"Isn't it funny to think that we stopped at the very place to wish, and never knew it?" said Valerie, as they ran along the foot path that would take them back, the shortest way to the wall, and the wishing-well.

"Not so 'funny' as that we'd take so much time and trouble to wish when we get there," said Betty.

"Why is it odd?" Valerie asked, stopping squarely in front of Betty, and looking at her with round eyes.

"Oh, because we're acting exactly as if we believed in the old well," Betty said, looking a bit annoyed, yet keeping straight on toward the wall.

"Well, of course we're not so silly as to really and truly believe it could grant our wishes, but it's no harm to try," responded Valerie.

Betty laughed.

"Where did you hear those verses?" Valerie asked.

"That's a funny song my brother sings. I made the second verse to fit to-day."

"Why, Betty Chase! Who'd think you could make poetry?" cried Valerie, looking Betty over, as if it were the first time she had ever seen her.

Betty laughed gayly.

"I guess Mrs. Marvin would tell you it wasn't poetry. Don't you remember she told us the other day that many people could write verses, but that verses were not always poetry?"

"Well, all the same, I like the funny verses," Valerie said, "and here we are at the wall again."

"And here's luck to us, and our wishing!" cried Betty.

She sprang up on the wall beside Valerie, and for a moment the two sat thinking.

It was Valerie who first spoke.

"I've been trying to think what to wish for," she said, "and now all at once I know. Mother told me to work hard this year, so as to stand high in my class, and Aunt Phyllis said if I could finish in June with ninety per cent. average she'd give me a beautiful ring. Yes, that's what I'll wish for by the old well, and after I've wished it, I'll work harder than ever so that my wish will come true. Well, why do you laugh?" she asked, looking not only amazed, but rather vexed at Betty, who could not stop laughing even when she saw that Valerie was far from thinking it a joke.

"Well, what have I said that is so awfully funny?" she asked sharply.

"Don't be provoked, Valerie," Betty said, but her shoulders shook although she tried to check her laughter.

"I was only thinking," she continued, "how generous you were to help the old well out so nicely. Just as soon as you've wished, you'll start right out to work hard enough to just make the wish come true, well or no well, and I do believe, if your aunt gives you the ring, you'll forget how hard you worked, and you'll be saying: 'I do more than half believe in the wishing-well!'"

Valerie was never long angry, and she laughed as she answered:

"Well, Miss Wise-one, are you going to wish, and then sit back and wait to see if it 'comes true'?"

"I'll wish just for fun, but I don't believe what she said about the old well any more than you do, Valerie Dare. We'd be silly to even think that an old well had any power to grant wishes," Betty said, but Valerie laughed again.

"Then why did we bother to sit on this wall and wish?" she said.

"We might just as well wish while we're waiting along the road."

"Come on!" cried Betty. "You wished on the wall beside the well, and I'll wish as we walk along, and we'll see which gets what she wished for."

"All right," agreed Valerie, "but I do hope you'll get yours, Betty."

"I'm as likely to, as if I'd kept sitting by the well," Betty said, "for I wish for what just couldn't happen."

"Why Betty Chase! Why don't you wish for something that you've a chance of getting," said Valerie, stopping squarely in front of Betty.

"Because I have everything I want but one thing," was the quiet reply.

"And that one thing is—what?" queried Valerie.

"I love Dorothy Dainty, and I don't want to say 'good-by' to her when school closes. I'd like to be where she is this summer, but that couldn't be. You see our summer home is lovely, and we go there every year. Father and mother like the country better than the shore, but I like the beach, and the water best. Dorothy and Nancy will go home to Merrivale, but whether they spend the summer there, or go away to some other place, it won't make much difference to me. It's not likely to happen that they'll come to the quiet little town where we are to spend the summer."

Betty's merry face now wore such a sober expression that Valerie said:

"Well, I still say I wish you'd wanted something that really could happen."

At that moment some one appeared just around a bend of the road, some one wearing the gayest of colors, and with her a little old-fashioned figure in a dark brown dress.

"Look! Patricia and Arabella are coming this way, and they look as if they were planning something great. Just see how close together their heads are! I don't know Arabella very well, but when Patricia is 'up to' anything, it's pretty sure to be mischief."

"Oh, I don't know," Valerie. "It's just as likely to be some way she's planning for a chance to show off."

Betty laughed.

"Did you hear Vera Vane telling about the afternoon that Patricia knocked at her door, and said that she had come to 'make a call'?"

"I didn't hear that," said Valerie. "What did she do?"

"She was wearing all the rings and bangles that she owned, and in her hand was a card-case, just as if she were grown up. She sat on the tip edge of her chair, and she kept taking out her handkerchief, and shaking it because it was drenched with perfumery, and when she went, she emptied the card-case on the table, and Vera counted the cards. Say, Patricia had left fifty. Wasn't that funny?"

"Hush—sh!" breathed Valerie, "she might hear you."

Patricia rushed forward, while Arabella, as usual, hung back, preferring to stare at Betty and Valerie through her spectacles, rather than have a little chat.

She wanted to watch their faces, and see if they were greatly surprised with the news that Patricia had to tell.

"Guess where we're going!" Patricia cried, "but you couldn't guess, so I'll tell you. We're going over to the well, the one that's called the wishing-well," she explained, "and we mustn't tell what we mean to wish for, 'cause if you tell, you wouldn't get your wish. Did you know that?"

Betty said that she had not heard that.

"I'll tell you to-morrow just how to find it, but we can't stop now. There isn't time."

"Late!" cried Valerie. "I guess you two are late. We think we have to hurry to get to Glenmore on time, and you are going away from school every minute. Why don't you go to the well, if you want to, to-morrow."

Arabella thought that they ought to turn back, but Patricia seized her hand, and the two commenced to run.

"They'll be a half-hour late," said Valerie, looking after the flying figures.

"And 'The Fender' will be waiting for a chance to scold them when they come in," said Betty.

As they pushed the gate open, they saw a little figure disappearing around the corner of the house.

"That was Ida Mayo," said Valerie.

"I didn't see her face. Are you sure it was Ida?" Betty asked.

"Oh, it was Ida," Valerie answered, "and I do wonder why she stays in her room all the time. If she happens to come down when the girls are out, she runs, the moment she sees any of us coming."

"It's a long time ago that she was sick," Betty replied, "but she must be all right by this time. I wonder why she ran when she saw us? We don't know her well enough to stop her to talk. She's bigger than we are, and she's three classes above us."

"Who told you she stayed in her own room all the time?" continued Betty.

"Patricia Levine said so," Valerie said.

"Why, Valerie Dare, you know Patricia tells—well—things that aren't really true," said Betty.

"Well, we don't see Ida, now, as we used to," Valerie said.

"That might just happen," said Betty.

It happened that what Patricia had said was true.

The so-called "beautifier" had injured the skin so severely that it required time to heal it.

Mrs. Marvin had said that Ida was feeling far from well, which was true.

Her vanity had prompted her to do a foolish thing, and she had suffered for it, both because of her painful face, and because in her nervousness, she had cried until completely tired out.

Mrs. Marvin had talked with her kindly and wisely, she had let old Judy take her meals up to her room, and she had personally given her private instruction, for she pitied the silly girl, and sought to keep curious ones from annoying her.

Ida had hastened away when she had seen the two younger girls coming because there still were traces on her cheeks of the burning caused by the patent "beautifier," and she seemed more afraid of the comments of the younger girls, than of her own classmates.

As the two girls entered the hall they saw that the tall clock marked the time as quarter-past five.

"Fifteen minutes to fix up just a bit," said Betty. "Come on!"

They raced up the stairs and soon reached their room.

Valerie was ready first, because Betty had found a letter waiting for her, and promptly sat down to read it.

"You'd better not stop to read it," cautioned Valerie, "for when we came in we had only fifteen minutes to—"

But just then Betty gave a little cry of delight.

"Oh-oo! Just listen to this!" she cried. "Father says we are to go to the shore this summer just for a change, and already he has rented the summer place." She clapped her hands, and laughed with sheer happiness.

"Oh, I'm so glad to hear that to-night. I do believe I'll dream about it," she said.

The half-hour for social chat was over, and dinner was half through when Patricia and Arabella entered the dining-room.

All eyes were turned upon them.

Patricia held her chin very high, and looked as if she were thinking: "I know I'm late, but what of that?" She was assuming a boldness that she did not feel, whereas Arabella was absolutely natural. She felt frightened, and looked—just as she felt.

"Wouldn't you like to know what they wished?" whispered Valerie, to which Betty whispered in reply:

"I'd like to know, but they wouldn't tell us."

It was a fixed rule at Glenmore that the pupils must be present at the social half-hour, and then be sure of being prompt at six, the dinner hour. Patricia and Arabella were the first to break that rule.

There was to be a week's vacation, and all but four of the pupils were to spend it at home.

They were Patricia and Arabella, Dorothy, and Nancy.

Mrs. Dainty and Aunt Charlotte were still traveling, and Mrs. Vane had asked Vera to bring Dorothy and Nancy home with her for the week. Already they had planned enough pleasure to last a month, and Vera was still racking her busy brain to think of other things that they might do.

The pupils were welcome to remain at Glenmore if they wished, and Patricia had decided that that was just what she would do.

Arabella had hesitated. She was fond of her father, and she had intended to go home for the week, but Patricia had declared that they would stay at Glenmore, and Arabella was no match for Patricia, so it was settled that they would remain at the school.

The week at Vera's home opened charmingly.

Mrs. Vane had given the week over to Vera and her three little guests.

"It isn't quite a week," she said when she greeted them, "for you have arrived Monday afternoon, and you must leave Saturday morning. That gives us Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and we must make each day delightful."

"It always is delightful here," said Dorothy, "and it seemed so good to come to you when mother was away."

Mrs. Vane drew Dorothy closer. She knew that at heart, sweet Dorothy was a bit homesick.

"We'll have a pleasant little home evening with music and games," she said, "and you'll all feel rested by to-morrow. I'll not tell what I've in store for to-morrow. That is a secret," she said.

Of course Vera coaxed, and the others tried to guess, but Mrs. Vane remained firm, only laughing as their guessing grew wilder.

"Mother truly can keep a secret, but I can't," said Vera. "I mean to keep it but first thing I know, I'm telling it."

"We all know that," said Elf, and Vera joined in the laughter of the others.

Tuesday was fair, and Mrs. Vane, at lunch looked at the four bright faces before her, Vera, a small copy of herself; Elf, whose mischievous face was truly elfish; Nancy, whose gypsy beauty always pleased, and Dorothy, blue-eyed, fair-haired, whose lovable disposition shone from her eyes, and made her sweet to look upon.

"We shall take a trip to Fairy-land this afternoon," she said, "and must start directly after lunch."

That was all that she would tell, and as they motored up one busy street, and down another, she enjoyed watching their eager faces, and listening to their chatter.

Fairy-land proved to be a wonderful play, depicting Elf-land with fairies, water nymphs, elves and witches, goblins, and gnomes, with exquisite scenery, beautiful costumes, and graceful dancing that held them entranced, from the time that the curtain went up until the grand march of the fairies at the finale.

The "grown-ups" in the audience were delighted, so it was not strange that Mrs. Vane's party was spellbound.

Of them all, Nancy best understood the perfect art of the dancing. She had been drilled in those dainty steps, and she saw how cleverly each did her part.

It was an afternoon of enchantment, and when the play was over, the gay little party howled along the broad thoroughfare toward home and they talked of the beautiful fairy play, and the graceful girls who had danced as nymphs.

The four days passed so quickly that when Saturday dawned, it seemed hardly possible that it was time to return to Glenmore.

There had been a wonderful exhibition of paintings for Wednesday, a huge fair for Thursday at which Mrs. Vane bought a lovely gift for each as a souvenir.

Thursday they had motored out beyond the city where willows were showing their misty green, and gay little crocus beds were in bloom. They had stopped for lunch at a pretty restaurant that looked for all the world like a rustic cottage, and then had returned to find Rob Vane waiting to greet them, as they drew up to the house.

"Hello!" he called to them before they had alighted.

"How is this, that a fellow gets a week's vacation, and comes home from school to find only servants to greet him?"

"Why, Robert, I am glad enough to have you home for a week. I thought you were to stay at school for extra coaching?"

"That's what I wrote in my last letter," said Rob, "but I passed exams. with flying colors. I was nervous, and feared I wasn't prepared, but say! I was needlessly scared, for I not only 'passed,' but snatched the prize for mathematics."

"I am proud of you, Robert, and your father will be pleased," Mrs. Vane said, her fine eyes shining.

"And I'm proud of you, Rob," cried Vera, rushing at him, and clasping her arms about him.

"Hi, Pussy Weather-vane, it's good to have a little sister," said Rob, swinging her around until she was dizzy.

"Are you glad to see me, too?" he asked, laughing at her flushed cheeks, and touzled, flaxen hair.

"Oh, Rob! So glad, even if you do shake me up until I look wild," Vera said, clinging to his arm, and dragging him toward the little guests.

"I dare to say he's the best brother in the world because neither one of you has a brother, so you won't be offended."

"Spare my blushes, Vera," cried Rob. "Say, girls, I'm mighty glad to see you. How long are you to stay? A week?"

"We are going back to Glenmore Saturday," Dorothy said, "and we start at nine in the morning. There is no one at the Stone House but the servants, and it was so lovely to come home with Vera."

"It surely was the best thing that you could do," Rob replied earnestly, for he knew by a slight quiver in her voice that Dorothy was a bit homesick.

Nancy heard the odd little quiver when Dorothy was speaking, and she hastened to speak of cheery things.

"We've had just the dearest visit, and we've been to the theater, to a big fair, to see a hall hung with beautiful pictures, and how we have enjoyed it all!" she said.

"I'll do the entertaining to-morrow," said Rob. "I'll take you all to see something that will be no end of fun."

"What will it be, Rob?" Vera asked, but Rob tweaked her curls, and laughed.

"That's my secret," he said, and they had to be satisfied with that.