"BETTIE," asked Jean, when the girls were "hustling up" the chocolate in Mrs. Mapes' kitchen (the weather was now too cold for Dandelion Cottage to be habitable), "where did you find her?"

"At school," replied Bettie. "She comes in for Domestic Science. I've seen her about three times, and every time she's had that stiff Miss Rossitor laughing. You know who that girl is, don't you?"

"I've heard something," said Marjory, "but I can't just remember what, about some girl named Henrietta."

"Well, you've seen Mrs. Howard Slater?"

All the girls had seen Mrs. Slater, the beautifully gowned, decidedly aristocratic old lady with abundant but perfectly white hair and bright, sparkling black eyes. Mrs. Slater, who seemed a very reserved and exclusive person, had spent many summers and even an occasional winter in her own handsome home in Lakeville. She lived alone except for a number of servants; for both her son and her daughter were married. The son lived abroad, no one knew just where; and some four years previously Mrs. Slater's daughter, who was Henrietta's mother, had died in Rome. Since that event Henrietta had been cared for by her uncle's wife; and she had spent a winter in California and another in Florida with her grandmother, but this was her first visit to Lakeville. It was said that Henrietta's mother had left her little daughter a very respectable fortune, that her father, an English traveler of note, was also wealthy, and it was known to a certainty that Mrs. Howard Slater was a moneyed person.

"Yes," said Marjory, replying to Bettie's question, "we sit behind Mrs. Slater in church, and she's the very daintiest old lady that ever lived. She's as slim and straight as any young girl. She's perfectly lovely to look at, but——"

"Yes, 'but,'" agreed Jean. "She seems very proud and not very—get-nearable. I don't know whether I'd like to live with her or not; but I know I'd feel terribly set up to own a few relatives that looked like that."

"How do you like Henrietta?" asked Mabel.

"I don't know," said Bettie.

"Neither do I," replied Jean.

"It takes time," declared Marjory, "to discover whether you like a person or not. And when it's such a different person—truly, she isn't a bit like any other girl in this town—it takes longer."

"The chocolate's ready," announced Jean, opening a box of wafers. "Here, Bettie, you carry Henrietta's cup and I'll take these. Let's all have our chocolate on the sidewalk."

Henrietta, her hands in her pockets, was leaning against the fence and humming a tune. Her voice, in speaking, was very nicely modulated—which was fortunate, because she used it a great deal. She straightened up when the door opened.

"I'm an icicle," said she. "I hope that chocolate's good and hot. My! What a nice big cup! And wafers! I'm glad I stayed for your party. I've had chocolate in France, in Germany, in Italy, in Switzerland and in England, but I do believe this is the very first time I've had any in America."

"I'm sorry," said Jean, "that you have to have your first on the sidewalk."

"I shan't, next time," promised Henrietta. "I have a beautiful plan. I made it while waiting for the chocolate. You're all to come after school to-morrow and pay me a formal call. Then I'll return it. After that, I suspect I shall be allowed to run in. But first you'll have to call, formally."

"A formal call!" gasped Bettie.

"We never made a formal call in all our lives," objected Jean.

"They're dreadful," agreed Henrietta, "but in this case you'll really have to do it. I've planned it all nicely. In the first place, you must hand your cards to the butler——"

"Cards!" gasped Jean and Bettie.

"Cards!" snorted Mabel, flushing indignantly. "We haven't a card to our names!"

"You must have them," declared Henrietta, firmly, "or Simmons may consider you suspicious characters. Simmons is a very lofty person. You can write some, you know, because Simmons holds his chin so high that it interferes with the view, so he'll never know what's on them. Then you must be very polite to Grandmother and say 'Yes, ma'am,' 'No, ma'am,' 'Thank you, ma'am'—and not very much else. You've seen Grandmother, of course? Then you know how very formal and stiff she looks. Well, you must be like that, too."

"I'll try," said Mabel, "but it'll be pretty hard work."

"Be sure to wear gloves," cautioned Henrietta. "Grandmother is exceedingly particular about shoes and gloves. I know it's a lot of trouble, but you'll find it pays; for after you've beaten down the icy barrier that surrounds me, you'll find me quite a comfortable person. And do come just as early as you can—I'm really desperately lonely."

This was a different Henrietta from the merry one that Bettie had encountered. That other Henrietta had made her laugh. This one, with the wistful, sorrowful countenance and the four words "I'm really desperately lonely," was almost moving her to tears.

"You'll surely come," pleaded Henrietta.

"We'll come," promised Bettie, "cards and all."

"Au revoir," said Henrietta, carefully balancing her cup on the top rail of the fence. "I must run along now to try on my clothes."

"Was that French?" queried Mabel, gazing after the departing figure.

"I think so," replied Jean.

"She can certainly talk English fast enough," said Marjory. "I suppose just one language isn't enough for anybody that chatters like that."

"Do you think," asked Bettie, "she meant all that about cards and gloves and butlers? She's so full of fun most of the time that I don't exactly know whether to believe her or not."

"I think she did," said Marjory. "You see, I sit behind Mrs. Slater in church—and I'm thankful that it's behind."

"Perhaps that's the reason," ventured Bettie, "that nobody'll rent the three pews in front of her. Father says it's hard to even give them away. No one likes to sit in them."

"That's it," agreed Marjory. "One would have to be sure that her back hair was absolutely perfect to be at all comfortable in front of Mrs. Slater."

"And that," groaned discouraged Mabel, "is the sort of person I'm to make my first formal call on."

"You'd better take your bath to-night," advised Jean, "and lay out all your very best clothes. And don't forget to polish your shoes."

"Father has some blank cards," said Bettie, "and he writes beautifully. I'll get him to do cards for all of us."

"I think," said Marjory, with a puzzled air, "that we ought to take five or six apiece. I know Aunty Jane leaves a whole lot at one house, sometimes."

"No," corrected Jean, "we need just two. One for Mrs. Slater and one for Henrietta. My aunt, Mrs. Halliday, always gets two whenever her sister-in-law is visiting there."

"There are holes in my best gloves," mourned Bettie. "They came in a missionary box, and missionary gloves are never very good even to start with. Besides, Dick wore them first—I never had a new pair of kid gloves."

"Never mind," said always generous Mabel. "I must have about six pairs and I've never had any of the things on. I know I've outgrown some of them. Your hands are lots smaller than mine. Come over and I'll fix you out—Mother said we'd have to give them to somebody and I guess you're just exactly the right somebody. I hate the thing myself."

"Goody!" rejoiced Bettie.

"I wish," said Jean, "that my shoes were newer, but I'll get the boys to black 'em."

"I can't help you out," laughed Mabel. "My shoes are short and fat and yours are long and slim."

"A coat of Wallace's blacking will be all that's needed, thank you, Mabel. There's nothing like having brothers when it comes to blacking shoes."

"We'll have to get up a little earlier to-morrow morning," said Marjory.

"Mercy!" exclaimed Jean, "are you leaving all those chocolate cups on the fence for me to carry in?"

"Of course not," said obliging Bettie, seizing two. "Come on, you lazy people."