With arms about each other’s waists, Cathalina Van Buskirk and Elizabeth Barnes were walking slowly in the winding path through Greycliff Wood. Cathalina’s sunny locks were close to Betty’s dark ones.

“Just think!” Betty was saying, “I won’t see you for three months!”

“I wish you could go home with me this summer. Can’t you?”

“Not possibly. Mother has not been well and I am needed at home. She has been terribly worried, too, over Aunt Dorothy’s family. Aunt Dorothy married a Canadian and they live up in Toronto,—but the two oldest boys are both fighting in France. Dick is wild to go too; he hears from the boys once in a while. Father doesn’t worry, but Mother is sure that we shall get into the war some time.”

“How old is your brother?”

“Dick is almost twenty.”

They had reached the place where three paths diverged, one to the left going deeper into the woods behind Greycliff, another leading down into the vine-clad ravine near the river, and a third winding to the right and leading out to the front of the grove, where a grassy bluff overlooked the beach. A chorus of gay calls came from the trees there.

“Whoo-hoo, Betty, wasn’t that an easy quiz in French?” Eloise waved her handkerchief at Betty, who hurried up the path with Cathalina and dropped down by the other girls. “I haven’t a single examination now, all through! It’s goodbye lessons for at least twelve weeks!”

“O, Eloise!” responded Cathalina joyously, “I’m so glad, too, that the old exams are over,—yet I do hate to go and leave you girls.”

“Well, we’re going too, not left behind.”

“Yes, but you see I don’t know whether I’m coming back or not!”

“You better had!” said Betty.

“Aren’t you going to ask to come?” Diane looked surprised.

“Yes, of course.”

“Well, that’s all that’s necessary, isn’t it?”

“O, you don’t know my father and mother if they think something’s good for me!” Cathalina shook her head in some doubt. “But I’m sure they will admit that this plan to have me come here has turned out wonderfully! And I would not have missed it for anything! Just think of not knowing you girls!” Cathalina spoke earnestly and sincerely, but created a laugh and exclamations of “How awful!”

“Neither would I,” said Helen,—“but look at Hilary and Lilian together again!” she exclaimed, pointing to where the two girls in question were walking up from the beach and swinging hands in the best of spirits.

“That isn’t Hilary, is it?” demurred Eloise, looking around a tree.

“Yes,—see her red tie and hair ribbon?”

“Other girls have red ties and hair ribbons.”

“That may be, but I know Hilary’s middy and her walk,” Helen assured the girls.

“They’ve made up since the picnic, or, really, that day,” said Cathalina.

“Haven’t you noticed them together?” asked Betty.

“What was the matter, then, if they don’t mind our knowing. Hilary has not happened to be in the suite and we did not say one word to Lilian about it from the first.”

“Hilary said I might tell you girls, or of course I would not say anything. It was all that Myrtle Wiseman. I couldn’t have supposed any girl could, but I think she must have told lies!” Cathalina’s voice dropped to a whisper on the last words, and her blue eyes widened in her earnestness, while the girls laughed out.

“You know,” she apologized, “in polite society one hardly charges people with such things. I can’t remember all about it, but you know how Myrtle tried to go around with Hilary all the time. It seems that she was jealous of Lilian, and Lil told Hilary afterwards that she guessed she was jealous of Myrtle or she wouldn’t have been so taken in. And Myrtle told a lot of things and twisted what Hilary really did say, and Lil believed it and—” Cathalina was forced to stop and take breath.

“She told Lilian that she wouldn’t think a girl would ‘stick in where she wasn’t wanted,’ that it was perfectly plain that Hilary was just being polite to her and that Hilary had said she didn’t care to be so intimate with one girl. She did not say it in just that way, but in little mean hints and sly ways. What Hilary did say was in answer to some question of Myrtle’s about our corridor crowd—that she thought it nice to have ever so many friends and not only one or two.

“There were one or two thoughtless things that Hilary did just then and they seemed to prove what Myrtle said true. So Lilian was nearly killed over it, she said and just couldn’t act decent. What was the use of asking Hilary, she said, because Hilary was too kind to tell her the truth! So she was hoping that Hilary would ask about it, and Hilary was hurt and wondering what was the matter.

“I knew that Myrtle was deceitful, for we’ve all seen her use a pony in Latin and copy in algebra,—but this was a regular scheme! It was simply—”

“Dee-spisable!” added Isabel, who had appeared from somewhere in time to hear Cathalina’s explanation. She curled down and put her head in Cathalina’s lap. “‘Sweet Cathalina, dear Cathalina, My love for thee shall never, never do-yi!’ Listen, girls, did you ever hear my adaptation of that sweet little ditty just out (interrogation point drawn by Isabel’s finger in the air), entitled ‘Evaline’?—I mean ‘My Cathaline’:

“O, Cathaline (O, Cathaline),
My Cathaline (My Cathaline),....
Sweeter to me than the honey to the bee,
I love-a you, say you love-a me!
Meet me in the shade of the old apple tree-ee,
Kitty, Kathy Cothy, Cathali-ine!”

“Silly,” said Cathalina, stroking Isabel’s curls.

Lilian and Hilary leaped up the steep way that was always the shortest route to the Hall. The girls kept still till they had topped the bank, and then greeted them with the old, “What’s the matter with Hilary?—She’s all right! Who’s all right?—Hilary!” Making like inquiry into Lilian’s condition, they found her “all right”, too. As the friends were still sensitive about the recent misunderstanding, they only nodded and smiled and joined the circle.

“Is this a final meeting of some sort?” asked Lilian.

“Just a happen-so,” replied Eloise. “We really ought to have one more good old fudge or beach party, but nobody has time. I’ve begun packing. My, how do we get so much stuff? I don’t know what to do with it!”

“I saw the old spring wagon come up a while ago with a load of empty boxes that I suppose some of the girls have ordered for their things.”

“That makes me think,—I ordered one!” Isabel scrambled to her feet. “See you all tonight to say goodbye!”

“We must go too, Diane,” said Helen, jumping up and pulling the lazy Diane, who complained that just when she got nicely settled Helen always wanted her to do something!

“I’ve been packing all day, too, more or less,” and Diane made a pitiful face as she pretended to be dragged along by the lively Helen.

“Yes, girls,” said Helen, looking back, “her packing has consisted in pulling everything out of the bureau drawers ‘onto’ the floor, and if we don’t get to work we shan’t be able to get to bed tonight without crushing some art treasure or other under foot! She has her hand-painted china in a pasteboard box under her bed and I’ve noticed that it’s awful rickety lately. You all can’t imagine the time I have. Talk about ‘Northern enterprise’!” All this in Helen’s pretty drawl with the r’s omitted in Southern fashion. “Come on, Eloise, and help!”

“All right,” and pretty Eloise hopped up too.

At last, only Cathalina, Hilary, Betty and Lilian were left. The afternoon sun cast long shadows among the trees. Somewhere down in the ravine a wood thrush was singing his flute-like song. The girls listened and were silent. The waves softly foamed about the rocks afar off, and the little Greycliff was coming home with some last party of girls.

“Haven’t we had a good year, girls? I’m so grateful to Aunt Hilary for sending me to this lovely place.”

“I did not want to come at all,” said Cathalina, “but it’s hard to imagine it now. O, I want to be and do so much some time!”

“That is what Father and Mother said they hoped my school life would do for me,—make me want to ‘be and do,’” said Betty. “And what wonderful talks Miss Randolph has given us in chapel!”

“Yes,” said Lilian. “Do you remember her talk on ‘I slept and dreamed that life was beauty,—I woke and found that life is duty’?—or something like that, I’m not very sure in quoting!”

“I do believe it’s beauty,” Cathalina remarked thoughtfully, “but she did make it very clear that it couldn’t be beautiful if duty did not come first. I never had any plans before, except to study art and have a good time, but I almost want to go to college, now.”

“I can,” said Hilary, happily, “if nothing happens.”

“I want to be an illustrator,” spoke Betty, “and maybe write my own things to illustrate, too. But don’t tell anybody else; it’s all a secret, because maybe I can’t do it.”

“O, we’ll study together, Betty!” Cathalina clasped her hands over her knee. “You’ll draw and write and I’ll paint and ‘sculp.’ What do you want to do, Lilian?”

“I want to sing!” cried Lilian, who had a sweet bird in her throat. “But Father says I must have a ‘broad foundation’ first, and they never let me sing very much, only let me take lessons this year because Professor Marchant was especially interested and promised to take such care of my infant voice! Maybe it won’t amount to anything anyway, so I may take up domestic science next year. If music fails me, I may be able to cook for some nice man. That isn’t original, girls. I heard one of the Collegiates say that the other day.”

“Father says,” said Cathalina, “that to make a home is the most wonderful thing in the world, and since men can’t, women ought to be ‘proud of the distinction.’ You ought to hear him and Aunt Katherine when she is on her ‘high horse’! She says that housekeeping takes more brains and patience than anything else, and the better trained your mind is the better you’ll do it.”

“I believe she’s right,” Hilary added. “I know Mother puts all her brains and strength into being a minister’s wife, along with taking care of the kiddies. I don’t think I shall ever marry.” At Hilary’s solemn air, the girls laughed merrily.

“I know one young man,” Cathalina said teasingly, “who thinks Hilary the ‘foxiest girl’ he knows.”

“Sh-sh! Cathalina Van Buskirk!”

“O, who? who, Cathalina?” asked Betty and Lilian. “Your brother?”

“No, though Phil certainly does like old Hilary! Well, I won’t tease, Hilary. Ask her, girls.” But Hilary shook her head.

“I’m always seeing myself,” continued Lilian, with an amused smile, “standing gracefully on a platform and all fluffy with laces and glittering with jewels and decorations. Then I sing, while everybody is breathless or in tears, you know, and when I stop, there is a thunder of applause. They’re all wild about the ‘glorious creature,’ and then I come out and bow, again and again, and carry off loads of roses, and get a thousand dollars a night!”

“Greedy creature! Will you sing at our church for nothing?”

“Yes, indeed, Hilary, out of friendship for you; and you’ll put in the Saturday paper that the famous prima donna is to sing at the morning service. Then I will say, ‘O, no, Dr. Lancaster, I could not accept anything for the exquisite pleasure of singing to your congregation!’”

“Listen to Lil’s big words! How noble!” murmured Hilary. “Thanks.”

“I’m not worrying,” said Betty, “about those far away days, but I do love to dream about what I want to do most; and don’t you remember?—Miss Randolph said that if we didn’t have dreams we might never try to make anything great come true.”

“O, yes,” answered Cathalina, “but after all, I’m glad that we’re just girls now, and coming back, if nothing happens to prevent, to dear old Greycliff.”