It was five o'clock and a very dull, dark afternoon in Charlton Street. One by one lights had twinkled out in all the little two-story-and-dormer-windowed houses on the block,—in all but one. The parlor windows of this house were still unlit, but behind the flower-box in one of them a hand could be seen moving aside the white curtains at frequent intervals and a dim face peering anxiously into the dusk.

At ten minutes past five precisely, two trim girl-figures turned the corner of Varick Street, hurried down the block, raced up the steps of this same house, and waved frantically at the dark windows. An answering wave saluted them from between the parted curtains. At the same moment lights twinkled out from the windows, and a quick hand pulled down the shades with a jerk, shutting out the dim street for the night. But back of the drawn shades a small figure in an invalid-chair held out welcoming arms to the girls who had just entered.

"My! How long you were! I thought you'd never get here to-day. And it's been so dark and dismal all the afternoon, too!" The two girls, who were plainly twins, knelt down, one on each side of the invalid-chair.

"We were an age, I know, Margaret dear," began Bess, "but there was a good reason. It's quite exciting,—all about the new girl!"

"Yes, you can never guess what, either!" echoed Jess, winding one of Margaret's dark curls around her finger.

"Oh, tell me—quick!" The child's big, beautiful gray eyes fairly sparkled with eagerness, and a faint flush tinted her delicate face. "Is it that queer girl you told me about, who only came into the class a few days ago?"

"That's the one,—but let's get our things off first and see if Sarah made any cookies to-day. We're starving!"

A huge woman who had been moving about the room lighting gas-jets, pulling down shades, and straightening the furniture, now broke into the conversation: "Ye kin save yerselves the trouble! I ain't made no cookies this day—an' me wid all that wash! What d' ye think I be?"

"Go 'long, Sarah!" laughed Bess. "You know there's probably a whole jarful in the pantry, and we don't care whether you made them to-day or a week ago. They're always dandy!"

Sarah gave a chuckle that shook her huge frame, and tucked a light shawl lovingly about the knees of the girl in the chair.

"Ye'll have a hard time findin' any!" she warned, as the two ran off. "Won't they, Margie, macushla?"

In five minutes the twins were back, each with a massive chunk of chocolate layer-cake in her hand and a mouth full of the same.

"You told the truth, Sarah, for once! There weren't any cookies, but this is heaps better!"

"If ye get any crumbs on me floor," threatened Sarah, ominously, "ye'll have no more cake of any kind, the week out!" And she departed downstairs in great (pretended) displeasure.

"Now for it! Tell me right away," demanded Margaret. "I'm so impatient to hear!"

"Well," began Bess, in muffled tones, struggling to swallow a large mouthful of cake, "you remember we told you about that nice girl who came into our section three days ago, but who seemed so offish and queer and quiet. She's always staring out of the window, as if she were dreaming. And when she isn't studying, she's reading some book the whole time. And she hardly ever talks to a soul. Jess and I thought she must feel rather lonesome and strange. You know it is rather hard to come into the first year of High School more than a month after everything's started, and every one else has got acquainted, and try to pick up! I think one must feel so awfully out of it!

"So Jess and I decided we'd ask her to eat lunch with us to-day. She always eats by herself, and yesterday she didn't eat at all,—just read a book the whole time! I went up to her at lunch-period and said—"

"What's her name?" interrupted Margaret.

"Corinne Cameron,—isn't it a dandy name? Corinne! It has such a distinguished sound!—Well, she was reading, as usual, and looked up at me sort of dazed and far-away when I asked her if she'd care to eat with us. But she seemed very glad to do it and came right over. We had a very interesting talk, and she asked us right away to call her 'Corinne,' instead of 'Miss Cameron,' as they do in High School. She said it made her feel about a hundred miles away from every one to be called 'Miss.' So of course we asked her to call us 'Elisabeth' and 'Jessica.'"

"But why didn't you tell her just 'Bess' and 'Jess'?" interrupted Margaret again. "That's so much more natural."

"Well, you see, 'Corinne' sounds so sort of distinguished and—and dignified! And somehow our names don't. They just seem ordinary and—and so like small children. And at least 'Elisabeth' and 'Jessica' seem more—grown-up!"

"What does she look like?" questioned Margaret, going off on another tack.

"Oh, she's, well, sort of distinguished-looking, too—like her name. She's tall and slim and has very dark brown wavy hair, and big, dark eyes, almost black, and the prettiest straight nose,—not a little snub like ours (I don't mean yours, Margaret! That's all right!). But she always acts as though her thoughts were about a thousand miles away. She talked about books mostly, and asked us if we didn't just love to read. And when we said no, not so awfully, she seemed so astonished. I said we'd rather play basket-ball, and she laughed and said we couldn't play that all the time, and what did we do with our spare moments. I told her we didn't have many, because, at home here, we were always busy amusing you or helping Sarah, when we weren't studying.

"Then she asked about you, Margaret, and was so interested when we told her about your poor back, and how you couldn't move around much or go to school, but studied with us and knew just as much as we did—and more, because you read a great deal, too, even though you are only thirteen and we're fifteen. And she said:

"'That's perfectly fine!' Well, we were talking so hard that we scarcely noticed lunch-period was over, and we hadn't said half that we wanted to. She promised to eat with us every day.

"This afternoon we decided not to stay for basket-ball in the gym, because Jess's finger hurts so much where she cut it last night. So we left at half-past two (which we hardly ever do), and who should start to walk over our way but Corinne, and she was delighted that we could go part of the way together. She lives in the Ten Eyck, that swell new apartment in West Twelfth Street."

"The Ten Eyck!" exclaimed Margaret, in a tone of hushed awe. "Gracious! she must be very wealthy, then!"

"Wait till you hear!" murmured Jess, parenthetically, and Bess went on:

"She told us they'd just moved there because her father, who isn't in very good health, has to live near his business. He's in a big steamship company on West Street. And until now they've always lived in an apartment on Madison Avenue near Central Park. They just moved down here a week ago. Her mother is dead, and an aunt, her father's sister, lives with them.

"By this time we had reached the Ten Eyck, and what do you think!—she asked us to come in and chat awhile, because she was all alone. Her aunt was out at some club. Of course we went in, and my! but it was splendiferous, especially going up to the eighth floor in a big elevator! Their rooms are sort of built all around a central hall. It's different from any apartment we were ever in. Corinne took us to her room, which was about as large as this parlor, and had the cutest low bookcases all around the walls and lovely cushioned seats in the windows. And we sat there and talked a long time.

"But here's another queer thing about her. While we were talking about school and our studies, and how hard the geometry seemed, she suddenly showed us an old book that was lying on her table,—it was a very old, battered-up looking book with brown stains on the leaves, and one cover half hanging off, and the queerest old-fashioned pictures,—and, she asked us whether we'd like to look at it. She said it was her chief treasure just now. It was called 'Valentine's Manual, Volume II,' and seemed to be all about New York City in very early times. She said her father had picked it up at an auction-sale of some one's library, and had given it to her for her birthday.

"I didn't say much, for somehow I thought it was an awfully queer thing to get for your birthday—an old, dilapidated, uninteresting book like that! And then I guess she saw that we were surprised, for she said:

"'Don't you love old things?'

"I just had to laugh,—it all seemed so queer! And I said, no, I preferred them brand-new. And then she said:

"'Well, perhaps every one doesn't feel the same as I do; for Father says I'm a born antiquarian, just as he is!' We couldn't say a word, either of us, for actually, we don't know what 'antiquarian' means! She went out of the room just after that and brought back some lemonade and little sweet crackers. Then we had to leave, for it was getting late, and we knew you'd be watching for us." Here Bess ended her recital and Margaret instantly exclaimed:

"Get the dictionary—quick! I want to see what 'antiquarian' means!"

"That's just like you!" commented Jess, as she hauled a big Webster's Unabridged out of the bookcase. "You're a lot like Corinne, too. I think you two would get on beautifully together. Here it is:

"'Antiquarian,—one who is addicted to the study of antiquities; an admirer of antiquity.' And 'antiquities' are old things, of course. Well, what she sees to admire in 'em beats me! Anyhow, she's an awfully nice girl,—sort of unusual, you know,—and I'm glad we made her acquaintance. Bess and I were saying on the way home that it's kind of like an adventure to meet unusual people—" Jess broke off suddenly, at the sound of a latch-key in the front door, and they all exclaimed:

"There's Mother! Isn't she early to-night!"

A pleasant-voiced woman called out to them cheerily, and a moment later entered the room. Mrs. Bronson's face, which singularly resembled her youngest daughter's, had once been very pretty, but now showed many traces of anxious care. Her expression was of one who was constantly thinking over worrisome matters. But at the sight of the trio her face lit up, the lines smoothed away temporarily, and ten years seemed magically to drop from her as she sat down in the group, questioning them about the affairs of their day.

After a few moments the twins went off downstairs to help Sarah with the dinner, and Margaret was left to her coveted half-hour alone with her mother.

"Oh, Mummy," she sighed, snuggling her head on Mrs. Bronson's shoulder, "this is lovely! You don't often get home so early. But I appreciate it specially, because I feel sort of blue and no-'count to-night."

"Is that so, dear?" exclaimed her mother, some of the anxious lines returning to her face. "Is the pain worse? What has happened to-day?"

"No, it isn't my back," Margaret almost sobbed. "It's just that nothing has happened—to me—to-day; nothing ever does happen! I just sit here all day long, waiting for 'something to turn up,' like Dickens' Mr. Micawber, and nothing ever does turn up! The twins go out and meet nice people and have pleasant things happen, but there's nothing like that for me. Oh, I want some adventures—just one nice, big, beautiful adventure would do—some delightful, unexpected surprise! I'd be content if I could have just one!" It was very unusual for Margaret to make the slightest complaint, and it was well now that her head was on her mother's shoulder, and that she did not see the sudden pain in Mrs. Bronson's face.

"Dearie, I know!" her mother said. "It's dull enough for you, sitting here day after day. But we're all doing the best we can to make you happy. After all, you never can tell what's going to happen. Just keep on hoping for something interesting to 'turn up,' and I'm sure sometime it will. Things occasionally happen in the most unexpected way! Even Mr. Micawber had something pleasant 'turn up' after a while, if you remember."

Margaret snuggled her head closer. "You're a dear, Mummy! You do cheer me up so! I feel better already, and I'm going to hope harder than ever that something nice and interesting—some real adventure—will turn up sometime, perhaps soon!"