"Mother, do you suppose Miranda's gone to bed yet?"

"I'll go see," Patience offered, willing to postpone the inevitable for even those few moments longer.

"What do you want with Miranda?" Pauline asked.

"To do something for me."

"Can't I do it?"

"No--and it must be done to-night. Mother, what are you smiling over?"

"I thought it would be that way, dear."

"Miranda's coming," Patience called. "She'd just taken her back hair down, and she's waiting to twist it up again. She's got awful funny back hair."

"Patience! Patience!" her mother said reprovingly.

"I mean, there's such a little--"

"Go up-stairs and get yourself ready for bed at once."

Miranda was waiting in the spare room. "You ain't took sick, Hilary?"

Hilary shook her head. "Please, Miranda, if it wouldn't be too much trouble, will you bring Pauline's bed in here?"

"I guessed as much," Miranda said, moving Hilary's bed to one side.

"Hilary--wouldn't you truly rather have a room to yourself--for a change?" Pauline asked.

"I have had one to myself--for eight days--and, now I'm going back to the old way." Sitting among the cushions of the cozy corner, Hilary superintended operations, and when the two single white beds were standing side by side, in their accustomed fashion, the covers turned back for the night, she nodded in satisfied manner. "Thank you so much, Miranda; that's as it should be. Go get your things, Paul.

To-morrow, you must move in regularly. Upper drawer between us, and the rest share and share alike, you know."

Patience, who had hit upon the happy expedient of braiding her hair--braids, when there were a lot of them, took a long time--got slowly up from the hearth rug, her head a sight to behold, with its tiny, hornlike red braids sticking out in every direction. "I suppose I'd better be going. I wish I had someone to talk to, after I'd gone to bed." And a deep sigh escaped her.

Pauline kissed the wistful little face. "Never mind, old girl, you know you'd never stay awake long enough to talk to anyone."

She and Hilary stayed awake talking, however, until Pauline's prudence got the better of her joy in having her sister back in more senses than one. It was so long since they had had such a delightful bedtime talk.

"Seeing Winton First Club," Hilary said musingly. "Paul, you're ever so clever. Shirley insisted those letters stood for 'Suppression of Woman's Foibles Club'; and Mr. Dayre suggested they meant, 'Sweet Wild Flowers.'"

"You've simply got to go to sleep now, Hilary, else mother'll come and take me away."

Hilary sighed blissfully. "I'll never say again--that nothing ever happens to us."

Tom and Josie came to supper the next night. Shirley was there, too, she had stopped in on her way to the post-office with her father that afternoon, to ask how Hilary was, and been captured and kept to supper and the first club meeting that followed.

Hilary had been sure she would like to join, and Shirley's prompt and delighted acceptance of their invitation proved her right.

"I've only got five names on my list," Tom said, as the young folks settled themselves on the porch after supper. "I suppose we'll think of others later."

"That'll make ten, counting us five, to begin with," Pauline said.

"Bell and Jack Ward," Tom took out his list, "the Dixon boys and Edna Ray. That's all."

"I'd just like to know where I come in, Tom Brice!" Patience demanded, her voice vibrant with indignation.

"Upon my word! I didn't suppose--"

"I am to belong! Ain't I, Paul?"

"But Patty--"

"If you're going to say no, you needn't Patty me!"

"We'll see what mother thinks," Hilary suggested. "You wouldn't want to be the only little girl to belong?"

"I shouldn't mind," Patience a.s.sured her, then feeling pretty sure that Pauline was getting ready to tell her to run away, she decided to retire on her own account. That blissful time, when she should be "Miss Shaw," had one drawback, which never failed to a.s.sert itself at times like these--there would be no younger sister subject to her authority.

"Have you decided what we are to do?" Pauline asked Tom, when Patience had gone.

"I should say I had. You'll be up to a ride by next Thursday, Hilary?

Not a very long ride."

"I'm sure I shall," Hilary answered eagerly. "Where are we going?"

"That's telling."

"He won't even tell me," Josie said.

Tom's eyes twinkled. "You're none of you to know until next Thursday.

Say, at four o'clock."

"Oh," Shirley said, "I think it's going to be the nicest club that ever was."

CHAPTER VI

PERSONALLY CONDUCTED

"Am I late?" Shirley asked, as Pauline came down the steps to meet her Thursday afternoon.

"No, indeed, it still wants five minutes to four. Will you come in, or shall we wait out here? Hilary is under bond not to make her appearance until the last minute."

"Out here, please," Shirley answered, sitting down on the upper step.

"What a delightful old garden this is. Father has at last succeeded in finding me my nag, horses appear to be at a premium in Winton, and even if he isn't first cousin to your Bedelia, I'm coming to take you and Hilary to drive some afternoon. Father got me a surrey, because, later, we're expecting some of the boys up, and we'll need a two-seated rig."