When Gay's challenge, "Do I look like a girl of refinement?" was flung back at Miss Linn, following as it did one of the most extraordinary scenes of which a girl was ever the heroine, it was indeed marvelous that it did not reveal him in his true colors. But everybody seemed to be blind, unreasoning, stupid. It was a mystery that the prowess of the valiant disposer of the boyish robbers was not speedily traced to its real origin, that of sex. Gay's conversation, liberally interspersed as it was with slang, was enough in itself to proclaim him a lively, wide-awake boy. Speech, actions, and bearing all pointed in one direction, but Gay's audience permitted their vision to be obscured by—petticoats.

It was not strange that the gentle, unworldly occupants of Rose Cottage were, at first, misled. They had invited a girl; and a girl, as far as outward garb could make one, had arrived. At Cedarville a similar misconception had occurred. With a single exception no one dreamed that the twins had exchanged roles and clothes. Miss Maud Berkeley, alone, regarded Gay with suspicion.

As a matter of fact, after exchanging clothes each acted his or her part with freedom from disguise that made their success the more marked. Gay and May had ceased to regard their position as enviable; it was no longer a "lark" to masquerade in each other's clothes, but trained from infancy to self-reliance and self-restraint, they were capable of much endurance, even in a mistaken cause. Already they were looking forward to their release; the delicate girl not more eagerly than the strong boy.

After Gay's reply to his aunt, a council of war, at which he was not present, was held in the drawing-room at Rose Cottage. The minister confined his efforts to indorsing Miss Celia's sentiments, notwithstanding the fact that that lady, whose heart was with the culprit, but whose judgment was with the council, contradicted herself constantly. It was the doctor's wife who suggested surrounding Gay with girls as a means of conventionalizing him!

"Invite girls of her own age here; it is the only thing that will do any good," said she positively.

"I'll do it," said Miss Linn. "I will give a party at once to introduce May to the girls here."

Then, with the minuteness of detail that characterizes the discussions of persons who lead uneventful lives, these good people planned the festivity that was formally to introduce the young rogue to the Hazelnook girls.

The next event of the day following the skirmish under the pear tree was Gay's receipt of a letter from his father. It was written, of course, to the real May, and while reading it, the mock May experienced a sharp twinge of conscience. It was so unconsciously condemnatory in its entire confidence that it made Gay really unhappy—for a moment.

The letter was brief.

"It doesn't seem right for father to think he is writing to one when he's writing to the other!" thought Gay. "Still, we're really the same as one, and now that mother is better we can soon tell and then it will be all right. I'm tired of it and I'm ashamed to have father and mother and everybody trusting me when I'm a fraud, besides, I'm tearing May's clothes all to pieces and I shall have to tell pretty soon, or go to bed."

The letter had a good effect, however, for Gay really tried to be "gentle and good." He behaved with such propriety that the poor deluded aunts were in raptures.

"She can be charming when she likes," Miss Linn said.

"I don't condemn her conduct yesterday; it was incomprehensible, but what a brave little thing she is! I'm sure the doctor admires her," Miss Celia said proudly.

"The minister doesn't admire her," Miss Linn said significantly.

Miss Celia's face flushed a delicate rose. "That does not interest me," she said.

"Why, Celia!" exclaimed her sister.

And Miss Celia, for some mysterious reason, looked confused.

After dinner Gay wrote a letter to May and asked permission to post it, which was granted. A small group of boys, among whom were the robbers, stood in front of the post-office. They were talking earnestly.

"There wasn't any science about it. What are you giving us?" one was saying.

"Here she is now," another boy cried, as he saw Gay.

"Nice girl! Nice girlie to fight with boys!" a third boy said.

"You don't want any more, do you?" said Gay, forgetting his feminine apparel and his resolution to be "gentle and good."

A saucy fellow came up to Gay with a gibe on his tongue and made a move as if to disarrange Gay's frock, when down in the dust he went on his face.

"If you can be civil we'll call it square; if you can't I'll show you how to be," said Gay, calmly.

"We'll call it square," said the first speaker with a smile that was pleasant despite its width. "You're made of the real stuff, if you are a girl."

"Much obliged for your good opinion," replied Gay with an answering smile.

"I'll get even with you!" said the boy who had been tripped up.

"Go ahead," said Gay, coolly.

"You talk big because you're a girl and you think I daren't touch you!" growled the boy.

"I didn't stop to talk big yesterday, did I?" asked Gay, with rising color.

"No, you didn't; you hit like a good one. I'll take it all back about big talk," said the boy, heartily.

"Let's shake hands on that," said Gay, forgetting that girls do not commonly display so much cordiality toward comparative strangers, it being a boy's privilege to be "hail fellow well met" with all.

After a general handshaking, which was accompanied by some embarrassment on the part of the boys, who were unaccustomed to the society of girls and did not know that their new acquaintance was a very poor imitation of one, they told Gay their names and such portions of their history as seemed to fit the occasion.

"You'd better call me Brown Walcott," said Gay. "That's what the fellows in New York call me—my twin sister is called Brownie."

The boys looked at one another sheepishly; they didn't know what to say.

"Well, we will call you Miss—Brown," faltered Lyman Carver at length.

"Drop the Miss," said Gay.

"All right, we will. We can drop her easier than we can beat her in any other way!" said Will Babbitt.

This speech which everybody applauded—save Gay, who refrained through a delicate sense of modesty—immediately established a feeling of good fellowship.

"I promised to come right back," said Gay. "Walk along with me, won't you? It seems mighty good to see some fellows once more."

The boys stared. This was the most extraordinary girl! There was no resisting her pleasant manner, however, and they were soon walking along together, all talking merrily.

"Oh," cried Gay, suddenly, when they were outside the gate at Rose Cottage, "I'm going to have some kind of a time to-morrow afternoon at five o'clock; my aunt said so to-day. I wish you'd come."

This was another embarrassing moment! The boys were not generally included among aristocratic Miss Linn's young guests.

"I don't believe we should know anybody there except by sight," said Robert Clark at length.

"It will be a good chance to get acquainted with everybody, then," Gay replied.

"I don't think we can go, anyway, because we've got a game to-morrow afternoon," said Lyman.

"Ball?" questioned Gay.

"Yes," Lyman answered.

"Put it off till day after to-morrow and I'll come," said Gay.

"Do you know anything about ball?" asked Fred Brown, wondering secretly if there was anything that this wonderful girl wasn't up to.

"If you can get on to my curves I'll give you the dandiest bat you ever held in your hands," Gay said, with great enthusiasm.

The boys were literally overcome by this challenge, but Lyman succeeded in saying,

"We'll take you up on that some day, Brown."

"It can't be too soon to suit me," laughed Gay. Then he threw one arm across Lyman's shoulders, the other across Will's and added, persuasively, "Promise you will come to-morrow."

"You see," said Will, "we don't belong to that set and when they meet us at church affairs they generally treat us as if we were heathen. They are not like you, Brown."

"I'd like to see anybody treat my guests that way!" said Gay, defiantly. "If you come I guess you'll see that my party isn't a church show."

When Gay went into the house the minister was there; his nearest approach to a week-day occupation was visiting Miss Celia. "Who were those boys, Miss May?" he asked, with a desire to be agreeable.

"Hazelnook boys; splendid fellows. Don't you know them?"

"I think not, though their parents may be my parishioners. All boys of that age look alike."

"Aunt Celia," said Gay that evening, when they were alone, "I don't think much of that minister."

"Why not, dear?" Miss Celia asked with considerable interest.

"Because ministers say they want to be like Jesus, but He wouldn't have said about the boys, 'They all look alike,' just as if He didn't care how they looked and didn't want to know them! I'm sure He knew all the boys wherever He went."

"Thank you, dear, for making something clear to me," Miss Celia said, softly.

And Gay wondered in vain what Miss Celia meant.