“Oh, Cathie!” Polly rushed out to meet the girl that Johnson was just ushering in. “I am so glad you've come!”

A pleased look swept over the girl's face, but she didn't say anything.

“Now come right upstairs; never mind the bag, Johnson will bring that for you.”

“I will take it up, Miss,” said Johnson, securing it.

“Mamsie is waiting to see you,” cried Polly, as they ran over the stairs, Cathie trying to still the excited beating of her heart at the thought that she was really to visit Polly Pepper for three whole days! “Oh, Mamsie, here she is!”

“I am glad to see you, Cathie,” said Mrs. Fisher heartily, taking her cold hand. “Now, you are to have the room right next to Polly's.”

“Yes, the same one that Alexia always has when she stays here,” said Polly. “See, Cathie,” bearing her off down the hall. “Oh, it is so good to get you here,” she cried happily. “Well, here we are!”

“You can't think,” began Cathie brokenly; then she turned away to the window—“it's so good of you to ask me, Polly Pepper!”

“It's so good of you to come,” said Polly merrily, and running over to her. “There, Johnson has brought your bag. Aren't you going to unpack it, Cathie?—that is, I mean”—with a little laugh—“after you've got your hat and jacket off. And then, when your things are all settled, we can go downstairs, and do whatever you like. Perhaps we'll go in the greenhouse.”

“Oh, Polly!” exclaimed Cathie, quite forgetting herself, and turning around.

“And can't I help you unpack?” asked Polly, longing to do something.

“No,” said Cathie, remembering her plain clothes and lack of the pretty trifles that girls delight in; then seeing Polly's face, she thought better of it. “Yes, you may,” she said suddenly.

So Polly unstrapped the bag, and drew out the clothes, all packed very neatly. “Why, Cathie Harrison!” she exclaimed suddenly.

“What?” asked Cathie, hanging up her jacket in the closet, and putting her head around the door.

“Oh, what a lovely thing!” Polly held up a little carved box of Chinese workmanship.

“Isn't it?” cried Cathie, well pleased that she had anything worthy of notice. “My uncle brought that from China to my mother when she was a little girl, and she gave it to me.”

“Well, it's too lovely for anything,” declared Polly, running to put it on the toilet table. “I do think Chinese carvings are so pretty!”

“Do you?” cried Cathie, well pleased. “My mother has some really fine ones, I'll show you sometime, if you'd like to see them, Polly.”

“Indeed, I should,” said Polly warmly. So Cathie, delighted that she really had something that could interest Polly Pepper, hurried through her preparations; and then the two went downstairs arm in arm, and out to the greenhouse.

“Polly Pepper!” exclaimed Cathie on the threshold, “I don't think I should ever envy you living in that perfectly beautiful house, because it just scares me to set foot in it.”

“Well, it needn't,” said Polly, with a little laugh. “You must just forget all about its being big and splendid.”

“But I can't,” said Cathie, surprised at herself for being so communicative, “because, you see, I live in such a little, tucked-up place.”

“Well, so did I,” said Polly, with a bob of her brown head, “before we came here to Grandpapa's; but oh, you can't think how beautiful it was in the little brown house—you can't begin to think, Cathie Harrison!”

“I know,” said Cathie, who had heard the story before. “I wish you'd tell it all to me now, Polly.”

“I couldn't tell it all, if I talked a year, I guess,” said Polly merrily, “and there is Turner waiting to speak to me. Come on, Cathie.” And she ran down the long aisle between the fragrant blossoms.

But Cathie stopped to look and exclaim so often to herself that she made slow progress.

“Shall I make her up a bunch, Miss Mary?” asked old Turner, touching his cap respectfully, and looking at the visitor.

“Oh, if you please,” cried Polly radiantly; “and do put some heliotrope in, for Cathie is so fond of that. And please let her have a bunch every morning when I have mine, Turner, for she is to stay three days.”

“It shall be as you wish, Miss Mary,” said Turner, quite delighted at the order.

“And please let it be very nice, Turner,” said Polly hastily.

“I will, Miss; don't fear, Miss Mary, I'll have it as nice as possible,” as Polly ran off to meet Cathie.

“I should stay here every single minute I was at home if I lived here, Polly Pepper,” declared Cathie. “Oh, oh!” sniffing at each discovery of a new blossom.

“Oh, no, you wouldn't, Cathie,” contradicted Polly, with a laugh; “not if you had to get your lessons, and practise on the piano, and go out riding and driving, and play with the boys.”

“Oh dear me!” cried Cathie, “I don't care very much for boys, because, you see, Polly, I never know what in this world to say to them.”

“That's because you never had any brothers,” said Polly, feeling how very dreadful such a state must be. “I can't imagine anything without Ben and Joel and Davie.”

“And now you've such a lot of brothers, with Jasper and all those Whitney boys; oh, Polly, don't they scare you to death sometimes?”

Polly burst into such a merry peal of laughter, that they neither of them heard the rushing feet, until Cathie glanced up. “Oh dear me! there they are now!”

“Well, to be sure; we might have known you were here, Polly,” cried Jasper, dashing up with Clare. “How do you do, Cathie?” putting out his hand cordially.

Clare gave her a careless nod, then turned to Polly. “It's to be fine,” he said.

“What?” asked Polly wonderingly.

“Hold on, old chap.” Jasper gave him a clap on the back. “Father is going to tell her himself. Come on, Polly and Cathie, to his room.”

“Come, Cathie,” cried Polly. “Let's beat those boys,” she said, when once out of the greenhouse. “We're going to race,” she cried over her shoulder.

“Is that so?” said Jasper. “Clare, we must beat them,” and they dashed in pursuit.

But they couldn't; the two girls flew over the lawn, and reached the stone steps just a breathing space before Jasper and Clare plunged up.

“Well done,” cried Jasper, tossing back the hair from his forehead.

“I didn't know you could run so well,” observed Clare, with some show of interest in Cathie.

“Oh, she runs splendidly,” said Polly, with sparkling eyes. “Let's try a race sometime, Jasper; we four, down the Long Path, while Cathie's here.”

“Capital! We will,” assented Jasper, “but now for father's room.”

There sat old Mr. King by his writing table. “Well, Polly—how do you do, Cathie? I am glad to see you,” he said, putting out his hand kindly.

As well as she could for her terror at being actually in that stately Mr. King's presence, Cathie stumbled forward and laid her hand in his.

“Now, Polly,” said the old gentleman, turning off to pick up a little envelope lying on the table, “I thought perhaps you would like to take your young friend to the play to-night, so I have the tickets for us five,” with a sweep of his hand over to the two boys.

“Grandpapa!” cried Polly, precipitating herself into his arms, “oh, how good you are!” which pleased the old gentleman immensely.

“Isn't that no-end fine!” cried Jasper in delight. “Father, we can't thank you!”

“Say no more, my boy,” cried the old gentleman. “I'm thanked enough. And so, Polly, my girl, you like it,” patting her brown hair.

“Like it!” cried Polly, lifting her glowing cheeks,—“oh, Grandpapa!”

“Run along with you then, all of you. Clare, be over in time.”

“Yes, sir,” cried Clare. “Oh, thank you, Mr. King, ever so much!” as they all scampered off to get their lessons for the next day; for going to a play was always a special treat, on condition that no studies were neglected.

“Oh, Cathie,” cried Polly, before she flew into the window-seat to curl up with her books, her favorite place for studying her lessons, “Grandpapa is taking us to the play because you are here.”

“And I've never been to a play, Polly,” said Cathie, perfectly overwhelmed with it all.

“Haven't you? Oh, I'm so glad—I mean, I'm glad you're going with us, and that Grandpapa is to take you to the first one. But, oh me!” and Polly rushed off to attack her books. “Now, don't let us speak a single word, Cathie Harrison,” as Cathie picked out a low rocker for her choice of a seat; and pretty soon, if Miss Salisbury herself had come into the room, she would have been perfectly satisfied with the diligent attention the books were receiving.

But Miss Salisbury was not thinking of her pupils this afternoon. She was at this moment closeted with Miss Anstice, and going over a conversation that they frequently held, these past days, without much variation in the subject or treatment.

“If there were anything we could do to repay him, sister,” said Miss Anstice mournfully, “I'd do it, and spend my last cent. But what is there?” Then she paced the floor with her mincing little steps, now quite nervous and flurried.

“Sister,” said Miss Salisbury, doing her best to be quite calm, “it isn't a matter of payment; for whatever we did, we never could hope to replace that exquisite little vase. Miss Clemcy had pointed out to me the fact that it was quite the gem in his collection.”

“I know; I thought my heart would stop when I heard the crash.” Miss Anstice wrung her little hands together at the memory. “Oh, that careless Lily!”

“Sister, pray let us look at this matter—”

“I am looking at it. I see nothing but that vase, smashed to pieces; and I cannot sleep at night for fear I'll dream how it looked in those very little bits.”

“Sister—pray—pray—”

“And if you want me to tell you what I think should be done, I'm sure I can't say,” added Miss Anstice helplessly.

“Well, then, I must think,” declared Miss Salisbury, with sudden energy, “for some repayment must surely be made to him, although they utterly refused it when you and I called and broached the subject to them.”

“It was certainly a most unfortunate day from beginning to end,” said Miss Anstice, with a suggestion of tears in her voice, and a shiver at the remembrance of the front breadth of her gown. “Sister, I hope and pray that you will never have another picnic for the school.”

“I cannot abolish that annual custom, Anstice,” said Miss Salisbury firmly, “for the girls get so much enjoyment out of it. They are already talking about the one to come next year.”

“Ugh!” shuddered Miss Anstice.

“And anything that holds an influence over them, I must sustain. You know that yourself, sister. And it is most important to give them some recreations.”

“But picnics!” Miss Anstice held up her little hands, as if quite unequal to any words.

“And I am very sorry that we were out when Mr. Clemcy and his sister called yesterday afternoon, for I am quite sure I could have arranged matters so that we need not feel under obligations to them.”

Miss Anstice, having nothing to say, kept her private reflections mournfully to herself; and it being the hour for the boarding pupils to go out to walk, and her duty to accompany them, the conference broke up.

“Polly,” called Mrs. Chatterton, as Polly ran past her door, her opera glasses Grandpapa had given her last Christmas in the little plush bag dangling from her arm, and a happy light in her eyes. Cathie had gone downstairs, and it was getting nearly time to set forth for that enchanted land—the playhouse!

Polly ran on, scarcely conscious that she was called. “Did you not hear me?” asked Mrs. Chatterton angrily, coming to her door.

“Oh, I beg pardon,” said Polly, really glad ever since that dreadful time when Mrs. Chatterton was ill, to do anything for her. “For I never shall forget how naughty I was to her,” Polly said over to herself now as she turned back.

“You may well beg my pardon,” said Mrs. Chatterton, “for of all ill-bred girls, you are certainly the worst. I want you.” Then she disappeared within her room.

“What is it?” asked Polly, coming in. “I shall be so glad to help.”

“Help!” repeated Mrs. Chatterton in scorn. She was standing over by her toilet table. “You can serve me; come here.”

The hot blood mounted to Polly's brow. Then she thought, “Oh, what did I say? That I would do anything for Mrs. Chatterton if she would only forgive me for those dreadful words I said to her.” And she went over and stood by the toilet table.

“Oh, you have concluded to come?” observed Mrs. Chatterton scornfully. “So much the better it would be if you could always learn what your place is in this house. There, you see this lace?” She shook out her flowing sleeve, glad to display her still finely moulded arm, that had been one of her chief claims to distinction, even if nobody but this little country-bred girl saw it.

Polly looked at the dangling lace, evidently just torn, with dismay; seeing which, Mrs. Chatterton broke out sharply, “Get the basket, girl, over there on the table, and sew it as well as you can.”

“Polly!” called Jasper over the stairs, “where are you?”

Polly trembled all over as she hurried across the room to get the sewing basket. Grandpapa was not ready, she knew; but she always ran down a little ahead for the fun of the last moments waiting with Jasper, when old Mr. King was going to take them out of an evening. And in the turmoil in her mind, she didn't observe that Hortense had misplaced the basket, putting it on the low bookcase, and was still searching all over the table as directed, when Mrs. Chatterton's sharp voice filled her with greater dismay.

“Stupid! if you would put heart into your search, it would be easy enough to find it.”

“Polly, where are you!” Polly, in her haste not to displease Mrs. Chatterton by replying to Jasper before finding the basket, knocked over one of the small silver-topped bottles with which the dressing table seemed to be full, and before she could rescue it, it fell to the floor.

“Go out of this room,” commanded Mrs. Chatterton, with blazing eyes. “I ought to have known better than to call upon a heavy-handed, low-born country girl, to do a delicate service.”

“I didn't mean—” began poor Polly.

“Go out of this room!” Mrs. Chatterton, now thoroughly out of temper, so far forgot herself as to stamp her foot; and Polly, feeling as if she had lost all chance in her future encounters with Mrs. Chatterton, of atoning for past short-comings, went sadly out, to meet, just beside the door, Jasper, with amazement on his face.

“Oh, Polly, I thought you were never coming.” Then he saw her face.

“That old—” he said under his breath. “Polly, don't ever go into her room again. I wouldn't,” as they hurried off downstairs.

“She won't let me,” said Polly, her head drooping, and the brightness all gone from her face. “She won't ever let me go again, I know.”

“Won't let you? Well, I guess you'll not give her a chance,” cried Jasper hotly. “Polly, I do really wish that father would tell her to go away.”

“Oh, Jasper,” cried Polly, in alarm, “don't say one word to Grandpapa. Promise me you won't, Jasper.”

“Well, father is tired of her. She wears on him terribly, Polly,” said Jasper gloomily.

“I know,” said Polly sadly. “And oh, Jasper, if you say one word, he will really have her go. And I was so bad to her, you know,” and the tears came into Polly's brown eyes.

“Well, she must have been perfectly terrible to you,” said Jasper.

“Polly—Jasper—where are you?” came in old Mr. King's voice.

“Here, father,” and “Here, Grandpapa,” and Clare running up the steps, the little party was soon in the carriage.

“Promise me, Jasper, do,” implored Polly, when Grandpapa was explaining to Cathie about the great actor they were to see, and Clare was listening to hear all about it, too.

“Oh, I won't,” promised Jasper, “if you don't wish me to.”

“I really wouldn't have you for all the world,” declared Polly; and now that this fear was off from her mind, she began to pick up her old, bright spirits, so that by the time the carriage stopped at the theatre, Polly was herself again.

Jasper watched her keenly, and drew a long breath when he saw her talking and laughing with Grandpapa.

“You are going to sit next to me, Polly,” said the old gentleman, marshalling his forces when well within. “And Jasper next. Then, Cathie, you will have a knight on either side.”

“Oh, I can't sit between two boys,” cried Cathie, forgetting herself in her terror.

“I won't bite you,” cried Clare saucily.

“I will see that Clare behaves himself,” said Jasper.

“You'll do nicely, my dear,” said Mr. King encouragingly to her; then proceeded down the aisle after the usher. So there was nothing to do but to obey. And Cathie, who would have found it a formidable thing to be stranded on the companionship of one boy, found herself between two, and Polly Pepper far off, and not the least able to help.

“Now, then,” said Jasper, taking up the program, “I suppose father told you pretty much all that was necessary to know about Irving. Well—” And then, without waiting for a reply, Jasper dashed on about the splendid plays in which he had seen this wonderful actor, and the particular one they were to enjoy to-night; and from that he drifted off to the fine points to be admired in the big playhouse, with its striking decorations, making Cathie raise her eyes to take it all in, until Clare leaned over to say:

“I should think you might give Cathie and me a chance to talk a little, Jasper.”

“Oh, I don't want to talk,” cried Cathie in terror. “I don't know anything to say.”

“Well, I do,” said Clare, in a dudgeon, “only Jasper goes on in such a streak to-night.”

“I believe I have been talking you both blue,” said Jasper, with a laugh.

“You certainly have,” said Clare, laughing too.

And then Cathie laughed, and Polly Pepper, looking over, beamed at her, for she had begun to be worried.

“The best thing in the world,” said old Mr. King, “was to turn her over to those two boys. Now, don't give her another thought, Polly; she'll get on.”

And she did; so well, that before long, she and Clare were chatting away merrily; and Cathie felt it was by no means such a very terrible experience to be sitting between two boys at a play; and by the time the evening was half over, she was sure that she liked it very much.

And Polly beamed at her more than ever, and Jasper felt quite sure that he had never enjoyed an evening more than the one at present flying by so fast. And old Mr. King, so handsome and stately, showed such evident pride in his young charges, as he smiled and chatted, that more than one old friend in the audience commented on it.

“Did you ever see such a change in any one?” asked a dowager, levelling her keen glances from her box down upon the merry party.

“Never; it was the one thing needed to make him quite perfect,” said another one of that set. “He is approachable now—absolutely fascinating, so genial and courteous.”

“His manners were perfect before,” said a third member of the box party, “except they needed thawing out—a bit too icy.”

“You are too mild. I should say they were quite frozen. He never seemed to me to have any heart.”

“Well, it's proved he has,” observed her husband. “I tell you that little Pepper girl is going to make a sensation when she comes out,” leaning over for a better view of the King party, “and the best of it is that she doesn't know it herself.”

And Clare made up his mind that Cathie Harrison was an awfully nice girl; and he was real glad she had moved to town and joined the Salisbury School. And as he had two cousins there, they soon waked up a conversation over them.

“Only I don't know them much,” said Cathie. “You see I haven't been at the school long, and besides, the girls didn't have much to say to me till Polly Pepper said nice things to me, and then she asked me to go to the bee.”

“That old sewing thing where they make clothes for the poor little darkeys down South?” asked Clare.

“Yes; and it's just lovely,” said Cathie, “and I never supposed I'd be asked. And Polly Pepper came down to my desk one day, and invited me to come to the next meeting, and I was so scared, I couldn't say anything at first; and then Polly got me into the Salisbury Club.”

“Oh, yes, I know.” Clare nodded, and wished he could forget how he had asked one of the other boys on that evening when the two clubs united, why in the world the Salisbury Club elected Cathie Harrison into its membership.

“And then Polly Pepper's mother invited me to visit her—Polly, I mean—and so here I am”—she forgot she was talking to a dreaded boy, and turned her happy face toward him—“and it's just lovely. I never visited a girl before.”

“Never visited a girl before!” repeated Clare, in astonishment.

“No,” said Cathie. “You see, my father was a minister, and we lived in the country, and when I visited anybody, which was only two or three times in my life, it was to papa's old aunts.”

“Oh dear me!” exclaimed Clare faintly, quite gone in pity.

“And so your father moved to town,” he said; and then he knew that he had made a terrible mistake.

“Now she won't speak a word—perhaps burst out crying,” he groaned within himself, as he saw her face. But Cathie sat quite still.

“My papa died,” she said softly, “and he told mamma before he went, to take me to town and have me educated. And one of those old aunts gave the money. And if it hadn't been for him, I'd have run home from the Salisbury School that first week, it was so perfectly awful.”

Clare sat quite still. Then he burst out, “Well, now, Cathie, I think it was just splendid in you to stick on.”

“Do you?” she cried, quite astonished to think any one would think she was “just splendid” in anything. “Why, the girls call me a goose over and over. And sometimes I lose my temper, because they don't say it in fun, but they really mean it.”

“Well, they needn't,” said Clare indignantly, “because I don't think you are a goose at all.”

“Those two are getting on quite well,” said Jasper to Polly. “I don't think we need to worry about Cathie any more.”

“And isn't she nice?” asked Polly, in great delight.

“Yes, I think she is, Polly,” said Jasper, in a way that gave Polly great satisfaction.

But when this delightful evening was all over, and the good nights had been said, and Mother Fisher, as was her wont, had come into Polly's room to help her take off her things, and to say a few words to Cathie too, Polly began to remember the scene in Mrs. Chatterton's room; and a sorry little feeling crept into her heart.

And when Mamsie had gone out and everything was quiet, Polly buried her face in her pillow, and tried not to cry. “I don't believe she will ever forgive me, or let me help her again.”

“Polly,” called Cathie softly from the next room, “I did have the most beautiful time!”

“Did you?” cried Polly, choking back her sobs. “Oh, I am so glad, Cathie!”

“Yes,” said Cathie, “I did, Polly, and I'm not afraid of boys now; I think they are real nice.”

“Aren't they!” cried Polly, “and weren't our seats fine! Grandpapa didn't want a box to-night, because we could see the play so much better from the floor. But we ought to go to sleep, Cathie, for Mamsie wouldn't like us to talk. Good night.”

“Good night,” said Cathie. “A box!” she said to herself, as she turned on her pillow, “oh, I should have died to have sat up in one of those. It was quite magnificent enough where I was.”

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