At the door of the recitation room, Janet met her room-mate Lina Marcy, but as neither had a moment to spare, Janet did not mention her latest source of thrills. The teacher already had her roll book open and was marking it. She looked impatiently at the girls as they entered and took their regular seats, not together, for the class was seated alphabetically. Lina and Janet exchanged a glance which meant “beware”. This particular teacher was temperamental.

Lina was opening her book to refresh herself on the lines which they were to commit. What a poky day it was, to be sure, she was thinking. Even the April fool jokes were stupid.

Janet could scarcely collect her thoughts, so busy was she in thinking about the address on the box. “‘Jannetje’!—how quaint!” By the “irony of fate”, as Lina told her later, she must, of course be called on first for the verses. Called back in her thoughts to the work at hand, Janet hesitated, started correctly on the first few lines, but soon stumbled and forgot the last half altogether.

The teacher looked surprised, an unintentional tribute to Janet’s usual form. But hands were waving and some one else gave the lines wanted. Lina gave Janet a sympathetic look, which Janet did not even see. Something even bigger than making a perfect recitation was looming in Janet’s foreground. When at last the recitation was over, she ran upstairs to the box. Of course the “je” was a sort of affectionate addition, a diminutive they called it, she believed. Was it really her name? Was she a Van Meter? Who was P.V.M.? P. Van Meter, of course. Suppose she had a grandfather,—or even a grandmother that she did not know!

It took only a few moments to open the box, for she cut the heavy cord to facilitate the matter. White tissue paper met her eye, and a little note lay on top, that is, something enclosed in a small white envelope. Janet opened it and read—

My dear Miss Jannetje:

I am asked to write a few lines to explain this box. Your uncle, Mr. Pieter Van Meter, is in communication with your attorney and you may have heard before this how he has discovered you and wants to see you.

As he asked me to prepare such a box as school girls like, I have prepared the contents accordingly and I hope that you will like it. I am wrapping, also, two books that were among your mother’s things, because I feel sure that you will be interested in seeing something of hers right away that was in the old home place. In one of them I have tucked a note evidently written by your father about you to your grandfather. Of course you know that you were named for your mother, but you will be glad to read about it in your father’s handwriting.

May it not be long before we see you in this odd but beautiful old place that was your grandfather’s.

Janet devoured this note rapidly. “Now, who can Diana Holt be?” she thought. She could scarcely wait to see the books, but they were not on top. Instead, Janet uncovered a smaller box which contained a cake carefully packed. Packages in oiled paper or light pasteboard containers obviously held a variety of good things, from fried chicken to pickles and fruit. Ordinarily Janet would have exclaimed over the array, which she carefully deposited together upon her table, after first removing certain books and papers and spreading the first thing that she could think of over it. This chanced to be a clean towel.

At last she came to the books, wrapped well in paper and pasteboard. Truly Miss or Mrs. Diana Holt was a good packer.

The prettier or newer book Janet opened first. It was a handsome copy of Tennyson’s poems, bound in green and gilt. At once she turned to the leaf on which the inscription was written, “To my Jannetje, from Douglas”.

There, too, was the note, addressed to “Dear Father.” It was brief. “You received my telegram. I am sure. Jannet sends her dear love. We have named the baby for her, because I begged for the name. I will have more time to write to-morrow. Jannet wants me to write every day, but you will be quite as pleased, I think, with less frequent reports. There will be the three of us to come home next summer.”

Janet noted her father’s more or less familiar signature. She had seen more than one of his letters to her grandmother. “And I suppose that I never got there at all. How did they lose me, I wonder? Why didn’t Grandmother Eldon leave me some word about my mother?”

Such were Janet’s thoughts. But there was nobody to tell her how it had happened. In some way her mother’s people had lost all track of her. The wonder was that her uncle had found trace of her after so long. Her uncle Pieter! How interesting to have kept the old Dutch spelling. She would sign all her papers and letters now with two n’s in Jannet!

The other book was more plain, also a book of poems, a copy of Whittier’s verse; and the inscription upon the fly-leaf interested Janet even more than the other. It was to “my dear Mother, Adelaide Van Meter, from her loving daughter, Jannetje Jan Van Meter Eldon.”

It was true, then. Here was the evidence. What a pretty, clear hand her mother had. A little pang went through Janet’s heart that she could not have known her parents, but she resisted any sad thought, saying to herself that she ought to be thankful to know at last who her mother was. The last doubt in Janet’s heart was satisfied. Knowing one or two sad stories in the lives of a few girls at the school, she had wondered if, possibly, there had been any separation, some unhappy ending to the marriage of her father and mother. This she had never expressed, but it had haunted her a little. At the date of her birth it had been all right, then, and she knew that she was only five or six months old when her father had brought her to his mother. She would find her mother’s grave, perhaps.

There was much to be explained yet, to be sure, if it could be, but Janet was very happy as she now gave her attention to the discarded feast packing its units back into the box with some satisfaction. Janet Eldon had had feasts before, but the materials had all been purchased at some shop. After dinner she would get permission from Miss Hilliard, when she showed her the books and notes.

Now there was laughter in the hall. She heard Lina’s voice and hastened to unlock her door. Could it be possible that she had spent all Lina’s lesson period in looking at the books, reading the letters and thinking?

“’Lo, Janet,” said Allie May Loring, walking in ahead of Lina Marcy. “Get your box?”

“Yes, Allie May, a scrumptious box like anybody’s. My mother’s people have discovered my existence at last. Really, Lina. Somebody at the OLD HOME PLACE fixed up the box for me, and they sent me two books of my mother’s. Just think, girls, I was named for her and everything. I’d rather you would not speak about it to the other girls, though. It always embarrassed me a little, you know, that I did not know anything about my mother, but you see, Grandmother Eldon died before I was old enough to ask very much about it. I called her Mamma at first; then she was so very sick and for so long.” Janet paused a moment.

“Really, girls, this has been about the only home that I have known, this and your house, Lina.”

The other two girls had sat down to listen quietly. Allie May was the first to speak. “I never would have thought anything about your not knowing about your mother. You always seemed perfectly natural about everything, Janet.”

“Did I? I’m glad.”

“You are a little more—what does Miss Hilliard call it?—reserved, with all the girls, than some of us,” said Lina. “She tells us not to tell all we know, and you don’t!”

Allie May and Janet laughed at this. “Miss Hilliard’s brought me up, you know,” smiled Janet. “I can remember yet crying for ‘Gramma’ and having her comfort me. Then came your auntie to teach here, Lina,—and I was fixed!”

“I can remember how crazy I was to see you, Janet,” said Lina. “I wasn’t allowed to come here until I was twelve, Allie May; and Auntie told me all about the ‘darling child with the golden hair’ that took piano lessons of her and practiced away so hard with fat little fingers. She said she wanted to hug you every other minute, but had to teach you piano instead. Your fingers aren’t fat now, Janet.”

“When did you first see Janet?” asked Allie May, interested.

“The first time that Aunt Adeline brought her home with her. Miss Hilliard used to look after her the first two or three vacations. You weren’t with her all the time, though, were you, Janet?”

“Just part of the time. She had my old nurse that took care of me while Grandmother was sick, and we’d go to the seashore, or somewhere in the mountains. But Miss Hilliard kept an eye on me. I never can pay her back, or your Aunt Adeline either.”

“You’ll never need to. Just having you in the family is enough. But won’t it be wonderful to have some kin folks? Tell us about it, Janet.”

Janet then handed the girls the books and read them the letters, pledging them again to secrecy, for she did not want to have the fifty girls talking over her private affairs. Like Janet, her friends were more interested in the surprising facts which she had to tell than in the good things in the box, though when she showed them the cake with its white frosting and unwrapped the pieces of chicken from the oiled paper, offering them their choice, there were some exclamations of pleasure. “That is a family worth having!” said Allie May. “No, Janet, I’d rather eat a good dinner and then when I am starved as usual after studying come to your feast.”

“Whom are you going to invite, Janet?”

“I want to take something to your aunt, Lina, and to Miss Hilliard, and do you think it would be very piggy just to have this by ourselves? Some way, I don’t want anybody much right now, and I just had a party of our crowd last Saturday, you know.”

“Suits me,” laughed Allie May.

“It wouldn’t be ‘piggy’ at all, Janet,” asserted Lina. “I know how you must feel,—sort of dazed, aren’t you?”

Janet nodded assent. “I’ll let you know when, after I talk to Miss Hilliard. I am to see her after dinner.”

But when Janet asked Miss Hilliard she was asked in turn if she had ever attended a late feast in the school. To this question Janet gave an honest reply. “Why, yes, Miss Hilliard.”

“Then you were either invited without my knowledge by one of the older girls or attended a feast held without permission, though I should scarcely think that you knew it, Janet, and I shall not ask you now. No, to-morrow is Saturday, fortunately. It is cool and your box came right through. You may put the chicken in the refrigerator if you like. Have your party at any time on Saturday you like before evening.”

There was so much of greater importance waiting to be discussed that Janet did not feel much disappointment. She did have one thought, though, expressed to Lina later. “Won’t it be fine to go to a home where you do about as you please, the way it is at your house?”

But Lina reminded Janet that even there, late refreshments were not encouraged.

Miss Hilliard did not disappoint Janet in any other way. She was pleased that the note of explanation was so cordial. “I should say that a woman of some intelligence wrote that kind note,” she said. “It must be a satisfaction to you, too, Janet, that you are named for your mother. Perhaps there will be some pictures of her in the Van Meter home. I know how you have wished to see some.”

“Oh, there will be!” Janet exclaimed. “I had not thought of that!”

“We shall be expecting news direct from your uncle, then. When your grandmother first wrote to me, urging me to take you at a time when the only small girls were day scholars, she said that your mother was of a fine family in the east and that your father, her son, was ill when he brought you to her. Does this depress you, Janet?” Miss Hilliard had noticed that Janet seemed touched when she first showed her the books and names.

“Oh, no, Miss Hilliard. My father and mother are like beautiful dreams to me. This makes them a little more real,—that is all, and I felt a little ‘teary’ when I read my father’s letter.”

“I will try to find that old correspondence. I must have kept it, I think, though when you first came, we were expecting nothing like your grandmother’s sudden death. I understood that she was an invalid, but with some ailment that could be cured in time.”

“And I have forgotten so much, except the fact that I did not know my own mother’s name!”

“You should have told me, if that troubled you, Janet. I will ask Miss Marcy, who wrote about you to your grandmother, I think, what she knows about those early circumstances. Have you been happy here, Janet?”

“Oh, you know, Miss Hilliard, don’t you, how I have been so glad for you and Miss Marcy and all my friends?”

“Yes, Janet. You have always been more than appreciative.”

On the next day, Janet, Lina and Allie May made a lunch out of their party, by Miss Hilliard’s suggestion, and it was almost as much fun as a late feast. As it happened, it was well that they had their fun early in the afternoon, for about three o’clock Janet was sent for. There was a gentleman waiting for her, the maid said.