"That's because it is the first real home you've known," said Elinor.

"One always feels that way about a _home_."

Judith c.o.c.ked her blond head thoughtfully.

"Don't you think it's the house, too?" she asked critically. "Some houses seem to be so alive and to belong to some people. Greycroft just fitted Aunt Louise, and when she left, it was lonesome till it found someone who liked the same things she did, and then it opened its eyes and waked up again. I don't believe it would be itself with Mrs.

Hand in it, or even with the Halls, though they are so sweet and fine-mannered."

"Wise Judy," commended Patricia. "You've discovered half the secret.

But here's Elinor, like patience on a monument, with David's letter in her lily-white paw. What does he say, Norn? Is he coming to town this month as he promised? Does he like Prep as well as he did----"

"Do let her read it to us," begged Judith. "You chatter so, Miss Pat, that no one can get a word in edgewise."

Patricia made a laughing face.

"Fire away, Scheherezade," she commanded, folding her arms in eager attention. "Unfold the tale of the letter of the long-lost twin brother of the three lovely sisters of----"

Judith, who had m.u.f.fled the sparkling stream of Patricia's nonsense, drew her hand away with a little squeal.

"_Ouch!_" she cried reproachfully. "That's not fair. You bit."

"Not hard," Patricia rea.s.sured her gravely. "Just enough to turn you loose. 'Twas not so deep as a grave nor so wide as a church door, but it did answer. Go on, Elinor, love, it's getting late."

Judith had picked up the envelope and was examining the seal.

"Isn't the frat paper lovely?" she sighed. "I do hope I shall go to college--or else have a husband who belongs to a lot of----"

"Silence!" thumped Patricia.

Elinor, who had been quietly going on with her breakfast, laid down her fork.

"Read it for yourselves," she smiled, tossing the sheet across the table. "My time's about up. It's criticism morning in the portrait cla.s.s, and I want to get a lot more done before Mr. Benton comes."

Patricia grabbed the sheet before Judith could set down her gla.s.s, and she read it aloud, with great enjoyment.

"'Dear Elinor'--begins well, doesn't it, Judy? I couldn't have done much better myself--'Tom Hughes and I are coming to town next Sat.u.r.day, and we are going to blow ourselves, for his birthday.' Not very enlightening as to Tom Hughes--never heard of him before; but that's neither here nor there, of course."

"Do get on, Miss Pat," urged Judith, folding her napkin. "I've got to get to school sometime this morning, you know."

"Thus admonished, I return to the ma.n.u.script," said Patricia gravely. "Where is it? 'His birthday.' Oh, yes. 'Don't you three girls want to go to the matinee with us and have lunch at some swell joint? Write me at once if you can go. We will be in on the eleven-fifteen at the Terminal and have to leave on the 4.30. Yours,'

et cetera and so on, and all that stuff. Hallelujah, good gentleman, what a lark!"

"I think you ought to use better language, Miss Pat, now that you are going to be a sculptor," said Judith severely, and then broke into open delight. "We'll go, won't we, Elinor? We wouldn't disappoint David, would we? On his birthday, too."

"It must be Tom Hughes' birthday," said Elinor. "But whose ever it is, we are going to celebrate, since we're invited. I'll write 'immejit,'

as Hannah Ann says."

"But how do you know it isn't David's?" persisted Judith, as she gathered up her letters. "We never asked David when his birthday came, did we?"

Patricia rolled her eyes in mock agony.

"Did it occur to your ma.s.sive mind that David Francis Edward had a twin sister with whom you were fairly well acquainted?" she asked in smooth and oily tones. "Twins, you know, have a quaint custom of celebrating their birthdays on the same date. Don't swoon, Infant; it is overpowering news, but you'll get over it in time."

Judith tossed her head, with a little giggle at her own expense.

"I forgot," she said. "I never can remember that you're both the same age. You are always saying that he is so young, Miss Pat."

"So he is," replied Patricia, promptly. "No end younger than I am; but boys are that way. Who's your other letter from, Ju?"

Judith's face a.s.sumed a smooth blankness that pa.s.sed unnoticed by both Elinor and Patricia, now intent on finishing their breakfast and getting off.

"Hannah Ann just says that the house is all right and Henry is as well as usual," she replied, with an uneasy flush on her clear cheek.

"What in the world did Hannah Ann write to you for?" queried Elinor absently. "She usually sends her weekly reports to me."

"She's all right," repeated Judith, with an apprehensive glance at Patricia, who, however, was entirely oblivious, her attention now being wholly concentrated on her breakfast and Bartine's Tours.

"I must see Mrs. Hudson," said Elinor, rising. "I'll meet you at the Academy, Squibs. Have you your candy all done up? I shan't take my life-cla.s.s stuff till this afternoon."

"But you've got to turn in the head-cla.s.s fee this morning, you know,"

reminded Patricia, coming back from Italy with a jump. "I have my junk all ready, and I'll tell you when I'm going to spring it on them, so you can have a peep at the fun."

"And I won't forget to let you know just when I'm ready to give in mine, so we both can see how they take it," said Elinor from the door.

Patricia laughed as she too rose.

"I'll see to it that you don't forget, miss," she said gayly.

"Good-bye, Judy; don't be late for lunch, for it's short and sweet with us real artists. We can't potter over our food like you idle Philistines, you know."

Judith gulped the last mouthful and flung down her napkin.

"I'll be there on time," she promised, eagerly. "Miss Hillis said I could go five minutes earlier, as it was a holiday afternoon. I'll get the rolls and oranges on my way."

"We'll meet you at the door on Charter Street," Elinor reminded her, as she kissed her. "Be sure to be there on time."

"I'll remember," laughed Judith, her antic.i.p.ation of the delights of lunching at the Academy with grown-up artists shining in her starry eyes. "I'm perfectly crazy over it. I'm going to write all about it in my diary."

"Then we _shall_ be handed down to fame!" cried Patricia, giving Judith a very hard squeeze and pinching her thin cheeks into color. "Look us over well, Judy-pudy, and see how much you can make of your two ill.u.s.trious sisters; for I feel sure that I, for one, will never have a chance to be 'writ up' again."

"Oh, go along, Miss Pat! You'll be awfully late," said Judith, wriggling away, flushed and happy.

Patricia watched, flying up the stairs two steps at a time, and she turned to Elinor, with her hand on the door.

"Ju's a clever young monkey, in spite of her grannified airs," she said, warmly. "If we can only get some of the starch out of her by the time she's old enough to take notice, her dream of being a great writer may come half-way true."

"If she's going to be a writer, she'll drop her dignified pose soon enough," predicted Elinor easily. "She'll be too much interested in other people and things to remember herself too vividly."

"That's so," admitted Patricia readily. "You always. .h.i.t the nail on the head, old lady. Now I must run. See you later," and closing the door behind her, she ran down the steps and hurried off through the tingling morning air, with her parcel tight under her arm and a kindling light on her mobile face.