THE first thing that happened after Christmas was the announcement of the School Board's decision to wait a full year before beginning to build a new schoolhouse.

"Even if we could decide on a site," said they, "it would be hard on the tax-payers to furnish money for such a building all at one assessment. By spreading it over two years' tax-rolls it will come easier."

The fathers, for the most part, were pleased with the arrangement, but many of the mothers disliked it very much indeed.

"We must do something about it," said Aunty Jane, who had called at Mrs. Bennett's to talk the matter over. "I'm in favor of sending Marjory away to some good girls' school, because she has some money that is to be used solely for educational purposes. There is enough for college and for at least one year at a boarding school, besides something for extras. My conscience will feel easier when that money begins to go toward its proper purpose."

"The Doctor thinks of going to Germany next fall for a special course of study that he thinks he needs," returned Mrs. Bennett. "If we could place Mabel in a safe, comfortable school, I could go with him. We've been talking of it for a long time."

"I certainly am not satisfied," admitted Mrs. Mapes, when Aunty Jane put the matter to her. "There are too many pupils crowded into that Baptist basement and it's so damp that I've had to put cold compresses on Jean's throat four times since the fire. If you can find a good school to fit a modest pocketbook we'd be glad to send Jean for the one year."

Then Aunty Jane unfolded her plans to the Tuckers.

"It's a beautiful idea," said pleasant Dr. Tucker, "as far as the rest of you are concerned; but you will have to leave Bettie entirely out of the scheme; we simply can't afford it. We've always hoped to be able to do something for Dick—he wants to be a physician—but even that is hopelessly beyond us at present."

"No," added Mrs. Tucker, shifting the heavy baby to her other arm and hoping that Aunty Jane would not notice the dust on the battered table, "we couldn't even think of sending Bettie. But Mrs. Slater intends letting Henrietta go some place next fall; why don't you talk it over with her?"

"I mean to," assured Aunty Jane. "You see, it will need a great deal of talking over because it may prove hard to find exactly the right kind of school. The eastern seminaries are too far away. It must be some place south of Lakeville, within a day's journey, within reach of all our pocketbooks, and in a healthful location. It mustn't be too big, too stylish, or too old-fashioned. I'm sending out postal cards every day and getting catalogues by every mail; but so far, I haven't come to any decision except that Marjory is to go some place."

At first, the older people said little about school matters to the four girls, but as winter wore on it became an understood thing that not only fortunate Henrietta but Jean, Marjory and Mabel were to go away to school the following September.

"Won't it be simply glorious," said Henrietta, who was entertaining the Cottagers in her den, "if all four of us land in the same school; and we must—I shall stand out for that. And you and I, Jean, shall room together and be chums."

"Then Marjory and I," announced Mabel, "shall room together, too, and fight just the way we always do if Jean isn't on hand to stop us."

"Won't it be perfectly fine?" breathed Marjory. "I've always loved boarding-school stories and now we'll be living right in one."

Bettie kept silence, but her eyes were big and troubled. With the girls gone she knew that her world would be sadly changed. Her close companionship with the other Cottagers—she was only three when she first began to play with Jean—had prevented her forming other friendships. Without doubt, Aunty Jane would be lonely; the Bennetts, in Germany, might miss noisy, affectionate Mabel, Mrs. Mapes might long for helpful Jean and Mrs. Slater would certainly find her big, beautiful home dull with no sparkling Henrietta but it was Bettie, poor little impecunious, uncomplaining Bettie, who would be the very loneliest of all. The others would lose only one girl apiece; Bettie's loss would be fourfold. Lovely Jean, sprightly Marjory, jolly Mabel and attractive Henrietta—how could she spare them all at once! And the glorious times the absent four would have together—how could Bettie miss all that? It seemed, to the little, overwhelmed girl, too big a trouble to talk about.

For a long, long time the more fortunate girls were too taken up with their own prospects to think very seriously of Bettie's; but one day Jean was suddenly astonished at the depth of misery that she surprised in Bettie's wistful, tell-tale eyes. After that, the girls openly expressed their pity for Bettie, who would have to stay in Lakeville. This proved even harder to bear than their light-hearted chatter; for it made Bettie pity herself to an even greater extent.

Of course, it would be several months before the hated school—Bettie, by this time, was quite certain that she hated it—would swallow up her dearest four friends at one sudden, hideous gulp; but remote as the date was, the interested girls could talk of very little else. No matter what topic they might begin with, it always worked around at last to "when I go away next fall."

"I can't have any clothes this spring," said Jean, when the girls, in a body, were escorting Henrietta home from her dressmaker's. "Mother's letting my old things down and piecing everything till I feel like a walking bedquilt. You see, I'm to have new things to go away with."

"Same here," asserted Mabel. "Only my mother's having a worse time than yours to make my things meet. My waist measure is twenty-nine inches and my skirt bands are only twenty-seven."

"Only twenty-seven," groaned shapely Henrietta.

"If you see a second Aunty Jane," said Marjory, skipping ahead to imitate the elder Miss Vale's prim, peculiar walk, "running round Lakeville all summer, you'll know who it is. She's cutting down two of her thousand-year-old gowns to tide me over the season. One came out of the Ark and she purchased the other at a little shop on Mount Ararat."

"Grandmother's making lists," laughed Henrietta, "of all the things mentioned in all the catalogues. When she gets done, probably she'll add them all up and divide the result by me; and that will give a respectable outfit for one girl."

"Poor Bettie!" said sympathetic Jean, squeezing Bettie's slim hand. "You're out of it all, aren't you?"

But this was too much for Bettie. She turned hastily and fled.

The girls looked after her pityingly.

"Poor Bettie!" murmured Jean. "It's awfully hard on her to hear all this talk about school. She's always had us, you know, and she thinks there won't be a scrap of Lakeville left when we're gone."

In February Rosa Marie created a little excitement by coming down with measles. Maggie, the maid, had broken out with this unlovely affliction and no one had suspected what the trouble was until she had peeled in the actual presence of Rosa Marie. Of course Rosa Marie came down with measles too. But there was an unusual feature about this illness. Although it was Maggie and Rosa Marie who were supposed to be the sufferers it was really Mrs. Crane who did all the suffering. You see, this inexperienced lady read all the literature that she could find that touched on the subject of measles and its after-effects; and long after Rosa Marie had entirely recovered, conscientious Mrs. Crane remained awake nights waiting for the dreaded "after-effects" to develop.

"We'll bury Mrs. Crane with whooping cough," sputtered Dr. Bennett, writing a soothing prescription for the good lady, "if Rosa Marie ever catches it. She's a hen bringing up a solitary duckling, and she's certainly overdoing it. She ought not to have the responsibility of that child; she's not fitted for responsibilities, yet she's the sort that takes 'em."

"I'll adopt Rosa Marie myself," declared Henrietta Bedford, hearing of this opinion and waylaying Dr. Bennett in Mrs. Slater's hall to make her light-hearted offer. "She'd go beautifully with the other picturesque objects in my den and I'm very sure that the responsibility won't weigh me down."

"So am I," laughed Dr. Bennett. "So sure of it that I shan't allow you to afflict your grandmother with any carelessly adopted babies. But that child is on my conscience, since Mabel was the principal culprit in the matter. We'll try to get Mrs. Crane to send her to an asylum; only that dear lady's conscience will have to be bombarded from all sides before it will let her consent to any such sensible plan. Perhaps you can get the girls—particularly Mabel,—to look at the matter from that point of view; we must rescue Mrs. Crane."

"I'll try to," promised Henrietta.