"Well, we all came back to earth with a thud, didn't we? But, was there ever anything like it while it lasted," ended Natalie with a rapturous sigh.

"And do you suppose there can ever be anything like it again?" Rosalie's tone suggested funeral wreaths and deep mourning, but she continued to brush her hair with Peggy's pretty ivory-handled brush, and pose before Peggy's mirror. The girls were not supposed to dress in each other's rooms but suppositions frequently prove fallacies in a girl's school and these girls had vast mutual interests past and pending.

Several weeks had passed since the Christmas holidays, but the joys of that memorable house-party were still very vivid memories and recalled almost daily.

It was the hour before dinner. The girls were expected to be ready promptly at six-fifteen, but dressing hour might more properly have been termed gossiping hour, since it was more often given over to general discussions, Stella's pretty room, or Peggy's and Polly's, proving as a rule a rendezvous. All of the Severndale house party were assembled at the moment, and two or three others beside, among them Isabel, Helen and Lily Pearl.

"I hope there may be a good many times like it again," said Peggy warmly. "It was just lovely to have you all down there and Daddy Neil was the happiest thing I've ever seen. I wish we could have him at Easter, but he will be far away when Easter comes."

"Shall you go home at Easter?" asked Helen, flickering hopes of an invitation darting across her mind.

"I hardly think so. You see it is only two weeks off and the Little Mother has not said anything about it, has she, Polly?"

"No, in her last letter she said she thought she'd come down to Washington for Easter week and stop at the Willard, but it is not settled yet. I'd rather be in Annapolis at Easter and go for some of our long rides. Wasn't it fun to have Shashai and Silver Star back there during our visit! I believe they and Tzaritza and Jess had the very time of their young—and old—lives. And wasn't Tzaritza regal with Rhody?"

"It was the funniest thing I've ever seen," laughed Stella. "That dog acted exactly like a royal princess entertaining a happy-go-lucky jackie. Rhody's life on board the Rhode Island since you and Ralph rescued him seems to have been one gay and festive experience for a Boston bull pup."

"It surely has," concurred Polly. "Snap says he's just wise to everything, and did you ever see anything so absurd as those clown tricks the jackies taught him?"

"I think you are all perfectly wonderful people, dogs and horses included," was Rosalie's climax of eulogy, if rather peculiar and comprehensive.

"Well, we had one royal good time and we are not likely to forget it either. Peggy, weren't you petrified when you struck 'eight bells' at the hop, for the death of the old year? Goodness, when those lights began to go out, and everybody stopped dancing I felt so queer. And when 'taps' sounded little shivery creeps went all up and down my spine, and you struck eight bells so beautifully! But reveille drove me almost crazy. When the lights flashed on again I didn't know whether I wanted to laugh or cry I was so nervous," was Natalie's reminiscence.

"It was the most solemn thing I ever heard and the most beautiful," said Marjorie softly. "It made me homesick, and yet home doesn't mean anything to me; this is the only one I have known since I was eight years old."

"Eight years in one place and a school at that!" cried Juno. "Why, I should have done something desperate long before four had passed. Girls, think of being in a school eight years." Juno's tone implied the horrors of the Bastile.

"If you had no other, what could you do?" Marjorie's question was asked with a smile which was sadder than tears could have been.

Juno shrugged her shoulders, but Polly slipped over to Marjorie's side and with one of Polly's irresistible little mannerisms, laid her arm across her shoulder, as hundreds of times the boys in Bancroft demonstrate their good fellowship for each other. Another girl would probably have kissed her. Polly was not given to kisses. Then she asked:

"Won't your father come East this spring for commencement? You said you hoped he would.

"I've hoped so every spring, but when he writes he says it takes four whole months to reach Washington from that awful place in the Klondyke. I wish he had never heard of it."

"I'm so glad you went to Severndale with us. We must never let her be lonely or homesick again, Peggy."

"Not while Severndale has a spare hammock," nodded Peggy.

Marjorie was more or less of a mystery to most of the girls, but the greatest of all to Mrs. Vincent to whom she had come the year the school was opened. Mrs. Vincent had more than once said to herself: "Well, I certainly have four oddities to deal with: Who is Marjorie? She is one of the sweetest, most lovable girls I've ever met, but I don't really know a single thing about her. She has come to me from the home of a perfectly reliable Congregational minister, but even he confesses that he knows nothing beyond the fact that she is the daughter of a man lost to civilization in the remotest regions of the Klondyke. He says he believes her mother is dead. Heigho! And Juno? What is likely to become of her, poor child? What does become of all the children of divorced parents in this land of divorces? Oh, why can't the parents think of the children they have brought into the world but who did not ask to come?

"And Rosalie? What is to become of that little pepper pot with all her loving impulses and self-will? I believe her father has visited her for about one hour in each of the four years she has been here, and I also believe his visits do more harm than good, they seem to enrage the child so. Of course, it is all wounded pride and affection, but who is to correct it? And this year comes Stella, the biggest puzzle of all. Her father? Well, I dare say it is all right, but he sometimes acts more like—" but at this point Mrs. Vincent invariably had paused abruptly and turned her attention to other matters.

"Can't the boys ever get leave to visit their friends?" asked Lily Pearl. "I think it is perfectly outrageous to keep them stived up in that horrid place year in and year out for four years with only four months to call their own in one-thousand-four-hundred-and-sixty days!"

"Lily's been doing the multiplication table," cried Rosalie.

"Well, I counted and I think it's awful—simply awful!" lamented Lily. "I'd give anything to see Charlie Purdy and have another of those ravishing dances. I can just feel his arms about me yet, and the way he snuggles your head up against him and nestles his face down in your hair—m—m—m! Why, his clothes smell so deliciously of cigarette smoke! I can smell it yet!"

A howl of laughter greeted this rhapsody from all but Helen, who bridled and protested:

"Oh, you girls may laugh, but you had to walk a chalk line under the eyes of a half dozen chaperones every minute. Lily and I got acquainted with our friends."

"Well, I hope we did have a chaperone or two," was Polly's retort. She had vivid memories of some of the scenes upon which she and Ralph had inadvertently blundered during the afternoon informals of Christmas week. The auditorium in the academic building where informals are held, has many secluded nooks. Upon one occasion she had run upon Helen and Paul Ring, the former languishing in the latter's arms. Perhaps mamma would not have been so ready to intrust her dear little daughter to Foxy Grandpa's protection had she dreamed of the existence of Mamma Ring and dear Paul.

At all this sentimental enthusiasm Stella had looked on indulgently and now laughed outright, "What silly kids you two are," she said.

"Well, I don't see that you had such a ravishing time, anyway," cried Helen.

"Why, I'm sure Mr. Allyn was as attentive as anyone could be. He was on hand every minute to take me wherever I wanted to go." Stella's expression was quizzical and made Helen furious.

"Oh, a paid guide could have done as much I don't doubt."

"Father is a little fussy at times, so perhaps it is just as well. You see I should not have been at Severndale at all if he had not been called to Mexico on business. So I'd better be thankful for what fun I did get. But there goes the first bell. Better get down toward the dining-room, girls," laughed Stella good-naturedly, and set the example. A moment later the room was deserted by all but Helen who lingered at the mirror. When the others were on their way down stairs she slipped to Nelly's room and took from her desk a sheet of the monogram paper and an envelope, which Mrs. Harold had given her at Christmas. As she passed her own room she hid them in her desk for future use. After dinner when the evening mail was delivered, Helen received a letter bearing the Annapolis postmark. Nelly had one from her father. As she read it her face wore a peculiar expression. The letter stated that her father was coming to Washington to consult with Shelby concerning a matter of business connected with Severndale's paddock. As Nelly ceased reading she glanced up from her letter to find Peggy watching her narrowly. Peggy had also received a letter from Dr. Llewellyn in which he mentioned the fact that Bolivar felt it advisable to run down to Washington. In an instant the whole situation flashed across Peggy's quick comprehension.

During the girl's visit at Severndale Jim Bolivar had never come to the house. Nelly had many times slipped away for quiet little talks with her father in their own cottage and had asked him more than once why he did not come up to the big house to see her, and his reply had invariably been:

"Honey, I don't belong there. No, 'tain't no use to argue,—I don't. Your mother would have; she come of quality stock, and what in the Lord's name she ever saw in me I've been, a-guessin' an' a-guessin' for the last eighteen year."

"But Dad, Peggy Stewart has never, never made either you or me feel the least shade of difference in our stations. Neither has Polly Howland. They couldn't be lovelier to me, though I know you have never been at Severndale as guests have been there. But it has never seemed to strike me until now. And down at the school the girls are awfully nice to me; at least, most of them are. Those who are patronizing are that way because they are so to everybody. But the really nice girls are lovely, and I am sure they'd never think of being rude to you."

"Little girl, listen to your old Dad: There are some things in this world not to be got around. I'm one of 'em. Peggy Stewart and Polly Howland are thoroughbreds an' thoroughbreds ain't capable of no low-down snobbishness. They know their places in the world and there's nothing open to discussion. An' they're too fine-grained to scratch other folks the wrong way. But, some of them girls up yonder are cross-breeds—oh, yes, I've been a-watchin' 'em an' I know,—tain't no use to argue. They kin prance an' cavort an' their coats are sleek an' shinin', but don't count on 'em too much when it comes right down to disposition an' endurance, 'cause they'll disappoint you. I ain't never told you honey, that your mother was a Bladen. Well, she was. Some day I'm going to tell you how she fell in love with a good-lookin' young skalawag by the name o' Jim Bolivar. He comes o' pretty decent stock too, only he hadn't sense enough to stay at St. John's where his dad put him, but had to go rampagin' all over the country till he'd clean forgot any bringin'-up he'd ever had, and landed up as a sort o' bailiff, as they call 'em over in the old country, on an estate down on the eastern shore. Then he met Helen Bladen and 's sure's you live she 'changed the name and not the letter and changed for a heap sight worse 'n the better' when she eloped with me. Thank the Lord she didn't live long enough to see the worst, and you hardly remember her at all. But that's my pretty history,—a no-count, ne'er do well, and if it weren't for Peggy Stewart, God bless her! you'd a been lyin' 'long side o' yo' ma out yonder this minute, for all I'd ever a-done to keep you here, I reckon, much less give you the education you're a-gettin' now. No, honey, I won't go up to the great house. If I'd a-done right when I was a boy I'd be sittin' right up there with the rest o' that bunch o' people this minute. But I was bound to have my fling, and sow my wild oats and now I can have the pleasure of harvestin' my crop. It ought to be thistles, for if ever there was a jackass that same was Jim Bolivar."

Nelly had listened to the pitiful tale without comment, but when it ended she placed her arms about her father's neck and sobbed softly. She had never mentioned this little talk to anyone, but it was seldom far from her thoughts, and now her father was coming to Washington.

Peggy slipped her arm about her and asked:

"What makes you look so sober, Nellibus?"

"Because I'm a silly, over-sensitive goose, I dare say."

Peggy looked puzzled.

Nelly handed her her father's letter. Peggy read it, then turned to look straight into Nelly's eyes, her own growing dark as she raised her head in the proud little poise which made her so like her mother's portrait.

"When he comes I think matters will adjust themselves," was all she said.

The following Friday afternoon Jim Bolivar was ushered into the pretty little reception room by Horatio Hannibal, who went in quest of Nelly. As she had no idea of the hour her father would arrive, she was preparing to go for a ride with a number of the girls, for the day was a heavenly one; a late March spring day in Washington.

"Miss Bol'var, yo' pa in de 'ception room waitin' fo' to see yo', Miss," announced Horatio.

"I'll go right down. Sorry I can't go with you, girls."

"May we come and see him just a minute before we start!" asked Peggy quickly, while Polly came eagerly to her side.

"Of course you may. Dad will love to see you," was Nelly's warm response.

"We won't keep you waiting long, girls," said Peggy, "we'll join you at the porte cochere."

Arrayed in their habits, Peggy, Polly and Nelly hurried away.

"Wonder what he looks like," said Juno idly as she drew on her gauntlets.

"Bet he's nice if he's anything like Nelly," said Rosalie.

"Isn't it funny you girls never saw him while you were at Severndale?" said Lily Pearl.

"Perhaps he's not the kind Nelly Bolivar cares to have seen," was Helen's amiable remark, accompanied by a shrug and a knowing look.

"Why, what do you mean, Helen?" asked Natalie with some spirit.

"Just what I say. I believe Nelly Bolivar is as poor as Job's turkey and that Peggy Stewart pays all 'her expenses here. And I know she wears Peggy's cast-off clothes. I saw Peggy's name in one of her coats. You know Peggy has her name and the maker's woven right into the linings. Just you wait and see what her father looks like and then see if I'm far wrong."

"Why, she's nothing better than a charity pupil if that's true," sneered Lily Pearl, who never failed to follow Helen's lead.

"If Mrs. Vincent opens her school to such girls I think it would be well for our parents to investigate the matter," was Isabel's superior criticism.

"Yes, you'd better. Mother would be delighted to have an extra room or two; she has so many applicants all the time," flashed Natalie, her cheeks blazing.

"Children, children, don't grow excited. Wait until you find out what you're fuming about," said Stella in the tone which always made them feel like kids, Rosalie insisted. "And come on down. The horses have been waiting twenty minutes already and Mrs. Vincent will have a word or two to say to us if we don't watch out."

As they crossed the hall to the porte cochere, Peggy, Polly and Nelly came from the reception room, Mr. Bolivar with them. The lively curiosity upon the girls' faces was rather amusing. Juno favored him with a well-cultivated Fifth Avenue stare. Helen's nose took a higher tilt if possible. Lily Pearl giggled as usual. Stella smiled at the girls and said: "Glad you're coming with us." Isabel murmured "Horrors!" under her breath and waddled with what she believed to be dignity toward the door. Marjorie only smiled, but Rosalie and Natalie stopped, the former crying impulsively:

"Introduce your father to us, Nelly; we want to know him."

The man the girls looked upon had changed a good deal from the despondent Jim Bolivar whom Peggy had seen sitting upon the upturned box in Market Square so long ago. Prosperity and resultant comforts had done a good deal for the despairing man. There were still some traces of the handsome Jim Bolivar with whom pretty, romantic Helen Bladen had eloped, though the intermediate years of sorrow and misfortune had changed that dapper young beau into a careless, hopeless pessimist. What the end might have been but for Peggy is hard to guess, but the past two years had made him think and think hard too. Though still slipshod of speech as the result of associating with his humbler neighbors, he was certainly making good, and few lapses occurred as he shook hands with Nelly's friends and then went out to help them mount. In his dark gray suit, Alpine hat and his gray gloves, something of the gentleman which was in him became evident.

He helped each girl upon her horse, greeted Junius Augustus, patted Shashai, Star and Tzaritza; deplored poor Columbine's shorn glories, smiled an odd smile at Isabel's bulky figure upon the more bulky Senator, then said:

"I'll see you when you come back, honey. I've got to have a talk with Shelby. Some things is—are—bothering me back yonder. Have a fine gallop. It's a prime day for it. Good-bye, young ladies," and raising his hat with something of the gallantry of the old Bolivar he followed Junius toward the stables.

That night Mrs. Vincent asked him to dine with her, but he declined on the score of an engagement with a friend. He and Shelby dined in Washington and during that meal he made just one allusion to Nelly and her surroundings.

"It's all very well for a man to make a plumb fool of himself and waste his life if he's a-mind to, but he ain't got any business to drag other folks along with him. If I hadn't a-been a fool among fools I might a-been sittin' beside my little girl this minute, and not be scared to either, Shelby. My dad used to say something about 'man being his own star,' I don't recollect it all, but I know it meant he could be one of the first magnet if he'd a mind to. I set out to be a comet, I reckon, all hot air tail, and there isn't much of me left worth looking at."

"How old are you!"

"Forty-four."

"Well, you've got twenty-five years to the good yet. Now get busy for the little girl's sake."

"Shake," cried Jim Bolivar, extending his hand across the table.

Meanwhile back yonder at the school, Friday night being "home letters night" the girls were all busily writing, but Helen kept the monogram upon her paper carefully concealed.