Hester was deep in literary work for the Philomathean paper. She was not attempting poetry. After Helen's criticism she had not the heart to bring her efforts before the public, although she did write in secret. It is a long and hard drop from being a poet to a hack-writer scribbling down personals. Poets are born, while any one can write personals.

Hester had been cultivating the unpleasant little mannerism of thinking aloud or rather in tones under her breath, as she wrote she read. Her efforts resulted in this form.

"'Miss Erma Thomas has been excused from classes on account of sustaining a sprained ankle.'

"'Sustain.' I wonder if that is the right word. Sustain a sprain. It sounds all right. I'll let it be that. If I don't know, the other girls will not know either."

"Hester, do you realize that you are thinking aloud?" asked Helen after this performance had continued some minutes.

"Am I? I did not know; but it does not matter. What I am saying is not private and it makes no difference if all the world hears."

"That is not the idea," said Helen. She was sweet, calm, and decided. "Has it not come to you that I might wish to study and that monotone is anything but pleasant?"

Hester's face flushed crimson. "I beg pardon. I was selfish, Helen."

Helen crossed the room and bending over the abashed, confused Hester, said tenderly, "Do not mind my speaking so, little roommate. If it were Aunt Debby you would not take it so to heart. Then why should it hurt from me? Boarding-schools and roommates serve one great purpose—they rub off the jagged edges of one's manners." She bent and kissed the girl.

"Helen Loraine, you are the dearest girl I know. I am so glad I have you for a roommate. We have never quarreled and I hope never will."

"No, we never will," said Helen. She went back to her work.

In addition to her literary efforts, Hester had other claims upon her. The Christmas season was approaching and her gifts were barely in preparation. She was embroidering a set of linen collars and cuffs for Helen, and the efforts to keep the work hidden was making life strenuous for her.

Whenever Helen left the room, Hester took up the work, took a few stitches and perhaps was compelled to put it away. There were many people passing up and down the dormitory halls. It was not always possible to distinguish Helen's step. Then she had to resort to subterfuge to get the measure of Helen's collar. She had not accomplished that yet, but she had her plans laid and meant to carry them out at the first opportunity.

It came to her sooner than she expected. Saturday morning, after a few minutes' study, Helen looked at the time, and arose from her work.

"It is almost ten o'clock. Aunt Harriet and Cousin Robert should be here. I think I'll walk down to the guests' entrance and see if I can find any trace of them. Bob would not be permitted to come to the dormitory. Perhaps, Aunt Harriet is waiting with him in the reception hall. Marshall may have been sent for us, but you know his failing. He may be fulfilling a half-dozen commissions before he comes for us. If they are not there, I shall telephone to Auntie."

Hester urged her to be gone. It was with a feeling of relief that Hester heard the click of Helen's high heels as they went down the hall. Waiting until she believed that Helen would not be interrupted, Hester hurried to the wardrobe which they had in common and taking down a waist began to measure the collar. She had just completed this when she heard the click of Helen's heels. Quick as a flash the dress was hung up. Hester was about to close the door when the dress caught. She was fussing over it and was very red in the face and visibly embarrassed when Helen entered the room.

"What is the trouble?" Helen asked.

"Nothing at all," was the reply given with unusual curtness. "What should make you think there was any trouble? I was just opening the wardrobe door."

Her long speech which was wholly unnecessary and her evident embarrassment did not pass unobserved. Helen gave her a quick look. Hester was not herself, that was evident.

"I asked the question because your face was red, and you appeared excited. That was all. I did not find it necessary to go to the guests' entrance. Marshall was coming for us. We are to go to the reception hall. You will meet Aunt Harriet at last."

"How strange it seems that I have been here almost four months and yet we have not met! She always came when I was home with Aunt Debby, or in class. I fancy the Fates do not intend that we shall meet."

"You shall meet in two minutes, or I am not a reliable prophet," was Helen's reply.

Two minutes proved that she was not. Robert Vail alone awaited them in the reception hall. His mother had not been able to come.

Hester gave a start of surprise when Helen presented the cousin to her. He was particularly fine-looking and attractive but she was not startled at that. He was the young man who had accosted her that day on the street and apologized by saying he had mistaken her for his cousin, Helen.

"You remember me, I see, Miss Alden. You must have thought I was rude, but I was confident that you were Helen. I had not seen her for three months."

"I am glad that I met you so that I can explain to Aunt Debby," said Hester naively. Then observing his look of surprise, she added, "She would not believe that you had really made a mistake. She thought you did it just to annoy me."

"How could she?" cried Helen with a show of feeling. "Cousin Rob—."

"Go slowly, Cousin," laughed the young man. "You must remember that I was a stranger to Miss Alden and her aunt. They were fully justified in believing that I was rude."

"I did not," said Hester. "I saw you and I knew that you had really mistaken me."

"How could your Aunt Debby think of such a thing? Didn't she also see Rob?" asked Helen.

"I did not believe you could show such a spirit," laughed Hester. "You are always so calm."

"When things touch myself, but not when they touch my friends," said Helen.

"Please calm yourself, Helen. You know we made a compact this very morning and promised never to quarrel or be angry with each other."

"The same old school-girl fashion," said Robert Vail. "If I am a good prophet, you'll be tearing each other's hair before the day is over."

"Why did Aunt Harriet not come?" asked Helen, abruptly changing the subject of conversation.

"She went on a little trip into Virginia," he replied. Then observing the anxious look which came to Helen's face, he continued, "We tried to persuade her not to go, but she said this might be a real clue and she could not be satisfied to remain home. Father would have insisted, for mother is really worn out, but she was so anxious to go that she and father went off last night."

"Was there anything new, or merely the same old story as before?" asked Helen.

"Who can tell? You know Rosa's mother had been a house-servant in Virginia and Rosa had a host of relatives there. Mrs. Mader—you remember the Doctor Mader who sometimes attends mother? Well, Mrs. Mader had been West. There she made the acquaintance of a southern woman who talked much of a Rosa Williams, who did some work for her. Mrs. Mader was interested and asked all sorts of questions. This Rosa Williams, so the southern woman said, was a handsome mulatto woman about forty years old. She also said that she had several children and that one in particular had neither the features nor coloring of a negro."

"Poor Aunt Harriet!" said Helen. "If only she would give up hope. She is wearing herself out in this way."

Hester was delighted with this new acquaintance. She had known few boys. Jane Orr's brother, Ralph, had been her ideal of what a boy should be. Jane had not let his good qualities pass unnoticed. But Hester was inclined to think that Robert Vail surpassed Ralph in every particular. Helen had told her much of this one cousin who took the place of brother to her. He was in his last year in medical college, and had led his class for three full years. Yet he was not a bookish man. He was of a social nature, fond of company, and outdoor life, taking as much interest in cross-country walks and athletics as he did in his studies. Hester was thinking of these matters while Helen and Robert were talking. She had been sitting with her eyes upon the floor, listening in a half abstracted fashion. She raised her eyes suddenly to find Robert Vail's eyes fixed on her in scrutiny. Her cheeks grew crimson and she looked away.

"I beg pardon," cried the young man, "I seem destined to annoy you with my rudeness. The first time I met you I mistook you for Helen. The resemblance is not so marked now that I see you together."

"Yet we are often mistaken for each other," said Helen, "if the hall is just a little dark, the girls mistake us. Often I am called Hester."

"It would have to be very dark if I were to mistake you now after once seeing you together.

"I wish to explain to Miss Alden why I was looking so intently at her now. I've seen my mother sitting that way many a time. There was something about you which made me think of her."

"You told me she was very beautiful," said Hester, saucily turning toward Helen.

"Hester Alden, are you really fishing for compliments?" asked Helen, pretending to be shocked at Hester's question.

"There is really no use of fishing when the compliments are floating on the surface within your reach," said the young man gallantly.

This was all very pleasing to Hester. She had not been accustomed to receiving such compliments or attention and she felt quite grown up and elegant.

Robert Vail's gallant manner was of short duration. He looked at Hester again, and grew quite serious. Very strange ideas came to him. He had a queer feeling that somehow his mother had made a mistake in not calling at the seminary that morning, and that he stood nearer the truth than he had ever stood before. These thoughts prompted him to turn to Hester with questions which were pertinent and personal.

"Where do you live, Miss Alden?" Hester told him. She wondered as she did so why he had asked the question as though it were of moment.

"Who are your people? Have you always lived there?"

He had touched Hester on the one delicate subject of her life. She had pride enough for several girls. Not even Aunt Debby knew how her lack of parentage and name had hurt her. She had never permitted herself to think of it, lest she should grow depressed and unhappy. And to think that now this Robert Vail whom she had liked so much, had presumed to question her. Like a flash, it came to her that perhaps he had met Kate Bowerman or Abner Stout and they had told him that she had been left a waif on Debby Alden's hands and that her people had cared so little for her that they never came to find her.

For an instant, pride was up in arms. Her one thought was to defend herself at whatever cost. All Aunt Debby's precious training was flung to the winds. She raised her head proudly and looked directly at him. In her eyes was a look of defiance; the crimson of annoyance and shame flamed on her cheeks.

"Who are my people?" she repeated his question. "As my name is Alden, I presume my people also were of that name. My father and mother died when I was a babe, and my father's sister, my Aunt Debby Alden reared me."

Her annoyance was evident. Robert Vail was vexed with himself for having caused it. "I am always falling into error, Miss Alden. If you forgive me this once more, I shall promise not to annoy you again. I fancy my question was personal. I asked it because of the resemblance to my mother and cousin. It came to me that you might be a relative. Though I doubt if you would wish to claim us. We are a bad lot. I am really the only fair specimen among them."

"Such insufferable conceit," said Helen. "Everyone knows that it keeps all the other members of the family taking care of you."

"Which proves what I have just said. I am the family jewel. It behooves them to take care of me, lest I be lost or stolen." Turning to Hester, he held out his hand. "Am I forgiven?" he asked.

Hester, ashamed and abashed, laid her hand within his. "I am sorry I spoke so hastily," she said. But the red did not leave her cheeks, nor the hurt look from her eyes. She blushed for the statement she had made. "'My father was Aunt Debby's brother.' It was a lie—nothing less than a lie," she kept saying to herself and the thought spoiled the entire day for her. It spoiled more than that, too. Perhaps, had she told the truth, she would never again have need to blush for her lack of name or to misunderstand her people for not coming in search for her. Her little sin bore its own fruits with it; yet Hester believed she was paying the debt by being sorry and ashamed.

"About your going with me," Robert turned to his cousin. "Mother said I was to play escort and take you anywhere you wished to go."

"Aunt Harriet's not coming may make a difference. The preceptress gave me permission to go with the understanding that we were in your mother's charge."

"I shall take as good care of you as mother. Better care, I fancy, for she would be helpless if she had to manage a machine."

"It is the idea of not living up to the conditions," replied Helen. "If you and Hester will excuse me, I will explain to Miss Burkham. Perhaps, she will not object to my going with you. She would if you were not a cousin."

She went directly to the preceptress and in a few moments returned with that lady herself, who listened to the story of the difficulties.

"We intended stopping to see Aunt Debby," said Hester. "I wrote her a note yesterday, telling her to expect us."

"You may go under these conditions," said Miss Burkham, "that you go directly to Miss Alden's aunt's. If she can accompany you further, very well. Otherwise you remain at her home until you are ready to return to school. Under any circumstances you must be here before five o'clock. Be kind enough to set your timepieces with the tower clock. Then there will be no excuse for not being here on or before the hour appointed. You may get your wraps. I shall entertain Mr. Vail until your return."

Miss Burkham was always exacting. Her speech was frank and sometimes even blunt; but she had such a sense of justice and fitness of things, that her decisive words were never galling, even to the most sensitive of the girls. Her manner was gracious and her smile kindly. She would put herself to no end of trouble to add to the happiness of the pupils; on the other hand, she would go to no end of trouble to see that the rules of the school were rigidly enforced and that the girls under her care would do nothing unbecoming a lady or which might bring criticism upon their heads.

Soon the three were on their way. For three days, Hester Alden had enjoyed the ride in anticipation. But now something had gone from it. The buoyancy of spirit which was generally hers and the power of enjoying the most trifling affairs had deserted her. She sat silent until Helen rallied her. Then she made an effort to be her usual bright talkative self; but it was plainly an effort. She was forcing an interest in what was going on about her. Her mind dwelt only on the statement she had made to Robert Vail.

"It was a lie, a lie," she kept repeating to herself. She was almost afraid to meet Aunt Debby. How Aunt Debby despised anything of that kind! Hester felt that her clear gray eyes would look straight down into her heart and read the lie which had made a mark there.

Robert Vail observed that Hester was more than quiet. She was depressed and anxious.

Debby Alden was prepared to receive the guests. She, with Miss Richards, had a lunch ready to serve. She had smiled when she arranged her table service. She had given it the right touch of daintiness and refinement. There had come to her, the remembrance of certain conditions of her life and her manner of doing things before Hester had come into her life. She had spoken her thoughts to Miss Richards.

"I have been a different woman ever since I found Hester," she said. "Life holds so much more for me than it did before—a great deal more than I ever hoped to have it hold. I wonder what I would have been had Hester gone her way that day and not have come into my life."

"You would have been Debby Alden," said Miss Richards, "a woman of conscience and principle. You would have been the same Debby—only with the narrower view of life. You would have been an old woman instead of a bright, interesting, beautiful, young girl of forty."

Debby Alden had blushed at the speech.

"You and Hester have conspired to spoil me. I think you are leagued together to make me vain and worldly. What one does not think of, the other does. It was only last week that Hester wrote me some very silly nonsense about not one of the women at the reception, looking half so fine as I. Of course, I know the child does it merely to please me."

Miss Richards nodded her head in negation. "You know she means every word she says, Debby. Hester could not prevaricate, even to please you. As to its being nonsense, you know it is not. We think what we say and you like to hear us say it. Why not express ourselves? There is nothing in the world that is as great as love. The greatest thing in the world! Why then should we go through life with silent lips, or lips which open only for criticism while all the time love is really in our hearts? Is it not lovelier and kinder to express our love while the loved ones are here to listen?"

This had been Miss Richards's philosophy of life. It had been her love as well as Hester's which had brightened and developed Debby Alden. Their words concerning Debby's being beautiful were not flattering. She was beautiful with the beauty which comes from fine principle, high ideals, and a warm, love-filled heart. People had turned in the streets for a second look at Debby Alden, while she, wholly unconscious that she had grown so attractive, moved on her way without knowing of the eyes turned in her direction.

Debby went down to the gate to meet her guests. She took Hester in her arms. In an instant her intuition told her that something was wrong.

"What is troubling my little girl?" she asked.

"Nothing, Aunt Debby. Nothing at all. Oh, how sweet to be back home!" She threw her arms about Debby Alden's neck and hugged her with a vehemence which caused that lady to gasp for breath.

Helen and Miss Alden had never met. Debby at once noticed the resemblance between Helen and Hester. She greeted the former as she had done her own little girl. Then she turned to Robert Vail and holding out her hand, said merrily, "I shall forgive and believe now, since I know you have a cousin Helen and she does resemble Hester. Until this time, I thought it all a myth of your own making, manufactured for the sole purpose of annoying two plain country folk."

Rob Vail laughed as he took her hand in his own firm clasp. "I do not know whether I shall allow myself to be forgiven under such circumstances. You would not have faith in me until I presented the proof and that is really no faith at all. I wish to be trusted without evidence."

He laughed again and held Miss Debby's hand tight in his own while they moved up the walk toward the tiny cottage.

"From this time, I shall have faith in you, though evidence is lacking," she said.

She liked the boy. She had never before been so pleasantly impressed by a young man as she had been by him. He was wholesome, clear-eyed and unaffected.

Debby Alden recognized these virtues in him and received him at once into her home and friendship. She liked his college talk; his bright way of making his smile and voice put his words at fault. Yet, while he entertained her she was not wholly unconscious of two things—that Hester was not herself, and that the resemblance between the two girls was not the result of mere chance. Suddenly she turned to Helen with the question:

"Have you any sisters? Did you ever have any?"

"No, unfortunately, I am an only child," was the reply.

"Which may account for any peculiar little traits of character or manner," said Robert Vail. "Only a brother or sister is able to 'comb one' thoroughly smooth. They trim the plant of self-esteem; they nip the bud of selfishness before it can bloom; they serve their purpose, nuisances though they are—these brothers and sisters."

"How unfortunate that you never had any. You might have been—" Helen left the sentence unfinished, implying by her tone that he might have been all that he was not.

"But you served the same purpose, cousin. You have never failed in your duty toward me. You are worth a dozen brothers and sisters when it comes to 'combing one down.'" They laughed at the sally and might have carried it further had not Miss Alden led the way to the lunch table.