THROUGH a long corridor, around several corners and down two flights of back stairs, the formal callers, their hearts in their throats, followed Henrietta, who finally paused at the basement door.

"There," said Henrietta, mysteriously, "you're safe at last. Now listen. You must slip out through the alley, walk slowly round the block, approach the house with dignity, ring the doorbell and present your cards to Simmons."

"We—we can't," faltered Bettie. "He has them now."

"I'll poke them out through the letter slot," laughed resourceful Henrietta. "You're not going to escape that formal call. Wait, your hat's over one ear, Mabel. There now, you're perfectly lovely. Now don't forget to pick up the cards."

Entirely bewildered by Henrietta's pranks, the conventional visitors walked out through the alley, strolled round the block and nervously ascended the front steps. There, sure enough, were eight white cards popping out through the letter slot.

"My goodness!" gasped Jean, "they're not our cards. This one says 'Mrs. Francis Patterson.'"

"And this," said Marjory, picking up another, "says 'John D. Thomas, sole agent for Todd's shoes.'"

"According to mine," giggled Bettie, "I'm Miss Ethel Louise Cartwright. What's on yours, Mabel?"

"'With love from Father,'" groaned Mabel.

"What in the world shall we do?" queried Jean, gathering up the remaining cards. "Not one of them will fit us."

"Give them to Simmons in a bunch," suggested Marjory. "He didn't look at the last lot, so perhaps he won't now."

So the girls, gathering what courage they could, touched the bell, presented their odd assortment of cards to Simmons—who almost succeeded in not looking astonished at seeing the callers again so soon—and were ushered into the reception room.

Such a sedate Henrietta advanced to meet them! Such a dignified, but charming old lady rose to shake hands all around! Such a sheepish quartette of visitors perched on the extreme edge of the nearest four chairs! Mrs. Slater smiled encouragingly; but Henrietta, from her post behind her grandmother's chair, displayed every sign of abject terror.

"We—we came to call," faltered Jean.

"That was pleasant," responded Mrs. Slater. "You are just in time to have some tea. Midge, will you please ring for Greta? I'm very glad you came, for I wanted my granddaughter to meet some of the young people."

Mrs. Slater, her slender, beringed fingers moving daintily among the cups, made the tea. Henrietta, in absolute silence and much subdued in manner, passed the cups, the delicate sandwiches and the little frosted tea cakes.

"Midge," demanded Mrs. Slater, turning suddenly to her granddaughter, "what in the world is the matter with you? You haven't said a word for fifteen minutes. I never knew you to be still for so long a time."

"It's my conscience," groaned Henrietta, dolefully. "I'm in another scrape."

"What have you done now?" asked Mrs. Slater, who seemed very much less terrifying than the girls had expected to find her. "Confession is good for the soul, my dear."

Henrietta's infectious laugh gurgled out suddenly and merrily.

"I've frightened four girls almost into spasms," said she. "You see, Grannie, I told them that they'd have to call formally if they wanted me to visit them. When they came you were out, so I took them upstairs, gave them things to eat and a jolly good time, generally. Then, just for a joke, I had Greta tell me when you were coming and I led them carefully down the back way, made them go round the block and do it all over again, cards and all. You see, Grannie, they don't know you. They haven't seen anything but your husk; and I had them scared blue; didn't I, girls?"

"Midge, you shouldn't have done it," reproved Mrs. Slater, whose black eyes, however, were sparkling with only half-suppressed merriment. "That wasn't quite a courteous way to treat your guests!"

"Forgive me," pleaded Henrietta, flopping down on her knees and looking the very picture of penitence. "Walk on me, Jean. Wipe your shoes on me, Bettie. I grovel at your feet—at everybody's feet."

"Don't grovel too hard in that dress," warned Mrs. Slater.

"Am I forgiven?" implored Henrietta, gathering up her ruffles with elaborate care.

The girls were not certain. Their pride had been injured and they eyed Henrietta doubtfully.

"When you've known Midge as long as I have," said Mrs. Slater, "you'll discover that she is really too tender-hearted to hurt a fly. But you'll also discover that she never misses an opportunity to play pranks on every soul she loves. It's a symbol of her favor. She will never tell you an untruth, she is too honorable to practise downright deceit; but depend on it, girls, she will fool you until you won't believe your own ears. And she's always sorry, afterwards. She spends half her time apologizing."

"Ah, do forgive," pleaded extravagant Henrietta, suddenly extending imploring hands. "I mean it, truly. It wasn't nice of me."

Jean, stooping suddenly, kissed the upturned lips.

"Why!" exclaimed Jean, genuinely surprised, "I didn't know I was going to do that."

"She gets around everybody," said Mrs. Slater, "and the worst of it is she's so good and so naughty that you'll never know whether you like her or not."

"Why, Grannie!" exclaimed Henrietta, "don't you know?"

"I know that I like you," said the old lady, smiling fondly at pretty, whimsical Henrietta, "but you know very well that I also regard you with strong disapproval. I consider you a very faulty young person."

"You're a dear Grannie," breathed Henrietta, kissing the old lady's delicate hand, "but I'm quite sure you're spoiling me; isn't she, Bettie?"

"Were you like Henrietta," queried Jean, "when you were young?"

"My dear, you've found me out," laughed Mrs. Slater. "I was just such a piece of impishness; but my father was very severe, and I think I began earlier to restrain my prankishness. Midge, unfortunately, has a lenient father and a doting grandmother. Between them she is having pretty much her own way."

"I'll be good," promised Henrietta, comically, "in spite of them; but you see, girls, with such a pair of relatives dogging my footsteps, it's uphill work."

After a little more conversation, the girls rose to depart. Mrs. Slater begged them to come again. She said that she enjoyed young people. Then the big front door was closed behind them and the dreaded visit was over.

"So," said Marjory, "that's what Mrs. Slater is like inside."

Mabel, unable to bear them longer, was recklessly peeling off her lemon-colored gloves.

"She's lovely, inside and out," declared Bettie, "but I never dreamed that she was like that."

"She wouldn't have cared if I had gone without gloves," mourned aggrieved Mabel. "I'd like to pay Henrietta back for that."

"Girls," asked Marjory, "do you like Henrietta?"

"I adore her," declared Jean.

"I think I like her," said Bettie.

"I know I don't," asserted Mabel, waving her throbbing hands in the evening breeze to cool them.

"I do and I don't," said Marjory. "I admire her, but she makes me uncomfortable. I feel as if she were just playing with me."

"She seems more than fourteen," murmured Jean, dreamily.

"That's because she's traveled so much," explained Bettie.

"She's like the big opal in Mother's ring," mused imaginative Jean. "One moment all warm and sparkly, the next, all cold and quiet."

"And you never know," supplemented Marjory, "which way it's going to be."

"I like folks that are downright bad or good," said Mabel, crossly. "Burglars ought to be burglars and ministers ought to be ministers and they all ought to be marked so you can tell 'em apart; else, how are you going to?"