time for mischief. The wagonette isn't unloaded yet. Wait till you see the games I've brought, and the fishing-tackle. There's an old curtain that can be hung between those two trees any time we want to play charades."

"Swing that hammock over there, Ranald," she called, nodding to a clump of trees near the spring. "Then some of you boys can carry this chest back to Dinah." She pointed to the old army mess-chest, that always accompanied them on their picnics and outings.

"The Ogre can do that," said the Little Captain, nodding toward Joe Clark, who stood leaning lazily against a tree.

"Do it yourself, Frog-Eye Fearsome," retorted Joe, at the same time coming forward to help carry the chest to the place assigned it.

"They'll never be able to get away from those names," said Miss Allison. "Well, what is it, my Princess Winsome?" she asked, as Lloyd came running up to her.

"Please take care of these for me, Miss Allison," answered Lloyd, holding out Hero's shoulder-bags, which she had just taken from him. "I put on his things when we started, for mothah says nobody evah knows what's goin' to happen in camp, and we might need those bandages." Tumbling them into Miss Allison's lap, she was off again in breathless haste, to follow the other girls, who were exploring the tents, and exclaiming over all the queer make-shifts of camp life. Then they raced down to the waterfall, and, taking off shoes and stockings, waded up and down in the brook. These early fall days were as warm as August, so wading was not yet one of the forbidden pastimes. They splashed up and down until the Little Captain's bugle sent a ringing call for their return to camp. Katie was one of the last to leave the water. Lloyd waited for her while she hurriedly laced her shoes, and as they followed the others she said, in a confidential tone, "Do you think you are goin' to like to stay out heah till next Sata'day?"

"Like it!" echoed Katie, "I could stay here a year!"

"But at night, I mean. Sleepin' in those narrow little cots, with nothin' ovah ou' heads but the tents, and no floah. Ugh! What if a snake or a liz'ad should wiggle in, and you'd heah it rustlin' around in the grass undah you! There's suah to be bugs and ants and cattahpillahs. I like camp in the daylight, but it would be moah comfortable to have a house to sleep in at night. I wish I could wish myself back home till mawnin'."

"I don't mind the bugs and spiders," said Katie, recklessly, "and you'd better not let the boys find out that you do, or they'll never stop teasing you."

A bountifully spread supper-table met their sight as they reached the camp. It had been made by laying long boards across two poles, which were supported by forked stakes driven into the ground. The eight girls made a rush for the camp-stools on one side of the table, and the eight boys grabbed those on the other side.

"Don't have to have no manners in the woods," remarked little Freddy Nicholls, straddling his stool, and beginning his supper, regardless of the knife and fork beside his plate. "That's what I like about camping out. You don't have to wait to have things handed to you, but can dip in and get what you want like an Injun."

Lloyd looked at him scornfully as she daintily unfolded her paper napkin. She nodded a decided yes when Katie whispered, "Aren't boys horrid and greedy!" Then she corrected herself hastily. She had seen Malcolm wait to pass a dish of fried chicken to his Aunt Allison before helping himself, and heard Ranald apologise to his next neighbour for accidentally jogging his elbow. "Not all of them," she replied.

It added much to Betty's interest in the meal to know that the cup from which she drank, and the fork with which she ate, had been used by real soldiers, and carried from one army post to another many times in the travel-worn old mess chest.

Little Elise was the only one who did not give due attention to her supper. She sat with a cooky in her hand, looking off at the hills with dreamy eyes, until her mother spoke to her.

"I am trying to make some poetry like Betty did," she answered. Ever since the play her thoughts seemed trying to twist themselves into rhymes, and she was constantly coming up to her mother with a new verse she had just made.

"Well, what is it, Titania?" asked Mrs. Walton, seeing from the gleam of satisfaction in the black eyes that the verse was ready.

"It's all of our names," she said, shyly, waving her hand toward the girls on her side of the table.

"Betty, Corinne, and Lloyd, Margery, Kitty, and Kate, Allison and Elise all together make eight."

"Oh, that's easy," said Rob. "You just strung a lot of names together. Anybody can do that."

"You do it, then," proposed Kitty. "Make a verse with the boys' names in it."

"Malcolm, Ranald, and Rob, Jamie, Freddy, Keith," he began, boldly, then hesitated. "There isn't any rhyme for Keith."

"Change them around," suggested Malcolm. The girls would not help, and the whole row of boys floundered among the names for a while, unwilling to be beaten by the youngest member of the party, and a girl, at that. Finally, by their united efforts and a hint from Miss Allison, they succeeded.

"Malcolm, Ranald, and Rob, Keith and Freddy, and James, Joe the Ogre, and George. Those are the boys' eight names."

"Let's make a law," suggested Kitty, "that nobody at the table can say anything from now on till we are through supper, unless they speak in rhymes."

They all agreed, but for a few minutes no one ventured a remark. Only giggles broke the silence, until Allison asked Freddy Nicholls to pass the pickles. Recorded here in a book, it may seem a very silly game, but to the jolly camping party, ready to laugh at even the sheerest nonsense, it proved to be the source of much fun. Even Freddy, to his own great delight, surprised himself and the company by asking Elise to take some cheese. Joe was thrown into confusion by Kitty's asking him if flesh, fowl, or fish, was his favourite dish. As he could only nod his head, he had to pay a forfeit, and Keith answered for him by saying, "That's not a fair question to Joe. An ogre eats all things, you know." So it went on until Mrs. Walton said:

"Now all who are able, may rise from the table. The camp-fire's burning bright. Spread rugs on the ground, and gather around, And we'll all tell tales in its light."

"This is the jolliest part of it all!" exclaimed Keith, a little later, as, stretched out on a thick Indian blanket, he looked around on the circle of faces, glowing in the light of the leaping fagot-fire. Twilight had settled on the camp. The tumbling of the waterfall over the rocks made a subdued roar in the background. An owl called somewhere from the depths of the woods. As the dismal "Tu-whit, tu who-oo" sounded through the gloaming, Lloyd glanced over her shoulder with a shudder.

"Ugh!" she exclaimed. "It looks as if the witch's orchard might be there behind us, with all sorts of snaky, crawlin' things in it. Come heah, Hero. Let me put my back against you. It makes me feel shivery to even think of such a thing!"

The dog edged nearer at her call, and she snuggled up against his tawny curls with a feeling of warmth and protection.

"Wish I had a dog like that," said Jamie, fondly stroking the silky ear that was nearest him. "I wouldn't take a thousand dollars for him if I had."

"Money couldn't buy Hero!" exclaimed Lloyd.

"Now what would you do," said Kitty, who was always supposing impossible things, "if some old witch would come to you and say, 'You may have your choice? a palace full of gold and silver and precious stones and give up Hero, or keep him and be a beggar in rags?"

"I'd be a beggah, of co'se!" cried Lloyd, warmly, throwing her arm around the dog's neck. "Think I'd go back on anybody that had saved my life? But I wouldn't stay a beggah," she continued. "I'd put on the Red Cross too, and we'd go away where there was war, Hero and I, and we'd spend ou' lives takin' care of the soldiahs. I wouldn't have to dress in rags, for I'd weah the nurse's costume, and I'd do so much good that some day, may be, somebody would send me the Gold Cross of Remembrance, as they did Clara Barton, and I'm suah that I'd rathah have that, with all it means, than all the precious stones and things that the witch could give me."

"When did Hero save your life?" asked Joe, who had not heard the story of the runaway in Geneva.

"Tell us all about it, Lloyd," asked Mrs. Walton. So Lloyd began, and the group around the fire listened with breathless attention. And that was followed by the Major's story, and all he had told her of St. Bernard dogs, and of the Red Cross service. Then the finding of the Major by his faithful dog on the dark mountain after the storm. Betty's turn came next. She repeated some of the stories they had heard on shipboard. Mrs. Walton added her part afterward, telling her personal experience with the Red Cross work in Cuba and the Philippines.

"That is one reason I took such a deep interest in your little entertainment," she said, "and was so pleased when it brought so much money. I know that every penny under the wise direction of the Red Cross will help to make some poor soldier more comfortable; or if some sudden calamity should come in this country, before it was sent away, your little fund might help to save dozens of lives."

The fire had burned low while they talked, and Elise was yawning sleepily. Miss Allison looked at her watch. "How the time has flown!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Where is the bugler of this camp? It is high time for him to play taps."

Ranald ran for his bugle, and the clear call that he had learned to play when he was "The Little Captain," in far-away Luzon, rang out into the dark woods. It was answered by the same silvery notes. Mrs. Walton and Miss Allison looked at each other in surprise, for the reply was no echo, but the call of a real bugle, somewhere not far away.

"Oh, we forgot to tell you, Aunt Mary," said Malcolm, noting the surprised glance, "It's a regiment of the State Guard, in camp over by Calkin's Cliff. We boys were over there this morning. They made a big fuss over us when they found that Ranald was General Walton's son and we were his nephews. They wanted us to stay to dinner, and when they found out that you were coming to camp here, the Colonel said be wanted to come over here and call. He used to know you out West."

"Colonel Wayne," repeated Mrs. Walton, when Malcolm finally remembered the name. "We knew him when he was only a young cadet at West Point. The General was very fond of him, and I shall be glad to see him again."

"They'll be interested in Hero," said Ranald. "Maybe they'll want to train some war dogs for our army if they set him at work. Do you suppose he has forgotten his training, Lloyd? Let's try him in the morning."

"You can make a great game of it," suggested Mrs. Walton. "Rig up one of the tents for a hospital. Some of the boys can be wounded soldiers and some of the girls nurses."

"All but me," said Lloyd. "I'll have to be an officer to give the ordahs. He only knows the French words for that, and the Majah taught them to me."