I have studied human nature and I know a thing or two- Though a girl may fondly love a living chap, as many do, Yet a feeling of disgust upon her senses there will fall When she looks upon her lover chopped particularly small!

Indeed, this terrifying sight as far as it went, seemed to have the desired effect on Alice. To be sure, she fell in a dead faint, and Father Paul had to catch her, while Mr. and Mrs. Brown, and two more bandits (in bandannas) carried off the late sorter; but immediately afterward a young bandit, very much like Robber Brown except that he was smaller, came in and was patted with obvious admiration by Mr. and Mrs.

Brown, who led him up to Alice. She recovered slowly, sat up, and presently accepted his attentions with pleasure. Father Paul gave them his blessing, while Marie said:

And gentle little Alice grew more settled in her mind, She never more was guilty of a weakness of that kind, Until at length good Robber Brown bestowed her little hand On a promising young robber, the lieutenant of his band!

After that the curtain was drawn again, while the girls dressed for Holmes's "It Was a Gay Young Oysterman." This, while it was good, was not the hit with the audience that "Gentle Alice Brown" had been. When it was finished, and the oysterman and his bride were seen "keeping a shop for mermaids down below," the girls took down the curtain, and while more music was played the performers hurried into their pretty dresses. Then they came out, and strolled about the camp with the audience.

"Where are Vicky and Sandy?" Winona remembered to ask Helen, as they met after the curtain was down. "Did they come?"

"I think so," said Helen, rubbing hard at her cork mustache. "Adelaide, did you see Sandy anywhere?"

Adelaide, who was just braiding her hair, turned.

"Yes, I did," she said. "She's here somewhere, with another little girl.

I saw them not long ago."

Winona went in search of them, for when you ask a guest to an entertainment it's only polite to hunt her up. It was not hard to find the sisters. They were sitting with Louise, eating home-made ice-cream.

Winona sat down by them.

"I'm awfully glad you came, Vicky."

"So'm I, too," said Vicky. She seemed rather shy here in the camp, but she looked happy. "I'm having a nice time."

"I'm glad," said Winona. "Did you like the moving pictures?"

"Yes," said Vicky, "they were awfully funny. And-oh, Winona, I've picked out a name."

"What is it?" asked Winona.

"Janet. Of course people can call me Vicky still, if they want to, but my real name will be Janet. I asked uncle, the way you said, and he said I did have a middle name, Janet, after my grandmother."

"Oh, that's splendid!" said Winona. "I'm named after my grandmother, too."

"That makes us a sort of relation, doesn't it?" asked Vicky.

"Why, I hope it does," was the hearty reply.

"And there's something I wanted to ask you about," said Vicky-now Janet-shyly. "Alone, I mean."

"Come over here with me, and we'll walk up and down and talk about it,"

invited Winona.

Vicky took her hand, and they strolled off down one of the wood-paths.

"I'd rather not ask Louise," explained Vicky, "because-well, she laughs so about everything. She might laugh at me. And that other girl is sort of grown-up talking. But-well, it's-I'd like to be like the rest of the people-other little girls, you know-and it's dreadfully hard when you haven't any father or mother, and your uncle's an artist with a temp'rament. Sometimes he gets us governesses, and they say we're queer, and sometimes we just do as we please. But-well, there isn't anybody to show us things."

She looked at Winona wistfully, as if she thought she could show her how to be just like other children all at once.

"Why do people always come to me to show them how?" wondered Winona to herself. "I don't know any more about how to do things than the other girls."

She did not realize that it was her sunniness and sympathy-her Ray-of-Lightness, as Louise called it-together with a certain straightforward common sense, that made girls who wanted help come to her. They could be sure that she would not laugh at them, or tell anyone else what they had said, and they were sure of advice that had brightness and sense.

"What sort of things do you want me to tell you?" asked Winona. "I'd love to help you, but some of the others know lots more about things than I do."

"It's you I want to ask," said Vicky decidedly. "It's my clothes, to begin with. Are they right?"

Winona stopped and looked Vicky over. They were out in the open by now, and it was bright moonlight, so she could see plainly what the little girl had on. It was a blue taffeta, very stiff and rustling, trimmed with plaid taffeta and black b.u.t.tons. By its looks it had been bought ready-made, for it had a sort of gaudy smartness. It was of good material, but somehow, it was cheap-looking. Also by its looks, bread-and-b.u.t.ter had been eaten on or near it.

"You mean your dress?"

"Yes," said Vicky. "It isn't right, is it? But I don't know what to do about it. I bought it myself."

"You mean your uncle gives you the money, and you go and buy your own things?" asked Winona.

"Oh, yes," said Vicky. "But the ones the governesses used to get weren't much better. There was one governess who always picked out bright green.

I hate green, anyway. And sometimes the cook used to. She would yet if I'd let her. But I won't. I don't think it's any of her business."

"Well--" Winona hesitated.

"Well, what had I better do?" demanded Vicky.

"I don't know!" said Winona frankly. "But I do know that that silk dress is wrong. Why don't you get summer dresses, chambrays and ginghams and organdies?"

"I don't know," said Vicky. "I never thought about it. Silk is better, isn't it?"

"I don't think so," said Winona. "It doesn't wash. You see this dress isn't very clean."

"No," acknowledged Vicky. "Does being clean count such a lot?"

"Goodness!" Words failed Winona. "I tell you," she said finally. "Why don't you come over here and join the Blue Birds, Vicky? Marie could tell you a lot of things and it would be the quickest way to learn a lot about being like other people, if that is what you want."

"I'd like to," said Vicky, "but I sort of keep house."

"I have an idea, then," said Winona. Now, when Winona had ideas her friends usually waited to hear what she had to say. "Why couldn't some of the girls come up and stay with you, after Camp is over? It will be quite awhile even then before school opens. We could help you-show you how to do things."

"Oh, I'd like that," said Vicky. Then she stopped, doubtfully. "That is, if I could pick out the ones."

"Of course, you'd invite your own guests," Winona a.s.sured her. "And we'd pay what we cost your uncle extra.... But what about him? It's his house, and he mightn't like it."

"Oh, he'd never care," said Vicky. "He never knows much about what goes on, anyway! And I know he'd like to have me learn how to be a well-bred little gentlewoman, because he talks about it sometimes. And anyway he's going off somewhere where he can't take us some time soon."

"Then I don't see why we can't manage it!" said Winona enthusiastically.

"But I can tell you now about the clothes. You want to buy dresses that will wash. And you don't ever want to play in silk dresses, or even organdies or batistes-tree-climbing, and things like that, I mean."

"I might get some middies, like you wear," said Vicky thoughtfully. "And I suppose, long's I'm going to reform, I might as well get Sand to keep her dresses on. She goes chasing out in her underwaist and petticoat sometimes."

"Oh, that was why she hadn't any on when Louise found her!" said Winona, seeing a light.