Nathalie, with a limpid brightness in her eyes, and a deep pink in her cheeks, was whirling about—doing a one-step—with her soldier friend, Van Darrell, who she had discovered was “a love of a dancer.” It was the night of the second Liberty Tea, this time held at the Sunset Hill House. The affair had not only proved a glorious success, each one of the performers doing his or her part even better than at the Tea-House, but it had also netted quite a pile of silver coins, to the delight of the children, and added several new pupils to Philip’s French class at the hotel, besides giving him a few private ones.

The informal little hop at the end of the performance contributed to the pleasure of the evening, proving a real joy-time to Nathalie, who loved dancing. The girl had laughingly asserted to Nita that she had fairly worn her slippers to a thread.

Compelled from sheer fatigue to rest, the young couple, in order to escape from the heat of the ballroom, had sought refuge in one of the little card-rooms opening from the long corridor. It was here, as they happily chatted, that Van suddenly made the announcement, somewhat regretfully, “Do you know, Miss Blue Robin, that this is my last evening with you and the mountains, for I leave for Camp Mills to-morrow morning?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” exclaimed the girl with a note of disappointment in her voice, for she was disappointed as well as surprised, for, somehow, she had taken a liking to this soldier-boy, with the frank, open gaze, who could be very merry at times, and then again unusually silent and grave. “We shall miss you at our Liberty Cheers, and Mr. de Brie, I know, will be lonely without his soldier ‘matey.’”

“I shall miss you all,” rejoined Van slowly, “for you girls have given me the joy-time of the summer, and I shall be sorry to say good-by to you all, especially you.” Van looked appealingly into the girl’s brown eyes, as if he wanted her to assure him that she would miss him.

Nathalie flushed a little, as she replied, “Well, it has been a great pleasure to meet you. I can assure you, however, that I never thought of meeting one of Uncle Sam’s soldiers when I came up here to these White Hills.”

“I would like to tell you,” continued Van,—he gave his companion an odd look as he spoke,—“that I know a girl by the name of Blue Robin. She’s an awfully good sort,—” again that funny little gleam in his eyes. “I had a letter from her a short time ago. It was the kind of a letter to set a fellow thinking. I would like to show it to you sometime,” he added hesitatingly.

“Why, isn’t that funny! Are you sure her name is like mine?” questioned Nathalie in a whirl of amazement. Van nodded and smiled with some amusement, as he assured Nathalie that he was quite positive her name was Blue Robin. But, as the girl continued to ply him with questions about this girl who, he insisted, bore her name, his answers grew evasive, until finally Nathalie desisted from her questions, in a maze of mystery.

Presently they were in the ballroom again, and while taking another turn Van asked his partner if she would answer his letter if he wrote to her. Nathalie grew red with embarrassment at this direct question, for, as she had been whirling about, it had suddenly occurred to her what a queer thing it was for Van to say he would show her another girl’s letter.

Somehow the thought jarred her serenity, and, not knowing what reply to make, she finally settled the doubt in her mind by saying that if he wrote to her she would answer him if her mother thought best. For, happily, Nathalie was a real mother-girl, and, when in doubt about anything, always went to her for advice.

On the way home—Mrs. Van Vorst had sent them in her car—she had a disappointed feeling. She wished Van had not asked her to write to him, or told her about that other Blue Robin, for—O dear! she had heard of boys who would coax a girl to write to them, and then show their letters and make a boast of them. Ah, well, she sighed regretfully, she had not supposed he was that kind.

A few days later Nathalie was sitting under the trees before a small sewing-table, writing a letter to Helen. Presently she laid down her pen, and glanced over at her mother, who, while resting in the hammock near, had fallen asleep. Then, so as not to awaken her, almost in a whisper, she read:

“Dear Helen:

“I am going to call this letter ‘The Funnies,’ for I have some awfully funny things I want you to know, but first, I must tell you about my liberty kids, as I have promised to do many times. Danny is fourteen, a regular street-gamin, steeped and double-dyed in the ways of the slums and the habits of a newsie. There is an alert sharpness about him at times that baffles me, and yet his freckled, peanut face, with its twinkling blue eyes, has an open, merry expression that assures me he has the makings of a splendid man in him. I call him my handy man, for he not only does all the laundering for the children, but can cook, and wait on the table in fine style.

“He is a loyal little chap, so watchful of Sheila, and always tells the truth. He used to belong to the Junior Police Force,—he’s awfully proud of that,—and I think that has kept him on the square. I have an idea that his parents must have been refined people, for, when cleaning his room one day, his bag flew open—it was standing in a corner—and a little blue book fell out, scattering a lot of letters about, and a picture. The picture was a miniature of a young woman. She had a lovely face, it reminded me of Sheila, and her eyes had the same laughing glints in them that Danny has in his. The blue book seemed to be a diary, for on it in gilt letters was the name, Sheila Gloom.

“I have told you how quaint and interesting Sheila is, and lots about Jean, so I am going to tell you about Tony. He reminds me of one of Raphael’s cherubs, with his soft, liquid brown eyes, his red lips and ivory-tinted skin, and his wavy black hair that is always in a frowse. He adores me, and has an odd, sweet little trick of taking my hand, and then bending down and kissing it, in such a gallant way that he makes me think of the knights of mediÆval days, who knelt to their ladies fair. And I love to hear him say, ‘I lova you, Mees Natta,’ for his voice is so soft and musical. But alas, he is not as open as Danny, and will tell teeny, teeny white lies, while looking right up into your face with such a cherubic, innocent expression, that you have the feeling that you are the guilty one, and not he.

“Did I tell you in my last letter what good friends the little old lady in the red house and I have become? I run in there quite often. Sometimes I read to her, or hold her yarn, and for two days I nursed her when she was ill. I am a great chatterbox, for, O dear! I just talk about everything to her, but she says my chats cheer her up. But, you see, she keeps asking me questions, first about one person of our household, and then another. She loves to have me tell her about Janet, but she doesn’t seem to like Cynthia very much.

“I am getting used to her queer ways now, and can tell, by the gleam in her gray eyes,—sometimes they snap with humor,—the mood she is in, for, frankly speaking, at times she is most cantankerous. I feel sorry for her then, for I imagine that some great sorrow has come into her life and soured the sweetness of it. She is always greatly interested in Mr. de Brie, and I have promised to take him in sometime to see her.

“Oh, I must not forget to tell you that Dick is with us for a few days—on a furlough. And mother,—well, she goes about like a glorified saint. Now come the funnies. Cynthia Loretto’s young man is here. His name is Buddie, but he looks anything but a bud, although Cyn always speaks of him as if he had just gone into long trousers.

“He is queerly interesting, for he sits and looks at Cynthia in a meek, adoring way, while his big solemn blue eyes keep up a blinking that have made the kiddies—you know boys always feature peculiarities—dub him, ‘The Blink.’ As to other details, he’s insignificant-looking, with a shock of yellow hair that gives him an unkempt, Hunnish appearance, and a sharp, ferret-like nose with an inquisitive tip on it that is sunburned to a bright red. Imagine!

“Now for funny number one. The Blink—we all unconsciously call him that—and the make-believe lady—that’s the boys’ name for Cynthia—have monopolized the hammock on the veranda ever since the gentleman’s arrival. It has been annoying, for they—Well, they spoon, and it gets on one’s nerves, and after a while these lovers are the star performers on the stage.

“The other morning I caught Danny and Tony fooling with the hammock. They said they were fixing it so it wouldn’t slip down. That evening every one had disappeared but your lonesome and the lovers, who were in the hammock with arms intertwined, with the usual turtle-dove cooing.

“All at once I heard a queer sound, and looked in the direction from which it proceeded, to see two pairs of legs sweeping through the air with a wild, frantic clawing, while shrill cries and a swear-word informed me that the hammock had turned over, and that the pair of love-makers were standing on their heads. I tried not to laugh, but a wee little giggle slipped out, and then I flew to the rescue and turned down, or turned up, Cynthia’s skirts, and then gave a helping hand to The Blink, who rose to his feet with a wild, bewildered stare in his blinking eyes. Then I flew, for if I hadn’t, I should have collapsed with merriment, for, as it was, I was stuffing my handkerchief in my mouth to keep in my laughter.

“As I flew through the hall queer sounds arrested my flight, and there, on the floor, were those two kids, Danny and Tony, rolling about in exultant joy, while emitting squeals of delighted glee. And then I knew why they had been fooling with the hammock that morning. I was smothering with laughter, but grabbed each one by an ear and marched them to mother, with appropriate explanations, leaving her to administer the punishment they deserved. Naturally Cynthia blamed me, insisting that I had encouraged the boys in their mischief, and hasn’t spoken to me since.

“Funny number two. I have told you of Cynthia’s obsession for searching for the valuable thing. Well, evidently she has imparted her obsession to her lover, for we find him poking around into all sorts of out-of-the-way places, that annoys mother extremely. The other morning Mrs. Van Vorst sent me to the studio with a message for Cynthia. The door was open, and, to my amazement, I saw the lady in question hoisted up on a ladder,—The Blink was holding it,—poking about among the rafters of the attic.

“As I stood wondering what she was doing, I saw her suddenly duck her head, and then, to my stupefaction, the Make-believe Lady was perched up there on that ladder like a poll-parrot, for her head was as bare as a billiard-ball, while her hair that was, was swaying gracefully on a nail some distance above.

“Suddenly discovering her nudity, she made a frenzied grab, not at the suspended wig, but at her skirts, hurriedly throwing them over her head, as if to hide its bareness, and then made frantic attempts to unhitch the black hairy thing that wiggled and wobbled just out of reach of her arm. At this moment Mr. Buddie—patience was written in his drooping pose, as he clung to that ladder—raised his head. His face immediately became the hue of his nose, for, alas, Cynthia, in her hurried endeavor to cover her denuded poll, had raised not only her dress-skirt but her under-skirts, and two black-hosed legs, lean and lank, stood forth from beneath her short, beruffled skirt. I waited to see no more, but hastily made my exit, to explode my mirth in the depths of my pillow on the bed in my room.

“Funny number three. My bedroom was next to the mystery-room, and then comes Cynthia’s,—she and Janet room together. There is a door between, which is generally closed, unless it is very warm. The other evening we were just getting ready for bed, when I suddenly remembered something I wanted to tell Janet, so stepped to the door, which was open. The room was dimly lighted by a single candle, and Cynthia, who likes to undress in the dark, was on her knees by the bed, saying her prayers, while Janet sat near, taking off her shoes.

“As I turned away so as not to disturb Cynthia at her devotions, I suddenly spied a man’s face peering in the transom over the door. Before I could cry out, Cynthia arose, and, carelessly glancing up, saw the face. With a wild scream she seized one of Janet’s shoes lying on the floor, and sent it flying at the head peeping over the door.

“I gasped, for it struck the man square on the nose. Then I heard a suppressed expletive, followed by a jarring crash, a general smashing sound, and then a dead silence. I gave one prolonged scream and rushed to the door. You can guess the rest, for Dick, mother, and even the boys had heard the racket, and a moment later, when they appeared on the scene, it was to find me trying to extricate the figure of a man, in a bath-robe, with a somewhat dazed expression on his meek, bewildered face,—that would have been pitiful if it had not been so ludicrous—from the dÉbris of broken chairs and a turned-over table.

“And his eye, well, it was already beginning to swell; for Cynthia had been game, Dick said, and had not only given her lover a swelled nose, but a swelled eye as well. O dear! it was comical to see the way she glared at the poor creature, meekly trying to explain that he was only trying to peer into the mystery-room, for he seems to think that the valuable thing is hidden in that room, and had gotten as far as he could get—into the wrong room. Mother says she is glad it happened and hopes he will now stop his prowling.

“Now for funny number four. After the excitement caused by Mr. Buddie’s efforts to peep into the mystery-room quietness reigned for a while, until the other night. I was terribly tired, for I had been doing the kids’ ironing, and my feet ached so that I carried a pail of hot water to my room to soak them. I am on the upper floor now, near the boys, for Cynthia insisted that they made such a noise at night that they kept her awake. But everything that goes wrong she lays on their little shoulders, so I have mounted guard, to avoid any future unpleasantness. As I sat there, trying to make up my mind to plunge my feet in that hot water, I heard a queer sound.

“There has been a report lately that burglars are in the neighborhood, for several of the ladies at the Sunset Hill House have missed articles of jewelry. Somehow that noise brought it to my mind, and I jumped up,—I was in my bare feet,—quickly turned off the light, stepped to the window, and poked my head out, and—if there wasn’t a man on the roof of the veranda, creeping stealthily towards the mystery-room, directly under mine. O dear! and its two windows were both unlatched,—one of the boys had discovered that,—but no one had dared to break the rule and go in to fasten them. In a moment he had begun to work at the shutters, very cautiously,—he had a flashlight in his hand,—stopping every moment or so to listen, to see if any one had heard him.

“My heart bounded into my throat, but while I was making up my mind what to do, there came a wrench, and I knew that in a moment or so that man would be in the room! Desperate with fright, I flung about, and then my glance fell on that pail of water. Without further ado I seized it, pushed it softly out of the window, hurriedly turned it upside down, and then hurled the pail after the water. There came a smothered sound, a half-cry and groan, and then a funny, swishy noise.

“As I peered down through the darkness I saw a black object slipping down the roof, and heard a sudden imprecation, as it rolled over the edge. There came a splashy sound, a deep groan, and then I knew that the thief had fallen off the roof, and landed in a hogshead of water that always stood under the veranda by the kitchen porch.

“Now came a fierce barking, mingled with growls, and I realized that Jean’s little dog, Tige, was chewing up the thief. The next instant I made a mad rush for the door, to see Dick flying down the stairs in his bath-robe, followed by mother and the boys!

“I plunged blindly forward, managed to grab him by the arm, and, between hysterical gasps, explained what I had seen, and begged him not to go out for fear the man would shoot him. But Dick shook me off like a feather, and, although mother tearfully seconded my plea, he was about to dash into the darkness when Cynthia rushed up and handed him her revolver,—Janet says she always sleeps with one under her pillow. The boys—each little chap, even Jean, was armed to the teeth, Danny with his policeman’s club, Tony with an iron bar, and Jean with a mountain-staff—lost no time in following him, with mother close behind.

“I grabbed a chair—it could fell a man, at least—and followed mother, while Janet, Cynthia, and Sheila alternately yelled and wept as they sat huddled on the stairs, each one expecting to be shot. But by the time I reached the veranda Dick appeared, dragging a miserable-looking little object by the collar of his pajamas,—for his trousers had been about chewed off by Tige,—with rivulets of water oozing over his face, who was abjectly pleading and howling that he was no thief.

“But Dick was obdurate, and as we all stared with bulging eyes, he marched him up to Cynthia. As he shook him fiercely by the collar, as one would shake a dog, he cried, ‘Here, Miss Cynthia, here’s the thief, your estimable friend and lover, Mr. Buddie!’ I leave the rest for you to imagine. Mr. Buddie left the next morning.

“Now good-by. Be sure and tell me more about yourself and your work when you write again, for I am anxious to know everything that happens to you, girl of my heart, for you are a brave dear, and I miss you more than I can express.