Really Caroline deserved none of the hard things that Jacqueline thought of her. She of course hadn’t had the least suspicion that her sudden departure to unknown places would be a tragedy for Jacqueline. Just the same she would have sent Jacqueline some word about this change in the summer’s plans, if only she had had the chance. But when you remember that Cousin Penelope had made up her mind to protect her darling from that pushing horrid little girl from the Meadows, (and when you remember Cousin Penelope!) you will realize that Caroline had about as much chance to send a message to Jacqueline as a nice little round snowball to survive in the middle of a red-hot furnace.

They were going away next morning, Cousin Penelope had announced one evening at dinner. They were going to the beach, because Cousin Marcia Vintner wasn’t using her cottage, and Aunt Eunice needed change of air (Aunt Eunice had never looked better in her life!) and Jacqueline, so Cousin Penelope had decided, was dying to paddle in the waves and run on the sands.

Privately Jacqueline’s little understudy was very well pleased where she was, but she would have been less than a human child, if she hadn’t thrilled at the thought of a journey, especially in that smooth rolling, softly upholstered limousine, which still seemed to her a palace on wheels.

She spent a busy evening in helping Cousin Penelope select and pack in a little leather trunk the things that she would need at the beach. Fully half of Jacqueline’s pretty wardrobe was to be left at The Chimnies and some of the most valuable of her trinkets.

“I’ll put these pins and chains in the library safe,” said Cousin Penelope. “The house will be closed, you know, while we are away, and though we’ve never had such a thing as a burglar in Longmeadow, it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Caroline agreed. She was ready to agree to anything. She went to bed, full of happy thoughts of the journey before her, and then for the first time she remembered Jacqueline, and grew uneasy. Was it fair to stay in Jacqueline’s place, even at Jacqueline’s bidding, and enjoy this trip to the beach that Jacqueline had not foreseen? But she couldn’t give away the secret that was one-half Jacqueline’s and that Jacqueline had ordered her to keep, until she had consulted with Jacqueline.

And how was she to get at Jacqueline? She couldn’t go herself to the Meadows, even if she had had the time to do so, and she couldn’t telephone. She fairly quaked in her cozy bed as she thought of the stern, accusing face that Cousin Penelope would turn upon her, should she catch her actually telephoning to the house in the Meadows that sheltered the child she had denounced as rude and pushing. She would rather die than attempt to telephone Jacqueline from The Chimnies—but there were other telephones in Longmeadow!

What a ninny she had been not to think of that before! First thing in the morning she would run over to the Trowbridges’. She could venture it, for she and Eleanor were now quite intimate friends. She would telephone Jacqueline, and let her know that they were going away to the beach. Not that it would make any difference to Jackie, but she would feel better herself to have done what she felt was the fair thing to do.

Wasn’t it strange that when so much depended on her waking early, Caroline should oversleep? Actually she waked only when Cousin Penelope, in her lavender dressing-gown, stood laughing over her.

“Hurry, little Sleepy-head!” cried Cousin Penelope. “I let you rest till the last minute, but breakfast will be on the table now before you can say Jack Robinson, and we must start right after breakfast, or we’ll have to travel in the heat of the day.”

You know yourself how it is when you rise late and dress in a hurry. Stubborn snarls in the brown locks that just wouldn’t come out—button-holes in the freshly laundered garments that closed their mean lips and wouldn’t admit the buttons—a hair-ribbon that peevishly had lost itself—finally a weakened clasp on the chain of tiny gold beads that she meant to wear, which let the whole string go slipping coldly down within her undergarments.

Caroline had just recovered the beads, when she heard the soft notes of the Chinese gongs that made always such a pleasant prelude to meals at The Chimnies. She dared not trust the shallow pockets of her mouse-colored smock, so she left the beads upon the dressing-table. Later she would put them into her little vanity bag (Jacqueline’s vanity bag!) when she came back to her room for her hat and her coat and Mildred, who was all dressed and waiting. But she couldn’t stop now, not even to open the vanity bag. One must never be late to meals.

Such a hurried breakfast, thrilled with the pleasant sense of a journey to follow! Cousin Penelope was already hatted, with her veil of palest mauve pushed back from her eager face. Sallie, as she waited at table, was all smiles and good cheer. She, too, was happy at the thought of a long holiday. Aunt Eunice’s old cheeks were delicately flushed. Perhaps after all she really needed sea air, as Cousin Penelope so generously had suggested.

“You must eat more than a humming-bird, Jacqueline,” Aunt Eunice urged. “It will be a long time to luncheon time.”

“We’ll lunch in Boston,” said Cousin Penelope, in her masterful manner. “I wrote Dr. Stoddard for an appointment. He’ll put in another hour on Jacqueline’s teeth.”

“Oh, misery!” thought Caroline.

“And we must get Jacqueline a bathing suit,” added Cousin Penelope.

“And some sand toys,” supplemented Aunt Eunice. “You and Mildred aren’t too old to make me some sand pies, are you, dear?”

Caroline smiled, and do you know, though her smile came less frequently than Jacqueline’s, it was just as sweet?

“Come, Jacqueline!” Cousin Penelope was calling next moment from down the hall. Such an energetic Cousin Penelope as she was that early morning! “We must select some music to take along.”

“Oh!” cried Caroline, swooping after her. “Will there be a piano?”

“Did you think we could live without one? I’m urging Madame Woleski to spend at least a week with us.”

A week under the same roof with Madame Woleski! Carried away with the prospect of such happiness, Caroline forgot everything but the music that she sorted—music that she might some time play for Madame Woleski’s criticism. She actually forgot that Jacqueline existed, until she heard the cushioned wheels of the great limousine roll singingly across the gravel of the drive.

“Oh!” cried Caroline, in dismay. “And I’ve got to say good-by to Eleanor Trowbridge!”

“There’s no time now, dear,” warned Cousin Penelope.

“But I must,” cried Caroline desperately. “I must—show her Mildred—in her sailor suit.”

She flew up the stairs to her room. She snatched up the doll and fairly flew down again. She rushed out of the house and tore across the garden. To her joy she saw Eleanor Trowbridge there at the other side of the hedge and the rose tangle, in the swing that hung from a branch of the big elm.

“Cooey!” cried Caroline.

Eleanor came hurrying on her sturdy legs, and when Eleanor stood before her, a very solid person, Caroline lost her courage. She couldn’t say right out plump: “Let me into your house to use your telephone, quick!” as she had meant to say. She stammered and hesitated and talked about the journey. She was leading the subject round to the telephone. Presently she would get there! Oh, how her heart was beating, and Eleanor, the solid and stolid, didn’t give her a bit of help.

“You can play in our summer house while I’m gone,” said Caroline, and she meant to add, “if you’ll let me use your telephone now,” but she never said the words, for just then Cousin Penelope came tripping across the garden.

“Last call for the Boston train!” Cousin Penelope cried gayly. “Hurry, Jacqueline! We’ve got to stop in the village for gas and oil, and we’re half an hour behind schedule already.”

So Caroline, quite helpless, was hurried away to the car, beneath the envious eyes of Eleanor Trowbridge. Already the luggage was strapped on the carrier, and Aunt Eunice was cozily seated in the car. Beside her were the little vanity bag, the straw hat, with its flame-colored band, and the little leaf brown cape coat that Caroline should wear upon the journey.

“Sallie fetched down your things,” smiled Aunt Eunice. “Jump in, my dear, and off we go!”

So Caroline jumped in. What else could she do? And in the joy and excitement of setting out on a delightful journey, she almost forgot that she had thought it of prime importance, only last night, to telephone Jacqueline, and she quite forgot the string of beads (Jacqueline’s beads!) that she had left upon the dressing-table.

It was Sallie who found those beads later, when she went to “do” the room that was Caroline’s. Being neat and methodical, Sallie took the beads and dropped them into the Dresden china trinket box upon the dressing-table, and then in the excitement of hurrying off on her own holiday, she too forgot them—but not forever!