Madame Deriby had been charmed with her youngest teacher, and on Monday Gertrude took Miss Berry’s place and smiled lovingly down into the uplifted faces of her ten pupils whose ages ranged from five to seven. Before the hour was over the tots loved her and when at last the bell of dismissal rang, they crowded about her, and seated in the low rocker she held many of them in her arms and told them of the pleasant times they were to have all together.

One, a golden-haired little girl of six, stood back holding her dolly close and watching the merry group with wistful brown eyes. Then a kindly faced woman in cap and apron came to take the little ones to the nursery, but this child did not go.

Believing that she was alone Gertrude sat for a moment looking out of the window and thinking of the brothers and sisters at home, perhaps just a bit lonely, when she felt a small hand touching her timidly.

Looking down, she beheld the sweet face of little Alise gazing up at her.

“Miss Gertrude,” she asked, “will you please let me love you? I’m not anybody’s little girl now.”

Lifting the child to her lap, the young teacher held her close as she murmured tenderly, “Dear, darling little Alise. I know how lonely you must be and indeed I do want you to love me. I was just thinking of my sister Ruth at home and feeling a bit lonely for her. I’ll tell you what,” she added brightly, “you be little sister to me and I’ll be big sister to you. Won’t that be nice?”

The child’s eyes were shining happily, when the nurse reappeared, having realized that Alise must have been left behind. When they were gone Adele came and found Gertrude still seated in the low chair and deep in thought. Sitting on a stool beside her she asked, “What is it, Trudie? Is something troubling you?”

Gertrude put her hand lovingly on her friend’s shoulder as she replied, “Yes, Della, in a way. I was just wondering why some of us have so much love in our lives and others so little. You and I have so many home folks to care for us and here is Alise, scarcely more than a baby, starting to grow up into girlhood with no one to love her. Madame Deriby was telling me about her only this morning. It seems that her mother, who was a beautiful girl, married against a stern father’s wishes and he never forgave her, and when she died, he even refused to see her child. Instead, he had his lawyer bring her here to Linden Hall. Even Madame Deriby does not know who the grandfather is nor where he lives. Now, isn’t that sad? The child will be immensely rich some day, the lawyer said, but oh, Della, money can never take the place of home love.”

Then rising, she added brightly, “Well, Alise is going to have some one to love her, and that some one is her new teacher. Adele, isn’t it queer about these hearts of ours? We think that they are bulging full of love, but, when the need arises, they can always make room for just one more.”

These two girls, as they sauntered toward the tennis-courts, arm in arm, little dreamed that Alise was to bring a wonderful happiness to one of them.

The following Saturday, the equestrian class with Mr. Haley, their riding-master, started out for a canter. The road which they followed led between wide meadows, some purple and gold with autumn flowers and others, where recently cut grass was stacked in fragrant, sun-warmed mounds.

Now and then they passed a neat, white farmhouse with bushes of golden-glow gleaming cheerfully in the dooryards. Then they entered a quiet wood where the maples were turning red and yellow. Beyond the wood a high, ivy-grown stone wall indicated that they were about to pass a country gentleman’s estate. Far back among wide spreading trees, they could catch glimpses of the turrets of a castle-like home.

“Mr. Haley, do you know anything about this place?” Adele inquired.

“It belongs to an old and very wealthy family,” the riding-master replied, “but it has not been occupied for about ten years. I am acquainted with Mr. Diggitt, the head gardener, and, since Elmhurst is one of the finest estates in the countryside, perhaps it would interest you young ladies to canter about the grounds.”

“Oh, Mr. Haley, I do wish that we might!” Rosamond, the romantic, exclaimed. “I adore old places like this.”

A moment later they were drawing rein in front of an ivy-covered lodge-house near the great iron gates. A plump, pleasant-faced woman bustled out and admitted them. “You’ll find my man in the rose-garden,” Mrs. Diggitt said as she dropped a curtsy.

Following the path indicated, they soon came upon the gardener, who greeted them pleasantly and leaned on his hoe to talk to Mr. Haley.

“You keep everything in excellent condition, Mr. Diggitt,” the riding-master said, then he inquired, “Is it true that the owner, Mr. Ellsworth, has not been here in ten years?”

“Yes, it’s true,” the gardener replied, “and he may not come for another ten; there’s no way of telling. I never saw him myself, for I’ve only worked here this four year past, but the gardener before me said that the old gentleman was very hard to please, and if he should come, sudden-like, he would expect to find everything spick and span. Anyhow, I like to keep things up myself. Flowers are like children to me, and I don’t like to see them lookin’ neglected.”

“I have heard that Mr. Ellsworth is a crusty, overbearing old man and very difficult to deal with,” Mr. Haley said, then he added, “Mr. Diggitt, do you mind if these young ladies canter about the grounds? They will be careful to do no harm.”

The permission was granted and a moment later Adele and Gertrude were riding side by side toward a picturesque grouping of trees in the midst of which something white was gleaming.

“I think it is a marble statue,” Gertrude said.

“You are right!” Adele exclaimed as she drew rein. “How very beautiful it is and how lifelike! I do believe that a young girl posed for that statue.”

Gertrude was gazing admiringly at the sweet, chiseled face, and, after a moment of thoughtful silence, she said, “Della, it almost seems as though I had known some one whom that statue resembles, but of course I haven’t.”

Suddenly Adele uttered a joyful exclamation. “I know whom it resembles!” she said. “Little Alise! She has that same sweet, half-wistful expression.”

“True!” Gertrude replied. “There is a name chiseled on the pedestal. It is so moss-grown that I cannot read it from here.” Out of curiosity the two girls dismounted, and bending, they studied for a moment the almost obliterated letters.

Suddenly Gertrude seized Adele as she exclaimed, “Della, this is almost uncanny. The first name is Alise, and the last begins with E-l, so of course it is Ellsworth. Do you suppose that can be a statue of our little Alise’s mother, and that crabbed old man Mr. Haley and the gardener were talking about, is her grandfather?”

“He might be,” Adele said as they remounted their horses. “The name Alise is uncommon, and then again, the grandfather must have been familiar with Linden Hall or he would not have sent the child there, and, of course he would be, if he had lived so near, but it doesn’t much matter who the grandfather is, since he refuses to love our little Alise.”

“I just wish that I could see him face to face,” Gertrude declared indignantly, “and I would tell him how cruel he is to leave that poor sensitive child alone among strangers.”

Little did the girls dream of the interesting adventure that the finding of the statue was to bring to them in the near future.