"All right, girlie. You may stay home and sigh, and kiss things up. I know you just hate to give up housekeeping, and I don't blame you in the least. We have had a lovely time," and Jane stopped to wind her arm around the curly head bent over the boxes on the floor. "You stay home if you wish, Helen, but don't scold me if I bring you one more-little handkerchief, or something like that?"

"Jane, I have wanted to tell you. I feel so over-over--"

"Helen, you mean overwhelmed, don't you?" suggested Judith.

"Yes, Judith, that is the big word I want. I feel-that way about everything. I had many pretty things once, but since I came to America I have been glad to be here, and not think of all I once loved."

Jane and Judith paused in their rus.h.i.+ng about and listened attentively.

Jane had been rather dreading this little speech from Helen.

"Yes, I have been so happy since I met you, and it seems we have been friends for always," went on the Polish girl. "But I want you to know I do not expect to be ever like this-a-guest. Some day I shall be able to repay."

"Now don't spoil everything by getting sad and gloomy," Jane admonished. "You know we just need you as much as you need us. Can't you see that?"

"I am very glad," and she brushed away something that blurred her big eyes. "I would like to do a great favor if ever I am the artist. I then will give-and give, and perhaps it will be a little, but never as much as this."

"You are engaged to play my wedding march, Helen," Jane declared, "and I shall expect you to do that for the sake of these old times." Jane was trying to make light of the threatening tragedy. "And besides that, you will surely have to play for Judith when she has her cowboy reunion. I believe she intends to engage the Hippodrome for that event."

"No place smaller, nor less substantial would answer my purpose,"

Judith agreed, annexing Jane's humor. "I am going to show this New York some day, what the boys of El Capitan can do in the way of entertaining. Just you wait, Helen, until next vacation. We will take you out to Montana, and show you all the wonders I have enjoyed. I have forever blotted from my childish memory the thought of any other battleground, as a vacation scene. What I enjoyed on Jane's ranch is indelible."

"Come along, you chatter-box," urged Jane. "We must be back at least for the train. Good bye, Helen dear. Keep your door locked."

In spite of their years, with decorum annexed, the two girls were always strongly tempted to slide down those adorable banisters in Miss Jordan's big old-fas.h.i.+oned hall, and now, as they were going out for almost the last time, both girls eyed each other suspiciously.

"We don't dare, but it's a shame," spoke Jane. "That comes of getting old."

"Like a bald spot, it's the emptiness that hurts. Don't you feel a vagueness for a slide?" asked Judith, smoothing the glossy rail lovingly.

"Yes, but Judith, did you notice someone in the lower hall just as we left our room?" whispered Jane. "See that figure-gliding around the pedestal?"

"The plumber, likely," replied Judith. "I have seen that old coat before. Let's hurry, Janie, or, as you said, I shall have to give the expressmen my things 'As Is,' which means any old way, in store parlance. Where do we go from here?"

At the door Jane glanced back a little ruefully. She had seen some one-a man, surely, standing there, just as they came out of the big room at the top of the stairs, and possibly when he noticed they could observe him he disappeared in the direction of the heavy folding doors and the big bronze statue, that marked the entrance to the dining room.

"I wish Helen had come along," Jane remarked when on the sidewalk, "somehow I will be rather glad when we all get safely to Wellington."

"I have felt the same way these last few days," admitted Judith. "Jane, I think you are a wonder not to come right out, and ask Helen what all the mystery is about. Don't you feel a bit squeamish having her turn pale at old men's faces, and seeing her dodge every foreign-looking man, woman and child who comes along? Surely she is not too proud to be Polish."

"Oh, no, indeed. I know it is nothing like cla.s.s pride. She loves to watch the little children who congregate around hand organs and hurdy-gurdies, her eyes dance with them. No, Judith, Helen has a secret, and I am sure it is one that keeps her anxious, but why should I pry into it, just because she happened to win a scholars.h.i.+p? That would be poor sport, wouldn't it? To exact a price-the price of personal confidence from the winner? She won honestly and we are glad she did, so why speculate?"

"The Greeks still live," spoke Judith. "Jane, I believe if old friend Methuselah happened back for something he had forgotten, you would hand it out to him without asking the secret of his eight hundred years of life. Too personal for you. All righty. I shall agree, and I love the little curly-headed Helen. Also, I claim first round from the opposition when we start basketball and fight for Center. This is the sort of day that brings our game up even above the joy of seeing Marian Seaton die of envy. Did I tell you I had a letter from Visite? She is the French girl who came at the end of last season, you know, Adrienne's friend."

"Oh, yes, I recall, her name is Visitation and they call her Visite.

She always wore such absurd high heels, didn't she?"

"That's Visite. But we will forgive her the heels for she speaks and writes perfect English. Some of the big girls, as she calls them, are having their cars sent out. I guess they did not like being overshadowed by your wonderful horse, Firefly. Not that a mere machine could compare with that glorious little animal."

"Oh, they may have their cars. I don't fancy motoring-yet. I may take to it when I get old and feeble. Here we are. I want to get a Tell-Tale for Katherine. Don't you think they are the dearest little books? And they always do tell tales, if we keep them written up. Let us look at these."

They inspected the dainty new dairies on the beautifully polished gla.s.s counter in Brientos. The new style diary had much to recommend it. The suggestions given in "Heads" left little to be worked out, by even such registrants as might be indolent. There were cla.s.sified duties, pleasures, accidents, questions, engagements, expenses, apologies, dance steps, candy recipes, and such other incidents as might be particularly interesting to young girls. The lines were partly written, so that all the writer should fill out was the end of the line, like an insurance blank.

"Now, that is the way all our themes ought to be started for us,"

specified Jane. "If we had a starter line we could dash off a thesis with our eyes shut. I will take two of these. I am going to give one to Elaine. You know how she loves to write."

"Yes, I remember too well. She wrote a beautiful poem all over my closet door, and I had to stand for it," recalled Judith. "Better buy her a couple of reams of paper besides that sample. She needs s.p.a.ce."

From the stationer's the girls paid a last visit to their favorite confectioner. The amount of candy purchased seemed extravagant. Even the white-capped and ribbon-ap.r.o.ned clerk looked surprised when Judith called for the third box of cherries, but when the girls said good-bye, and Jane unpinned her own violets for this pretty little candy counter miss, the very delivery boy who swung out with the big white package, whistled good naturedly.

"Is that all?" asked Judith, glancing at her wrist watch anxiously.

"Almost. I want to get dad another box of cigars and Aunt Mary a bottle of sachet. I ordered her favorite scent and it will be ready now. They can be mailed direct from the stores."

Steps quickened, and cheeks glowing accordingly, Jane and Judith sped along. New York had been attractive, and the days just gone were filled with happy memories.

Finally, with lists all checked off, Miss Jordan's apartment was reached within ten minutes of the actual time set for return.

"I am sure Helen has everything ready," commented Jane, getting out her latch key.

"Trust her for that," Judith replied. "I hope she has been the good Samaritan to poor little me. Otherwise I see those armfuls and the staggering expressmen."

At the inside door, that opened into the girls' own apartment, Jane fumbled with her key. It would not open the door.

"Locked with the key in," Judith thought. "Call Helen!"

"Helen! Open the door!" called Jane. "Helen-are you there?"

No answer.

"She could not have gone out and left the key on the inside," Jane said, anxiously now. "I wonder what can be the matter."

"Let me shake the door," suggested Judith. "Queer--"

"Oh, is that you, girls?" called Miss Jordan from the lower hall. "I have been trying to find someone to let me in there. The expressmen have been here, and I could not reach your trunks."

"But we left Helen in," Jane was trembling now. "She must be inside.

Listen! Helen!"

A shuffling behind the panel could now be heard, then the key turned in the door, and Helen confronted them, pale and disheveled.

"Oh, child, whatever is the matter!" exclaimed Miss Jordan, brus.h.i.+ng past the two girls and getting her motherly arms around the tottering Helen. "What ever has happened to you?"

"Oh, I-got-weak-I guess I fainted. I am all right now. I am so sorry--"

"Sorry!" exclaimed Jane. "Why, Helen dear, to think you were all alone.

And had the door locked so Miss Jordan could not reach you! Sit down and let us get you some ammonia. Judith, it is on my stand. Please fetch it quickly."

No need to tell Judith to hurry, for the color of the little Polish girl's face was warning enough.