Lucile opened one sleepy eye upon the busily ticking little clock on the table. As she looked, her gaze became fixed and she sat up in bed with a startled exclamation.

“Eleven o’clock!” she cried. “Oh, it can’t be!” she added, with sudden inspiration, which was clouded with disappointment the next minute as the steady ticking continued.

“How silly!” she said, laughing at herself. “Since it’s still going, it’s certain that it hasn’t stopped.” With which profound remark she slipped out of bed and into her dressing gown.

“Oh, how could I waste so much time on sleep,” she marveled, “when to-day means—Europe? Oh, I can never wait to get dressed!”

She did wait, however, and when she had donned her dress and tucked her unruly curls into place, she looked as fresh and sweet as a flower. She finished her toilet in breathless haste, and as she flung open the door of her room she nearly ran into Phil, who was tearing down the hall toward her.

“Hello, Sis; it’s about time you were up,” was his greeting. “Mother said to call you if you weren’t. Do you know what time it is?” he queried, regarding her severely.

“Yes, I know what time it is, Grandad,” she mimicked, and, catching him about the neck, she began to do a series of steps not standardized in the Vernon Castle repertoire. “Come on, old sobersides,” she laughed; “dance for your life. I’ll be the orchestra.”

Phil was nothing if not a “sport,” so he grasped his sister around the waist and away they went down the hall at a great rate, Lucile singing like mad, until the sounds of 60 merriment reached Mr. Payton in the library and out he came, paper in hand, to have his share of the fun.

He was greeted by a peal of laughter, and Lucile cried, “Stop stepping on my toes, Phil, for goodness’ sakes! See, it goes like this.”

“What’s all the rumpus about?” thundered Mr. Payton, in his hearty voice, and Lucile poked her bright face over the banister to smile impishly and threw him a kiss.

“Dancing, Dad; don’t you want to try?” she challenged.

“Sure,” was the unexpected reply, “only leave a little of the stairs, please,” as they came down two steps at a time and landed right side up with care.

Then Mr. Payton was hugged and kissed and called a “dear” and dragged into the library, where the rugs were rolled up and full preparations made for the first dancing lesson. They were in full swing, with the Victrola going and Lucile counting “One-two-three, one-two-three,” when Mrs. Payton came in.

She looked her disapproval of the disorderly room, but when her glance rested on her husband, who proved surprisingly light on his feet for so heavy a man, her eyes filled with interest and she sat down to watch.

When the record stopped, Lucile turned shining eyes on her mother. “Wasn’t that fine, Mother?” while Phil burst out with, “Bravo, Dad! I had no idea you could do it.”

“All due to my very able teacher,” said Mr. Payton, modestly. “Don’t you want to try it, Nell?” he asked. “It’s more fun than you can imagine. I remember that when I first met you there was no better dancer on the floor, dear. Come on and try.”

“I always used to love to dance,” Mrs. Payton admitted, and that admission was enough for Lucile.

“I tell you what we’ll do,” she said. “You take Mother, Phil, and I’ll take Dad. Oh, what a lark!”

It was half an hour before the Paytons could bring themselves down to a consideration of the sober and substantial things of life, and then it took Mrs. Payton to do it. 61

“Lucile,” she cried, stopping in the middle of a dance to gaze upon her daughter, “I don’t believe you’ve had a mouthful of anything to eat since you got up, and it’s after twelve o’clock.”

“Oh, I forgot,” said Lucy, and then added naively, “Now I come to think of it, though, I am hungry.”

“Of course you are. Run along and tell Mary to make you some toast. That will last you till we all have lunch, which will be pretty soon now.”

“I hope so,” said Phil, who was always ready for his three good meals a day. “I begin to feel the ravages of famine,” he groaned.

“If you are real good, I may give you a piece of my toast,” Lucile promised.

“No, don’t, Lucy; it will only spoil his dinner,” said Mrs. Payton. “Dancing does give you an appetite, though, doesn’t it?” she added, at which Lucile smiled to herself, for it was very, very long since she had seen her mother unbend so far.

“If dancing will do it,” she decided, on her way to the kitchen, “we’ll dance from here to Jericho,” and the firm lines of her mouth showed that she meant it.

At half past four Phil put on his hat and announced his intention of going round for the girls.

“You needn’t stop for Jessie,” Lucile called after him; “nor for Evelyn either, for that matter. All their folks are coming along to see us off.”

“I’m going anyway,” he replied, briefly, and Lucile called gaily after him, “There’s a reason,” and shut the door before he could retort.

Mrs. Payton met her in the hall.

“Better get your hat and coat on, Lucy. It’s almost time to start.”

As Lucile ran lightly up the stairs and into her room, her heart beat fast and her face flamed with excitement.

“We’re going, we’re going!” she sang, as she slipped into her coat and pulled her hat—a perky little affair with a blue bow at the side, that held in place a black wing set 62 at an aggravating angle—down over one eye and then surveyed herself critically.

“Guess I’m all right,” she said, pushing a stray lock into place with experienced fingers. “Now for my gloves and bag and I’ll be ready. Coming, Mother!” This last to an impatient command from the lower regions. “Will you ask Dad if he took my Gladstone bag downstairs?”

Mr. Payton replied in person that he had, and Lucile stepped out in the hall and closed the door softly. She paused at the head of the stairs to still the tumultuous beating of her heart, for it seemed to her that it could be heard a mile away. It was all so new and strange and wonderful—and now that their great dream was to be realized so soon, she felt more than ever that it must be a dream and nothing more. She wondered if Jessie and Evelyn were feeling that way, too, and then she heard the clamor of voices on the porch and knew that they had come.

Then a sort of panic seized her, as she realized that Jack Turnbull would be with them. She knew he would, for that had been the last thing he had said to her last night—oh, how very far away it seemed! Half unconsciously, she straightened her little hat and ran downstairs, just in time to answer Phil’s urgent, “Where’s Lucy?” with a merry, “Here, Phil; bag and baggage!”

Everybody turned to greet the radiant little figure, and Lucile included them all in her bright, “How’s everybody?”

“Rather shaky,” Evelyn answered, in an awe-struck voice, and everybody laughed good-naturedly.

“Well, what do you say if we start?” suggested Mr. Payton. “We are all here and we might as well have plenty of time. We don’t want to have to hurry.”

They all agreed, and so, with a great deal of noise and laughter, the party started out. Lucile ran back to say a word of good-by to Mary and Jane, who, good souls, were weeping heartily at the thought of parting with the family for so long. With difficulty she managed to break away from them, and on her way back came face to face with—Jack! 63

“Oh,” she stammered, “I thought they—everybody—had gone!”

“So they have, but I came back to get you and—tell you to hurry,” he replied, with a laugh. It was a very frank, nice laugh, Lucile decided, and she was very glad he had come back, so she answered him gaily and they started out to overtake the others.

At least, Lucile did, but, after covering a half-block at a fast walk, that was almost a run, Jack protested.

“What’s your awful hurry?” he queried, reproachfully. “You have an hour to catch the train, so why rush?”

Lucile opened her eyes wide in feigned astonishment.

“Why, I’m only following instructions,” she teased. “You told me to hurry, and so I’m trying to.”

“With great success,” he added, with a smile of understanding. “Just the same, you know I didn’t mean it that way. I had to see you and I needed some excuse. I won’t have a chance to see you for a long, long time, you know.”

Lucile looked up quickly, this time in real surprise.

“But I thought you were going back to New York to-day, anyway,” she said.

“So I am, but there isn’t the width of the Atlantic between New York and Burleigh,” he answered meaningly.

Just then Evelyn turned around and, making a megaphone of her hand, shouted, “Better hurry up; we’ll miss the train.”

“Plenty of time,” Jack threw back, pleasantly. “Got half an hour yet.”

“Aw, there’s something wrong with your watch,” Phil retorted. “Next time you buy an Ingersoll, see that you get your money’s worth.”

“Thanks!” drawled Jack, but Lucile looked anxious.

“Perhaps we would better catch up with the rest of them,” she suggested. “The front ranks have quite a start on us, and we don’t want to keep them waiting.”

“Oh, all right,” agreed Jack cheerfully. “Give me your hand and we’ll do a hundred-yard dash in record time.” 64

Lucile took the proffered hand and away they went like two happy children, reaching the rest of the party a moment later, out of breath but triumphant.

“Didn’t I tell you we’d break the record?” laughed Jack, forgetting for the moment to release her hand. “You’re some little runner, too,” he added, admiringly.

“Speak for yourself,” she threw back gaily. “That was a good run, though. I guess we won’t miss the train now.”

“Not an unmixed blessing,” Jack grumbled, at which they all laughed with such infectious mirth that more than one passer-by turned to smile after them.

They arrived at the station in plenty of time, after all, for it was fully fifteen minutes before a distant toot announced the coming of the train that was to carry them to New York. It had been Mr. Payton’s intention in the first place to take passage on one of the smaller steamers, but the girls had been so evidently disappointed, although, to do them credit, they had tried their very best not to let him see it, that he had changed his plans at the last minute and had decided to take passage from New York on the great steamer “Mauretania.”

In talking things over, the girls’ parents and one or two of their relatives had decided to take the trip with them as far as New York, and from there give them a glorious send-off.

The girls’ desire and curiosity to see the great metropolis had been heightened by their guardian’s vivid recitals of her experiences, and they were on edge with expectancy.

“I wish we were going to spend some time in New York,” Phil was saying. “We just shoot in and then right out again.”

“You ungrateful heathen!” Lucile chided. “What do you expect? I’d like to spend a year in New York, too, but we can’t do everything at once.”

What Jack might have replied will never be known for just then they heard the whistle of the train. The journey had begun.