The Project Gutenberg eBook of Janet--A twin, by Dorothy Whitehill

She jumped and looked up and directly into the grey eyes of the mysterious boy. (<i>See Page 68</i>)

She jumped and looked up and directly into the grey eyes
of the mysterious boy. (See Page 68)

JANET

CHAPTER I

A GLIMPSE OF JANET

It was an every-day sort of a looking road, broad and dusty and flat. It ran straight across the landscape and ended abruptly in a merger of blue sky and sparkling sea. On either side of it sandy soil dotted with clusters of dwarfed scrub oaks stretched out into limitless space. There was an uninteresting sameness about its sunny dustiness that discouraged all hope of adventure.

But on a late September afternoon it was the setting of a little scene that marked the turning place in the life of Janet Page.

The drowsy quiet was broken first by the short, excited bark of a dog, a crackle of leaves and a snapping of twigs in the scrub oak, and then several things happened in quick succession.

A long snake scuttled into the road, a wiry little Irish terrier bounded after it, followed by a whirling fury of starched petticoats, long slender legs and an immense red bow.

A tiny cloud of dust curtained them all for a minute; when it settled, it disclosed a rigid tableau. Janet held the dog's collar in one strong little brown hand, and with the other and the aid of one foot she grasped the snake.

"Do something!" she demanded excitedly, as she turned angry eyes toward a fat, roly-poly figure that still remained partially hidden by the scrub oak, watching the scene with an expression of fear and distaste in his pale blue eyes.

Janet was too much occupied to look at him, but her voice expressed the contempt she felt.

Harry made a wide detour and, snatching the dog, retreated hurriedly back to the side of the road.

"You're not going to kill him," he said nervously, and he pointed a trembling finger at the wriggling snake.

For answer, Janet picked up a large stone. Harry turned his face away. He wanted to put his fingers in his ears so that he would not hear the soft thud that followed, but the frantic dog made that impossible.

"Come on back," Janet said at last; "he's quite dead, and I've thrown him into the bushes, so you won't even have to look at him." Her voice sounded very grown up and patronizing, and Harry justly resented it.

"Now look here, Janet Page," he exploded; "you needn't put on airs. It's not such a big thing to kill a snake anyway," he finished lamely. "I could have done it only I didn't see any sense in it; even if it had bitten Boru, it wouldn't have hurt him any." Harry was trying hard to justify an act that he hardly understood himself. He was a nice boy, two years Janet's senior, and until to-day he had never let her forget his advantage.

"You see, I'm older than you are and I've got lots more sense. I knew that a snake like that couldn't really hurt a dog and so I just—" He paused, and under Janet's cool gaze he blushed very slowly, right up to the roots of his hair.

"Why don't you tell the truth?" she asked quietly. "You know you are afraid of snakes."

"Well, what if I am?" Harry shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I can't help it, can I? Anyway, your grandmother says—"

"Never mind what my grandmother says," Janet interrupted angrily. "I know it all by heart. She says you are a very mannerly little boy; that's because you never forget to take off your hat when you go into her room. And she says you're respectful; that's because you always say 'yes, ma'm; no ma'm; thank you, ma'm,' and she says you always look tidy, and that's because you never climb trees and always wear shoes and stockings, no matter how hot it is, and—"

"No, I don't suppose you can," she said at last; "only somehow I wish you were different." Her gaze traveled slowly from his round-toed boots to his neatly brushed hair; a dreamy look came into her eyes, and the little flecks of gold in the soft-brown iris caught the sun's rays and glistened. She sighed profoundly.

"But if you couldn't kill a snake," she said, speaking more to herself than to him, "why, you couldn't ever kill a dragon, you see; nor ride a coal-black charger, nor fight for your lady's favor—" Her brow wrinkled in a puzzled frown, but it cleared almost at once. "I was forgetting," she laughed; "you wouldn't want to anyway, so it doesn't matter; that is, not so very much."

She looked around her for Boru; he was busily investigating the remains of the snake in the bushes, but at her whistle he trotted obediently to her heel, and together they walked off down the road.

They walked in silence, Janet a little ahead, until they reached the road that ran along the waterfront and passed the white gate of the old Page house.

"Well, I don't care if you don't; you're just a girl anyway." Harry's lip trembled ever so slightly and he turned on his heel and hurried off, trying to hold his head high.

Janet swung on the gate for a few minutes and watched him until a bend in the road hid him from view, then she went up the long flight of stone steps.

The Page house crowned the terrace above. It was big, somber and very old. To Janet it seemed to be very tired, too, as though it had waited and watched a long time for the sea, whose waves beat incessantly on the shore below, to yield some secret now long forgotten by the living world.

Four stern columns guarded the square porch and the old-fashioned, ivory-white door with its leaded fan lights and heavy knocker. Janet slipped noiselessly into the wide hall that reflected the glow of polished mahogany and soft afternoon sunlight. Just as she tiptoed across the thick rag rugs and was half way up the stairs, the big grandfather clock boomed three, and as if in echo to it a voice, quavering but still clear and penetrating, called:

Janet had a sudden and unheard of wish not to answer, but she conquered it and replied at once:

"Yes, grandmother, it's me." Before the words had had time to float down the stairs she was conscious of her mistake. "Drat the personal pronoun anyway," she said to herself; "now I will catch it."

Mrs. Page's room was on the first floor at the back of the house away from the sea and overlooking a trim little garden. An old-fashioned sleigh bed stood between the windows, and in the very middle of it a little old lady, wearing an immense cap, sat propped up against half a dozen pillows.

This was Mrs. Page, Janet's grandmother. She was perhaps the most feared and certainly the most respected woman in Old Chester, and although she had been bedridden for as many years as Janet could remember she took a lively interest in the affairs of the community, and no important step was ever taken until Cap'n Page's widow was consulted. Her advice had a way of sounding very much like a command.

Janet knew the room by heart. She could have told the location of everything in it with her eyes blindfolded, so she wasted no time in looking about her but went straight up to the bed and sat down on the low chair, where all Mrs. Page's callers sat. It was placed so that she could see them without twisting her neck; a thing she particularly disliked having to do.

Two steely blue eyes opened slowly, and seemed to bore into the soft depth of Janet's brown ones.

"I know I said me instead of I, but I was thinking of something else and I forgot," she exclaimed impatiently.

Janet frowned and shook her head. "It's not the slightest use to, for you'd never, never understand. You see, it was something entirely different from all this." She looked around the immaculate room and shook her head again, this time in despair.

Mrs. Page lifted herself on to one elbow and looked at her grand-daughter carefully for a full minute.

There was a long pause, for Janet did not reply. She was watching a butterfly out in the garden and trying to decide what it was he was whispering to that big floppy rose.

Mrs. Page settled back into her pillows and pulled the coverlet well up under her chin.

"You may go," she said, pointing a bony finger toward the door. "I am about to write to your brother. I regret that I will have to tell him that you are not only careless but rude."

"Yes, grandmother." Janet stood up, and after she had carefully straightened the chair upon which she had been sitting she walked quietly out of the room.

Once in the hall, with the door closed, a tiny sigh escaped her. She leaned up against the old clock and stared at a patch of sunlight on the rug; Two big round tears rolled down her cheeks unnoticed.

Boru came over inquisitively from his place by the stairs and licked her hand. She dropped to her knees beside him and hugged him impulsively.

"Come along, old fellow," she whispered. "Let's go up to the 'widow's walk' and think it all out. I guess grandmother is right; something has come over me."

CHAPTER II

ON THE WIDOWS' WALK

"But just what is it?" she mused a few minutes later, as she settled herself comfortably and pulled Boru's shaggy head down to her knee.

The "widows' walk" was Janet's favorite place in which to think things out, for it was on the flat roof of the house, away from any possible interruptions. Martha, the old servant, had long ago given up attempting the rickety stairs that led to it. It was in itself a rather dangerous spot. Many of the boards that went to make the platform were broken or badly rotted from long exposure to wind and rain. The railing that ran around it was in the last stage of decay. But there was something about it, perhaps the feeling of being up among the tree tops, that made Janet disregard its dangers.

As a rule, she was content to sit and gaze out to sea and "pretend." The name, "widows' walk," opened up so many avenues of imaginings. She often saw the ghosts of the poor distracted women of long ago, pacing up and down, their eyes always turned toward the sea, searching for a familiar masthead. Old Chester had once been a famous fishing village, and the roof of every house along the shore was topped by some sort of observatory. Sometimes it was a square glass cupola, but more often it was a wooden walk, such as crowned the Page house, and because in so many, many cases the looked-for boats never did return to harbor, these walks unhappily came to be called "widows' walks."

To-day, however, Janet had no time for fancy. Something inside her head and her heart was demanding to be put into words.

"I wonder what is the matter with me!" she said again. "I feel awfully different. I suppose I'm unhappy. Am I, do you think!"

If any one had accused Janet of talking to herself she would have resented it hotly, but it was characteristic of her to pour out her troubles to the ever-patient and understanding Boru.

"I'm lonely, for one thing," she confided as she pulled one velvety soft ear. "Of course any one but you would say that was silly, for I have Harry to play with, and then there are the Blake children." Two well-behaved, very clean and very shiny girls filled her imagination for an instant, but she dismissed them with a frown. "They don't count, because they simply won't play the way I want to. Harry is a boy, and I do—no, I did like him a little better, but you know, old fellow, that after the way he acted to-day about the snake, I just—well, he is a scare-cat and that's all there is about it."

Boru's eyes, almost as brown as his mistress's, looked up in solemn confirmation of her last remark.

"I guess lonely isn't just exactly the word, but it's something a lot like it. I want some one to be with who is more like me—" She broke off suddenly, "I wish I had a sister," she whispered softly. Her arm tightened around Boru's neck, and she buried her head in his shaggy coat. Then quite suddenly she sat bolt upright, and her eyes flashed. "I'm mad, too; mad all the way through at everything and everybody except you,"—Boru acknowledged the exception with an affectionate lick—"and I think the person I'm the very maddest at is my big brother Thomas. He's not a bit the kind of a brother to have." She jumped up suddenly, and the breeze coming in from the water took the skirt of her gingham dress and flapped it as it would a sail.

Boru was a little surprised and disturbed at being so unceremoniously upset but he cocked one ear expectantly.

Her determination did not leave her even when she was seated at her big desk, where everything was arranged in perfect order for letter writing. Janet had written her brother at stated intervals during her thirteen years, but each and every letter had always been carefully read and corrected by her grandmother. Stiff and formal notes were the result. As for answers, she had never received any, as far back as she could remember, but a brief typewritten note reached her grandmother twice a year and stated, rather than said, that Thomas was well and that the ranch in far-away Arizona was as successful as could be expected under the conditions of the present year. True, he never forgot to send his love to Janet, but Janet, from early childhood, had had a very decided idea about that sort of love. To-day she meant to make that idea known.

With a great deal of care and precision she selected an especially clean sheet of paper and a square and very businesslike envelope, put a new gold pen in her penholder and set to work. The first words she wrote were "Dear Thomas," then she stopped. There were so many things she wanted to say. She looked to Boru for inspiration He was gazing thoughtfully at a fly that was crawling along the floor; the instant it started to fly he pounced on it. Janet laughed. "Thanks, Boru; that is just what I'll do myself; I'll gobble Thomas up all at once." She turned back to her desk and wrote under the "Dear Thomas:

"I have been meaning to write to you for ever so long and to say just what I wanted to, and so I might as well tell you right away that grandmother is not going to see this letter at all. It's just from me to you, and I'm not going to be particular about grammar or blots. The most 'special things I have to say are all questions, and then some other things that are not very nice. Perhaps I'd better start with those. The first one is that I think you would be a lot nicer if you called yourself Tom or Tommy, instead of Thomas. Of course I don't know what you look like, for the only picture we have of you is a baby one that I know you would perfectly hate, but I think you are short and frown a lot, and I hope you haven't a beard but I'm afraid you have. I just told Boru, that's my dog, but you probably wouldn't like him, that you were not a bit what a big brother ought to be, and I really don't think you are, and I might as well say that you would have been much more of a comfort to me if you'd been a sister.

"The questions I want to ask you are: What do you do in Arizona, and are you ever coming home, and do you ride horseback, and don't you like to be with lots of people instead of just with a few that some one else chooses for you, and what would you think of a boy who was afraid of snakes? If you say that he's a sensible boy—that's what grandmother would say—I'll never like you, never.

"If I only knew you and you were nice like the boys in the books I read, how many things we could talk over! I could ask you about all the things that really matter—the things that grandmother won't even let me mention. Thomas, I'm really not too young to be told things. I'd grow up all in a minute if I could be with girls my own age. But I don't expect you'll understand, so I won't write any more. I've said some of the things I wanted to and that makes me feel a little tit better."

She hesitated over the ending, and finally decided just to sign her name. Then without reading over what she had written, lest her resolve weaken, she folded up the paper and put it into its envelope.

Boru's tail thumping on the floor made her conscious of steps outside her door, and she hastily finished writing the address and slipped the letter into her pocket just as Martha opened her door.

"Now, Miss Janet, not dressed for your tea, and it almost six o'clock, and Mrs. Waters with your grandmother and wanting to see you! Tut, tut!" Martha shook her gray head in real despair. She was a kindly old woman, who had served faithfully all her life, but because it was so simple for her to do what was expected of her always she had never understood how hard it was sometimes for others; but she was never cross and usually contented herself with saying, "Tut, tut!" in her mild old voice at all Janet's failings.

"What does Mrs. Waters want me for?" Janet asked. A vision of Harry's mother retailing the afternoon's adventure with the snake made her heart sink.

"I couldn't say, my dear," Martha replied placidly. "Your grandmother sent me to get you. Here now, brush up your hair a bit. Are your hands clean?"

Janet submitted to being tidied up, and then hurried downstairs to her grandmother's room.

Mrs. Waters was seated in the visitor's chair, her back to the door, but she turned around as Janet entered and smiled a welcome. Mrs. Page spoke:

"Janet, what is all this I hear about your knowing how to take care of sick dogs?" she inquired crossly.

Janet hesitated. She did know a good deal about the care of all animals, but she was at a loss as to how to explain her knowledge to her grandmother.

"Well, do you or don't you know anything about them?" Mrs. Page insisted impatiently.

"Yes, I do know about them." Janet's reply came so quickly that it surprised herself.

Her grandmother looked at her for a long minute and then nodded her head. "Very well; go with Mrs. Waters and do what you can for her dog," she said sharply, and then to indicate that the interview was at an end she turned her back on her visitors.

Mrs. Waters took Janet's arm and hurried out of the room. She was a timid little woman, very easily silenced, and she still spoke in a half whisper when they were out of the house.

"It's Roy, my dear, our English setter; he has hurt his paw, and the veterinary is away," she explained.

Janet gave a mighty sigh of relief. Harry had not told tales. She smiled at his mother reassuringly.

"Oh, I'm sure you can. Harry says you are wonderful with animals," Mrs. Waters replied. "Roy is such a valuable dog," she added.

They reached the Waters' cottage, just off the main street of the little village, and Janet followed Mrs. Waters around to the barn. Before the door was opened, she could hear the low moan of an animal in pain. Once inside, she knelt down beside Roy and patted him. He gave her the affectionate welcome, always awarded a true dog lover.

"May I have a darning needle? she asked. Mrs. Waters hurried to the house to get it. Janet busied herself filling a basin with clear spring water, and she took the towel from its roller on the kitchen porch.

"Here it is, my dear," Mrs. Waters said, "and a bottle of peroxide. You don't mind if I don't stay, do you! I'd be sure to faint."

Janet smiled. "No indeed. I can get along quite well alone," she said, and knelt to her task.

For the next few minutes she was absorbed in her work. The splinter was in deep, and it was hard to make Roy lie still. She was about to give up in despair when a voice, almost at her elbow, said:

She turned quickly, startled, and saw a boy about fifteen, very shabbily dressed in old blue overalls and a torn straw hat. His hair, burnt by the sun, was almost red, and his eyes were a clear gray. Janet was too astonished to speak, but with a nod she accepted his offer to help, and they worked in silence until the splinter was out and the wound carefully bathed.

"I guess I'll let him lick it," Janet said, putting aside the bandage Mrs. Waters had given her. The boy nodded.

"No, we haven't any, you see," Janet replied, as she gathered up the things and started for the house.

"Too bad." The boy spoke with a drawl that had nothing of laziness in it but a good deal of dreamy calculation. He leaned over and patted Roy. "Good night, old fellow," he said, and without a word more to Janet he disappeared as quietly as he had come.

Janet went on into the house, wondering who he could be, but for some reason she did not ask Mrs. Waters, perhaps because that good lady was too busy thanking her.

"I think you are so clever, dearie," she said warmly. "I wonder where Harry can be. It's dark, and he ought to see you home."

"Oh, don't bother Harry," Janet protested. "I'll run all the way and I'll be there in no time. I'll be down to see Roy to-morrow."

As soon as she was out of sight of the cottage she did run. It was quite chilly, and the salt wind in her face made her blood tingle, and all the worries of the day faded away with the last glow of the sunset. It was not until she was undressing for bed, several hours later, that she remembered her letter. Her time had been taken up thinking about the strange boy who had come so quietly to her aid. When she went to the pocket of her dress to look for it, it was not there.

CHAPTER III

MRS. TODD INTERVENES

"What are you in such a hurry with your breakfast for, child?" Martha, her hands on her big hips, stood in the doorway between the dining-room and the kitchen, and looked at Janet with mild curiosity.

It was a gray, misty morning, with a salty taste and feel to everything. Janet looked up from her place where, with the assistance of Boru, she was finishing the last strip of bacon on her plate.

"I want to go over to the Waters' to see how Roy is," she explained only half truthfully, for her thoughts were almost entirely centered on the hope of finding the letter she had lost the night before.

"Well, dearie me, that's no reason for bolting your food," Martha protested, but she let the matter drop and went back into her kitchen.

Without waiting to stop at her grandmother's room, Janet hurried out of the house and started for the village. She kept her eyes on the road, but the Waters' cottage was reached without a sign of the missing white envelope.

Harry was lurking in the doorway of the barn, and Janet called a cheery greeting to him. There was no sign of the boy with the torn straw hat.

"Ah, he's all right." Harry was still a little resentful, for he was thinking of the snake. Janet had completely forgotten it.

Roy, at the first sound of her voice, got up from his place in the hay and wagged his tail. Janet knelt and inspected the paw.

"It's a whole lot better, isn't it, old fellow?" she asked as she patted him. "Keep it clean and don't walk on it," she advised seriously.

"You'd think Roy was a human being to hear you go on. He doesn't know what you're talking about," he said.

Janet did not reply, but she smiled into the dog's eyes, and Harry had an uncomfortable feeling that they were both laughing at him.

As she talked, Janet made a careful search for the letter but it was nowhere to be seen, and with a sinking feeling at her heart she realized that some one must have found it. But whom? She knelt on the floor beside Roy, and the thought worried her brain. If Mrs. Waters had it she would, of course, take it to Mrs. Page and then—she shrugged her shoulders. It was foolish to worry over it anyway, until something happened. It would be a simple matter to write another, but somehow the spirit that had prompted her to revolt the day before was gone.

"What are you doing anyway?"—Harry interrupted her musings. She gave a characteristic little shrug and jumped up.

Harry had been doing some thinking himself for the last few minutes, and he had come to the decision that it never paid to get mad at Janet, for no matter how cross you acted she never even bothered to notice you. So it was with a very different tone of voice that he asked as she started for home:

"No, come on if you want to," Janet replied, and together they walked down the path.

"Let's stop at the post office," Janet suggested, her thoughts, in spite of her determination to forget it, still on the letter.

As they neared the little, low, red-brick building almost covered by dark green ivy that served as post office and general store for Old Chester, they noticed a horse and cart with bright yellow wheels drawn up at the curb. The harness was new and shining, and the horse, a beautiful sorrel with slender legs, tossed his head impatiently.

"Dunno," Harry was not particularly interested. "Guess it's Mrs. Todd's. I heard mother talking about her last night. She is visiting at the rectory, 'cause she's a cousin or something of Mrs. Blake's." The door of the post office opened and he lowered his voice. "Here she comes now."

Janet looked up and saw a tall, mannish-looking woman, dressed in a rough serge suit and heavy boots, coming toward them. She had on a soft gray felt hat without any trimming, and she carried a market basket over her arm. Her eyes were small but they were so very blue and penetrating that Janet felt they must be making holes in the back of her head.

"Hello, whose children are you?" she demanded rather than asked as she put her basket into the cart She turned to Harry. "You're Harry Waters. I know but you." She scrutinized Janet, and suddenly her face softened and she put one big hand on her slender shoulder.

"You're a Page," she said. "The Pages all have straight short noses. Wait a minute and let me think. Haven't you a sister?"

Janet shook her head and smiled. It was a merry smile, for she suddenly realized that she liked this queer, outspoken woman very much.

"No, I haven't a sister," she replied. "I wish I had. I have a brother and a grandmother, and I think that's all, except Boru." She looked down at the dog who was sniffing at the stranger's skirts. "Your horse is a beauty," she added shyly.

"Like him? So do I. Suppose you drive me home; that is, to the rectory. I am staying there, and my name is Ann Todd. Here you are! Jump in, Harry. If you can wind up those fat legs of yours you will just fit in the back."

Janet had hard work not to show her surprise, for it was even greater than her delight. She had never, in all her short life, met any one who out off their sentences as though they were clipping threads and who made up their minds so quickly.

They reached the rectory before she could think of anything to say, and then all she could stammer was, "Oh, thank you ever so much; it was simply thrilling."

Alice and Mildred Blake were sitting in the tiny little flower garden, both busy with yards of green bunting which they were sewing together in long strips. They looked up in surprise as they saw Janet and Harry.

"Oh, Janet, will your grandmother really let you; isn't that wonderful!" they exclaimed.

Janet was utterly bewildered. "What are you talking about!" she demanded. "Will my grandmother let me do what!"

"Perhaps I can explain," she said. "The girls are talking about the church fair. Their mother said something last night about your grandmother's never letting you take any part in it, and I said that I would undertake to see that you came this year, and so I will." Her jaw snapped with such decision as she said these words that Janet almost jumped.

"That's awfully nice of you," she replied politely, "but grandmother's mind is rather hard to change. I never try."

"I hardly remember,"—Janet laughed. "It's so long since I ceased to come. I was ten then and I thought it would be such fun, but—well, I didn't, and I've never asked since. I think being out late was one of the reasons."

"Humph!" was all Mrs. Todd had to say, but a few minutes later she offered to drive Janet home.

On the way, as they bowled along the soft sandy road, Janet worried a little. It was luncheon time, and her grandmother never saw visitors until after three o'clock, but it would be quite useless even to try to explain this to Mrs. Todd, for in her own way she was just as positive and determined as the eccentric Mrs. Page.

"Grim as ever,"—Mrs. Todd laughed as the house came into view. "It's twenty years since I opened that front door but, bless my soul, I know that everything is going to be just the same."

"I did, and I was in this house almost as much as I was in my own. Your father and I were the best of friends."

Mrs. Todd nodded to her and tied the horse to the garden gate and walked slowly up the narrow, moss-grown walk, a whimsical smile on her thin face.

Martha was speechless, and Janet had to laugh as she watched her curl one end of her apron into a hard little knot.

"Well, Martha,"—Mrs. Todd held out her hand—"don't look as though you had seen a ghost."

Martha managed to say something, but she was quite powerless to stop the visitor from striding into the house and walking unannounced into Mrs. Page's room.

Janet sat down on the stone seat in the garden and waited. Boru stretched out on the path at her feet and panted after his run. Not a sound came from the house.

Janet did not try to imagine what was going on in her grandmother's room. She was conscious that a big change had come into her life, and she dimly realized that in the future she would spend more time in thinking than she had ever spent before. It seemed as though she was conscious of the world around her, and instead of just accepting it she felt that she was a part of it.

"Janet Page," she said aloud, and stared hard at the old sun-dial. Suddenly Boru barked, and she jumped as though she had been wakened from a dream. The dog rushed to the corner of the garden, and Janet looked up just in time to see the rim of a torn straw hat disappear over the wall.

CHAPTER IV

JANET'S KINGDOM

Janet did not have time to investigate further, for at that moment Martha beckoned her mysteriously into the house. It was plain to be seen that the old servant was greatly disturbed.

"What's the matter!" Janet inquired in a whisper, for she caught some of the suspense.

"Oh, Miss Janet, whatever shall we do?" Martha exclaimed. "Mrs. Todd walked into your grandmother's room, and they have been arguing ever since. Your grandmother will have a turn I know, and yet I don't dare to interrupt them. What shall I do?"

It was a proof of the Great Change to be consulted, and Janet smiled with something like pride.

"I shouldn't do anything if I were you," she replied quietly. "Perhaps they are not arguing any more. They may just be talking; they're old friends, you know."

Martha shot a quick glance toward the closed door. "Old friends," she said, and then, thinking better of it, she did not finish the sentence, but said instead, "Sit down to your luncheon, child, do; it's getting cold and there's no reason to wait."

Janet nodded and went into the dining-room. She took a long time over her chops and sweet potatoes, but she finished without hearing the door to her grandmother's room open.

Martha was almost in tears. "Your grandmother has had no luncheon," she protested. "Dearie me, what shall I do?"

"Take my advice and wait until she calls you," Janet advised. "You know she doesn't like to be disturbed. I'm going out," she added. "No, Boru, you can't come to-day; stay home, like a good dog."

Boru buried his head in his paws and with a very mournful expression watched her leave. He knew that there was one mysterious place to which he was never allowed to accompany his mistress, and he resented it. He was right in guessing that she was going there to-day.

Janet left the house by the door that led to the steps and down to the sea road. The water looked sparkling blue and inviting, and she hurried along until she came to a small dock, very much the worse for age. She untied a row boat and found two broken oars that were hidden in the tall grass beside the road. There was no one in sight as she pushed off, and only a few sails were visible flapping smartly out beyond the harbor.

Her cheeks were flushed as she sent the old boat skimming over the water, for she was on her way to her secret kingdom. Though she had sailed to it many times there was always the chance of discovery, and that added zest to the adventure.

The point of land toward which she was heading was quite a distance off, and looked to be rather a desolate island. It was, in reality, however, a part of the mainland, for the bay came in, and the land around it was shaped like a big hook. There were a few fishing huts along the shore, and farther inland low farms nestled into the hills.

Janet chose a certain cove to land in and pulled her boat safely up on shore, and then she started off at a brisk walk. At this particular point of the beach the sand dunes were very high, and she was screened from sight except from the water front. She walked for about a quarter of a mile and then began to climb. Up above her on a rising knoll of ground a little way beyond the sand dunes was an old gray house. It was large and very rambling, but it was tumbling down. The roof sagged at one end, and the two big chimneys were crumbling to ruin. There was not a sign of life anywhere about it or in the many ramshackled farm buildings that evidently belonged to it. All the windows were boarded up but one, a very small one that led into the cellar. Janet pushed it open gently and slid down as far as she could and then dropped. It was very dark and very musty. She groped her way to the rickety stairs as quickly as she could. The door at the top opened with a groan as she pushed, and she was in a long, low-ceilinged kitchen. Rain had come down through the leaky roof and rusted the stove, the furniture was covered with dust, and a forlorn china cup with its handle broken lay dejectedly on one corner of the table.

Janet glanced hurriedly about her, to make sure that no one had been in the room since she had, and then hurried into the front hall. Some heavy pieces of furniture were partly covered by torn and dirty sheets; they looked like ghosts in the dim light that filtered in through the boarded windows. Janet, in spite of the many times that she had passed them, could not repress a shiver, and she gave a sigh of relief as she closed the door of another room behind her. She was in her kingdom at last, and she surveyed it with sparkling eyes. It was a long room with a low ceiling that ran the length of the house. In the center along one side was a huge fireplace. Each one of the six windows had a broad window seat. There was very little furniture, and none of it was covered by dust sheets. In consequence, the stuffing was coming out of several of the chairs and a puddle of water had sopped into the big horsehair sofa. The only human looking thing in the room was a pair of gloves on one end of the table. They were badly mildewed and they looked very limp and lifeless, but they had belonged to some one of the mysterious owners of the house, and Janet always nodded to them with mock respect. It was the books that made the room a kingdom. Rows and rows of them lined the walls from floor to ceiling. Some of them were damp and moldy but they were all readable, and that was all that mattered to Janet, though she sometimes cried over a broken binding and patted it quite as she would have stroked a hurt puppy.

"Well, my darlings, I have come back to you," she said as she slipped to her knees before a corner bookcase, "and I want you to be very kind to me and take me far, far away to—" She let her hand wander over the backs of the books until it rested on one, "Greece," she finished, as she read the title.

She made herself as comfortable as possible in one of the window seats, and for an hour she was so engrossed in the old fables and the stirring tales of the gods that she forgot the time. It was only when the light through the chink of the boarding grew too dim to see that she realized with a start that it was getting late.

"And I never looked up about Roy's paw in that animal book!" she exclaimed. Had Mrs. Page heard her, she might have understood where she had learned so much about the care of dogs.

Janet hurriedly put her book back and went to the bookcase across the room to find what she wanted.

"That's funny," she said. "I thought I left it—why, I did; here's the place where it belongs." An empty hole on the bottom shelf confronted her, and looked as if the smiling row had lost a tooth.

Without exactly knowing why, Janet was frightened. She had looked upon this room as so particularly hers for so long that there was something uncanny in the thought that some one else had dared to trespass.

"Perhaps I put it back somewhere else." She tried to comfort herself with this thought, but she could not get rid of the queer feeling that some other hands were touching her loves, and that other eyes were seeing into her enchanted pages.

She puzzled over it as she rowed home, but it was impossible to come to any conclusion.

Martha was waiting for her in the hall; her face was even whiter than it had been earlier in the day.

"Miss Janet, you're back, thank goodness; your grandmother has been calling for you all afternoon."

"She hasn't left at all," Martha gasped. "She's sat in there the whole blessed day. Only an hour ago she came into my kitchen as smiling as you please, and said she and Mrs. Page would have a cup of tea and some toast and jam. I took it in, and, well, Miss Janet, it's beyond me; indeed it is!"

"But, Martha, why shouldn't they have tea? Grandmother always has it for her guests." Janet laughed.

"If you knew all that I know of those two and then to see them smiling and laughing together," Martha shook her head, unable to give vent to her feelings in mere words.

Janet raced upstairs and changed her dress, and in a very few minutes she was knocking at her grandmother's door.

"Oh, it's you, is it, dear child!" Mrs. Todd called as she entered. "I was hoping you would get back in time to drive me home."

"Ann, don't presume too far," Mrs. Page said tartly. "Janet, where have you been?"

Janet decided that the change in her grandmother was not as great as Martha had led her to suppose, so she answered as she always did.

Janet sighed and blushed a little; it was not like her grandmother to find fault before people.

"I'm sorry, 'I have been out most of the time, grandmother,'" she corrected, but a second later she almost laughed aloud for she was sure she had heard Mrs. Todd say "fiddlesticks" under her breath.

"I wanted you all afternoon," Mrs. Page went on. "However, we will let that pass. Mrs. Todd wishes you to help this year at the church fair and I have given my consent under one condition—that you are home here by nine o'clock."

"I said ten," Mrs. Todd repeated. "Ten was the hour we agreed on. And now I must be going, as my eyes are not what they used to be and these new roads puzzle me. I must ask you to let Janet drive me home."

For a long minute there was silence, and then Mrs. Page did something she was rarely ever seen to do; she smiled.

For a long minute there was silence, and then Mrs. Page did sometning the was rarely ever seen to do; she smiled.

For a long minute there was silence, and then Mrs. Page
did sometning she was rarely ever seen to do; she smiled.

"You are a very smart woman, Ann Todd, and I'm a very old one. Have your own way, but remember your promise," she said.

The drive through the twilight was wonderful, for Mrs. Todd let Janet do the driving while she sat back and talked.

"You're a funny youngster," she said when they were half way to the village. "You haven't asked me a single question."

"About grandmother, do you mean?" Janet laughed. "I didn't have to. You see, you made her let me go and that's all that matters."

"Your grandmother is a very remarkable woman," she added after a silence that lasted until they were turning into the driveway of the rectory grounds.

"I think she is too," Janet said loyally, "and every one is sure to like her when they know and understand her."

Mrs. Todd got out at the carriage block. "Bless the child," she said almost tenderly, but a second later, as she was going up the steps, she said in her usual brisk manner, "Come 'round to-morrow and see me; we'll have a chat."

Janet gave the horse over to the hired man and walked slowly home. She was so absorbed in her thoughts that she reached the end of the garden wall before she knew it.

The sound of an automobile made her hurry to the side of the road. Motors were not very common in Old Chester, for it was away from the beaten track and the roads were very bad. Janet was a little ashamed of her interest in them, but she could never resist staring at them. The one that was approaching now had powerful searchlights, and she watched them, fascinated. It looked as though they were sweeping right on to her very feet. Suddenly they fell across the corner of the garden wall. It was only for a minute, but it was long enough to illuminate a patch of ground and to bring out into sharp relief a torn straw hat and a thick book bound in dull blue, embossed with a gold dog.

CHAPTER V

NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS

"My dear, you look tired out!" Mrs. Blake exclaimed the next morning, when Janet, very flushed and blown, presented herself at the rectory. "What have you been doing?"

"Yes, it's blowing a gale and it must be hard to walk," Mrs. Blake agreed. "It's bad enough down here, but it must be dreadful up at your house. I can't be glad enough that we are not on the shore; the sound of the waves would depress me so," she added as she gave a little shudder and held the door open for Janet to come in.

Janet did not bother to tell her that she had battled with those same waves in a leaky boat not half an hour ago, for she knew Mrs. Blake would not understand the importance of replacing a certain book in a certain shelf, nor would she see anything funny in the sight of a torn straw hat lying beside a pair of old gloves. But Janet had a very vivid imagination, and she had rowed over that morning to the Kingdom in order to replace the animal book and further to confuse the mysterious boy, she had left his hat on the library table. Her only regret was that she would not be there to see his expression when he found it. There could be no doubt now that he knew the secrets of the deserted house—the hat and book proved it. But Janet, remembering the look in his gray eyes and the way he had patted Roy, could not find it in her heart to be angry.

A bright fire burned in the rectory living room, and Alice and Mildred were sitting beside it. They were still working over the green bunting.

Janet's heart sank. She hated to sew, for her fingers, in spite of Martha's patient teachings, insisted on acting like thumbs.

"What would you like to do, my dear?" Mrs. Blake inquired sweetly. "Will you help the girls or would you rather do something else?"

"I'll do whatever you like," Janet said hesitatingly, "but I think perhaps I could do something else better than I could sew. I'm not very good at sewing, you see."

"Daughters!" Mrs. Blake warned, for she had caught the suggestion of scorn in their voices, and she was quick to notice Janet's flush.

At that moment the door from the dining-room opened, and Mrs. Todd entered. Her cheeks were flushed, and her narrow little eyes seemed brighter than ever.

"Morning everybody," she greeted, smiling at Janet. "You look very cozy in here, but you also look very stuffy. What's the matter, Janet!"

"Nothing, only I'm afraid I'm not going to be much of a help," Janet confessed. "I don't like to sew, you see." Janet always said "you see" when she was embarrassed.

"Neither do I,"—Mrs. Todd laughed. "Had to do too much of it when I was a child."

Janet waited until she was well away from the library before she asked what a fishing pond was. She was used to doing all the explaining and all of the leading when it came to playing with other girls, she had played so seldom with them, and this new and scornful attitude of the Blakes made her unreasonably angry. She knew that if she were competing in climbing trees or rowing—anything that took courage—she would be their superior. But when it was a question of sewing, she had to admit herself beaten. The thought made her very unhappy, for above everything else in the world Janet wanted to be like other girls. Not the Blake girls, but the girl heroines she had read of and dreamed of as friends in her Kingdom.

Mrs. Todd noticed the worried expression on her face and did her best to dispell it by giving her something else to think about.

"A fish pond," she explained in answer to her question, "is a very easy way of making people spend money. You put up a screen and sell little wooden fish poles for ten cents. The buyer goes fishing over the screen and some one ties a present to the end of the line."

Mrs. Todd watched Janet closely, and laughed with delight as the frown deepened on her face.

"I should think there would be,"—Mrs. Todd chuckled. "If you can suggest one we'll change it and surprise them all."

"In water! What would you have them catch? Pincushions and tidies wouldn't be improved by a ducking."

Janet thought for a minute. They were in the Sunday-school rooms, and she was sitting perched up on the high platform.

"Oh, shells and coral and fishes and stones. They are every bit as sensible as pincushions and so much prettier."

"Oh, we have just loads of them up in the attic; queer old shells from all over the world that my great-grandfather, I think it was, brought home with him."

"Oh, she wouldn't mind; she can't bear them. You know, she hates anything that reminds her of the water." Janet looked at her companion wonderingly.

Mrs. Todd looked at her with a peculiar light in her steely eyes. "Not under the circumstances," she said softly, but though Janet waited she did not say any more.

"I asked grandmother once, oh, long ago, if I might play with those shells,"—Janet returned to the subject in hand—"and she said I might do anything I liked with them as long as I kept them out of her sight."

"Well, bring them along with you this afternoon, and if they are of no value we'll use them and surprise the neighborhood."

"They certainly are beauties," she said, when after luncheon Janet had returned with a box full of queer old shells and rough bits of coral.

"Well, I think my great-grandfather used to sail all the way 'round the world," Janet replied. "Do you think they will do?"

Mrs. Todd looked at her. "Do, child! Why, they will cause so much excitement that our booth will be by far the most popular. The only reason I hesitate is that I am afraid that some day you will be sorry you were so generous."

"But how silly,"—Janet laughed. "These are only a few of what we have. There are heaps left in the attic."

"Settled,"—Mrs. Todd laughed. "And now, Miss Original, will you please tell me what other ideas you have lurking in the back of your brain?"

"Now you're teasing,"—Janet laughed. "There's nothing else to think of, except the pond itself, and that ought to be easy. A big tub of real sea water with pebbles and sand banked around it, and perhaps we could borrow some of Mrs. Blake's palms. She has so many, and, oh, well, we can make it look—now, you're laughing at me."

"Not a bit of it," Mrs. Todd denied emphatically. "I am laughing with you, and there's all the difference in the world between the two. But I would like to know just where you got all your imagination."

For a minute Janet was tempted to tell the secret of the Kingdom, but with a start she realized that it was no longer just her secret alone and that in telling it she would almost be guilty of betraying a confidence.

The Sunday-school room was gradually filling up with people. Janet knew them all and bowed politely to each in turn. For the most part the women from the farms, who were bringing in their donations of pies and cakes, stared at her with ill-concealed curiosity. Although she did not know it, Janet was often the topic of conversation and gossip at sewing bees. Women with daughters often spoke of her as "that poor lonely child," and thought of her as different from other girls. It was a decided shock to see her in eager consultation with Mrs. Todd—a most important person—her cheeks ablaze and her eyes sparkling, and having quite as good a time as any ordinary girl; and acting for the most part with far less affectation than their own children.

But though Janet did not show it, she was conscious of the eyes upon her, and it did make her uncomfortable. She was very much relieved when Mrs. Todd stopped in the middle of a sentence and said:

Once outside, Janet drew a breath of relief. Harry Waters was passing, and she hailed him with so much enthusiasm that he decided that he was forgiven and he responded joyfully.

"Want to help me this afternoon?" Janet inquired. "I want a big box of sand, and Mrs. Todd says we may drive her horse and cart to the shore. You get a box," she directed in her old manner.

Harry was too delighted to be back into favor again to make any objections and dashed off at once.

Mrs. Todd nodded her head slowly and laughed. "Boys are better fun than girls, eh?" she inquired.

"Heaps," Janet replied, as she disappeared into the barn to assist in the harnessing of Durward, Mrs. Todd's horse.

CHAPTER VI

THE FAIR

The Sunday-school room was packed with people, but to an observant eye it was noticeable that the greatest number were in the corner under a silk canopy that looked like an Arab's shelter. Hanging beside it on the wall was a sign, printed in orange and blue, that read,

Beyond the tent a group of high palms pointed the way to the beach, where a huge tub filled with water and reflecting myriads of little pebbles was surrounded by a stretch of sand. Sticks with strings and hooks attached stood ready, and to one side a mysterious mound covered by a silk scarf invited the curiosity of the passersby.

Mrs. Todd stood a little to one side and kept looking at her watch. Mrs. Blake came over to her, and it was plain to be seen that they were both worried.

"What do you suppose is keeping her?" Mrs. Blake exclaimed. "It is after four o'clock, and we must begin with the pond. Really, I think it is most inconsiderate of her to keep us waiting. Of course, if Mrs. Page has changed her mind—"

"Mercy Page never changed her mind in her life," Mrs. Todd snapped. "It is something very different than that, and I have a strong suspicion what it is." She looked at a group of giggling girls who were whispering to each other in one corner, and had one of them turned at just that moment they would have wanted to run away, for Mrs. Todd looked very stern and forbidding.

"Let some one else start it," she said. "I'll help them; she may come after all; who knows."

But Janet at that particular moment was rowing with all her might, and she was rowing in the opposite direction from the church fair.

Something glistened in both of her eyes and she stopped every now and then to brush it away. Nothing in the world could have induced her to turn around.

She was hurt and very angry, and the one thought in her confused little mind was to forget there ever was such a thing as a church fair.

This is what had happened. Harry and she had been busy in the early part of the afternoon putting the finishing touches to their work, when Janet found she wanted a pair of scissors. A number of girls were decorating a booth across the room and she went over to borrow theirs. She was hidden from them by a curtain of bunting. Just as she was about to speak, she heard one of them say,

"I don't care if she is Janet Page, I don't like her. She's not a bit like other girls." And another voice answered, "I don't either; she's so bossy." "Plain stuck up," a third voice added.

Janet flushed crimson and fled. Harry remembered that she looked awfully queer, he said, when he told Mrs. Todd later, "She said she was going and not another word," he finished.

Janet had indeed gone. She felt as though the world was falling about her ears. Try as she could, she could not keep the hot tears from coming.

The brisk row did her good, and she started up the sand dunes with her usual expectant step. By the time she was in sight of the house, she was laughing at herself.

"I may be different but I am not as bad as all that, and besides I don't like those girls any better than they like me, so we're even."

She decided to read about Mr. Micawber in "David Copperfield." He always cheered her up when she was downhearted.

The quiet of the old house soothed her feelings. She walked slowly around to the cellar window and opened it softly. Just as she was about to slip through it, a piece of tin hit her sharply on the nose.

She jumped and looked up and directly into the gray eyes of the mysterious boy. He was sitting on the edge of the sloping roof not fifteen feet above her.

"Yes, it did; it's bleeding. Say, I'm awfully sorry. Wait a jiffy and I'll be down."

They looked at each other and then burst out laughing. Janet held her handkerchief up to her face and regarded him over the corner of it.

"Well, I was kind of scared myself," the mysterious boy admitted. "I was fixing the roof up a bit. It leaks onto the books now you know, and I just happened to look down at you, I was so surprised that I let the tin drop.

"No,—that is, he did, but that isn't what scared me. Your dog and I are great friends. It was the woman that came out of the house. I couldn't explain before her so I bolted."

"I wanted to show you something about taking a splinter out of a dog's paw and a way to put on a bandage so that it won't come off."

"I was after the same book the other day and I couldn't imagine who had taken it and then I found it beside your hat and I knew you must come here too."

The boy pointed down the hill. "At Vicker's farm," he answered. "I'm staying there all this winter." He laughed self-consciously. "I'm supposed to be weak or something, so Doc sent me here."

"He was Dad's best friend, and now I guess he's mine. He sort of looked out for me after Dad—after Dad went."

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Let's go in and look up that part in the animal book."

"I know a better way than that. Come around here." He led her to the old porch and took down two boards from one of the windows. Janet crawled through and found herself in the Kingdom.

"Oh, that is a lot better. Wonder why I never thought of it. It saves going through the spooky kitchen, and I just perfectly hate that ghostly hall."

They sat down together on the floor and were soon engrossed by the book before them. From discussing dogs and horses they turned to other subjects, and before she realized it Janet was telling him why she had not gone to the fair.

"It was rough, I'll grant you," he drawled slowly, "but you should have stayed and faced the guns. There's never any sense in running away."

Janet felt very much ashamed of herself all at once, and a dozen reasons why she should have stayed rushed into her mind.

"Good for you; it won't be much fun, but you'll be glad you did it, I guess. Say," he added after a pause, "will you be back to-morrow?"

Janet had crawled through the window but she called back over her shoulder, "No, I'm glad." A red head appeared in the opening.

As the people came back to the Sunday-school room after the supper that had been served in the gymnasium, many of them were astonished to see Janet with Harry by the tent. Mrs. Blake was particularly so.

"Why, Janet, where have you been? We were so worried about you!" she exclaimed. "And what have you done to your nose?"

"Why, you poor child; what a pity. It doesn't matter at all about your being late."

"Well, Janet, we thought you were lost, but I see you've found yourself,"—Mrs. Todd came up and interrupted her cousin. Janet looked at her blue eyes and knew she understood something of what she had gone through.

CHAPTER VII

A STRANGER IN THE KINGDOM

Janet halted in her climb up the steep bank at the back of the deserted house and smiled down at the ground. The perfect outline of a bare foot made a path ahead of her straight to the steps of the porch.

It was one of the warm, golden days that come sometimes in the fall, as though the summer, being sorry to go, sent it to bid a last regretful good-by.

A week had passed since the fair, and during that time Janet had made many trips to her Kingdom and she and Peter had become fast friends. They read their favorite books aloud to each other and played a game of "pretend" that would have been impossible to two people who had not both understood the meaning of loneliness.

To-day Janet found Peter deep in a thick, uninteresting-looking book, but as she appeared in the window he closed it and jumped up.

"Good morning, Princess," he greeted. "I thought you were never coming, I chopped wood, fed the chickens and did all I could think of so that I wouldn't be missed."

"I couldn't get away a minute sooner,"—Janet made a comical face. "Mrs. Blake came to see grandmother yesterday, and of course she had to tell her that she was so surprised to learn that I didn't like to sew. Grandmother didn't say much, but this morning she made me hem some dish towels, for of course she knows I can sew passably well when I want to. Now she'll show them to Mrs. Blake the next time she comes." A note of affection crept into her voice as she added, "Grandmother's like that."

"A book about sheep," Peter replied. "It's kind of dull, but I like it. I imagine sometimes that I—" He hesitated and blushed.

"Oh, it's just a crazy notion of mine, but I like to think sometimes that I own this place, and then I plan what I'd do with it, and one of the plans is to turn it into a sheep farm,"—he laughed nervously—"I guess I'd better stop dreaming though and get to real work now."

Janet noticed that he laid stress on the word "now," and she looked at him inquiringly. He pretended not to notice her.

"Peter," she said finally, "it isn't nice to be mysterious. What is the matter with you?"

Peter ran his fingers through his red hair but he did not reply. Instead, he put the big book back on its shelf and went over to the window.

"It's awfully dark in here, don't you think? And it's so bully out of doors. Let's go fishing," he suggested.

Peter led the way toward the shore and up to a dark green canoe. Janet was properly excited; she had never been in a canoe before. None of the girls she knew were at all interested in boating except to go off in sailing parties for picnics, and because the bay was very often rough and always dangerous none of the boys were allowed to have them. She smiled as she remembered Mrs. Waters' terror when Harry, the summer before, had screwed up his courage to ask for one. Yet here was Peter acting as though the most ordinary thing in the world was to go fishing in one.

Peter shook his head. "No, I found it over in our barn and I asked Mr. Blunt if I could use it. He didn't think much of the idea, but he said if I could make it watertight I could have it and welcome. A summer boarder left it here a couple of years ago. Here you go; let me help you in. Sorry I haven't any pillows," he apologized.

"Stick it behind your back, of course. It makes it lots easier. That is, most girls tuck 'em in all around, and they seem to like it." Peter sometimes gave Janet a feeling that he was years and years older than she by the way he talked of things, people and places.

"How do you know?" she inquired as she settled herself gingerly on the floor of the canoe.

"Any place where there are canoes and girls,"—Peter grinned. "Dad and I always paddled wherever and whenever we could, and we used to laugh sometimes."

Peter was busy turning the canoe around and did not answer at once. Janet watched him, fascinated. He paddled so softly and yet with so much strength that they skimmed along over the water as though they were flying. Once out into the bay and headed for the mouth of a small creek, where Peter decided was the place to fish, he returned to the subject.

"When I said just now we laughed," he explained, "I was thinking of last summer. Dad and I took a trip up the Delaware River and of course we passed lots of summer places on the way, and we'd see fellows, about eighteen, out with girls all dressed up and sitting all packed in with pillows. They looked all right, but I would hate to have had them with us in some of the storms we pulled through and some of the rocks we had to pass."

"I see,"—Janet laughed, then she said hurriedly, "Peter, what an exciting life you have had. I wish you'd tell me some more about it."

"Not so very," he said; "you see there was only Dad and me, and Dad was a civil engineer and he had to be on the go most of the time. Wherever there was a bridge being built or a railroad put through or a dam built he was always there, and so naturally I was too. That is, I shouldn't say naturally, because lots of people, especially women, thought it was very strange, but Dad said I was all he had left and he wasn't going to have me shut up in a school where he could never see me, so along I went, and I tell you I had some grand old times. But it's all over now and I guess I'll go to work."

"Out West, I guess. I like it out there, and Dad knew a lot of ranch men that would give me a job. Dad always wanted me to be an engineer, but that was before—" In spite of himself his voice broke a little, and he paddled with extra zeal.

"Oh, Peter, I'm sorry." Two big tears stood in Janet's eyes. "I wish I hadn't asked you so many questions and started you remembering."

"Oh, I'm always doing that anyway,"—Peter tried to laugh. "And I wanted to tell you about Dad anyway. Do you still feel like fishing?" he inquired, abruptly changing the subject.

"Of course. Here, wait a minute and we'll land and change places. I wish I had another paddle, then you could paddle bow."

The exchange of seats was made and the lessons began. Janet was an apt pupil, and Peter, remembering his father's instructions of long ago, did as well as instructor. Black clouds rolled up in the west without their noticing them, and it was not until a faint peal of thunder sounded that they realized that a storm was coming up.

"Queer at this time of year, isn't it?" Peter asked, as Janet made for the bank and he took the paddle again.

"We have pretty bad ones sometimes in the fall; sort of breaking up of summer, the fishermen say, and to-day has been hot, you know."

"Well, there's no time to lose for it's coming fast. That creek's a bad place; the trees hide the sky." Peter took long firm strokes, and they were soon out into the bay.

It was not long before the storm broke. A zig-zag of lightning and a sharp growl of thunder, and then the rain—great drops of it. The canoe bobbed up and down, but Peter managed to send it forward with every stroke. Janet, though she would never have admitted it, was thoroughly frightened, and Peter, kneeling in the stern, very calm and even smiling, began to assume in her eyes the guise of a hero.

After several strenuous minutes that seemed like as many hours they landed just below the deserted house.

"Let's go up and wait until it stops," Peter suggested as he turned the canoe over. "You can't possibly row home in this."

Janet nodded, and they trudged up the hill. They were laughing when they reached the window. Once in the Kingdom with the rain shut out, they felt very secure. Peter pointed up to the ceiling.

Janet felt her nose and smiled. "Then I don't suppose I ought to mind this," she said. "It's still black and blue, and nobody can understand how I ever managed to cut it just there."

"You might say that you wished we had met under different conditions," Janet suggested, but Peter wouldn't agree.

"I suppose so; anyway we'd never have had such fun together if we had been introduced. Just imagine, 'Janet, I want you to meet Mr. Peter Gibbs'; how silly it sounds."

"Instead of 'Your royal highness, Princess of the Enchanted Kingdom, allow me to introduce myself, Lord Carrot Tops. My calling-card is a piece of tin, Bingo! Of course I didn't say all that but I thought most of it."

They both laughed on heartily and then stopped short, their eyes on the doorway of the room.

A short fat little man, wearing a heavy gold watch chain and an old fashioned soft black hat, stood frowning at them.

CHAPTER VIII

UNDER ARREST

"Here's a pretty kettle of fish!" he exclaimed, bobbing his head up and down; "what do you mean breaking into some one else's house like burglars? Don't tell me you were hiding from the rain for I won't believe you."

Neither Peter nor Janet made any attempt to tell him anything. They were both too startled. They stood frozen to the spot on which they stood.

"Nothing to say, eh?" the old man went on in his excited, squeeky little voice. "Well, that's just as well. You'll come along with me now, both of you."

"Are you the owner of this house?" Peter was himself again, and Janet marveled at the quiet manner in which he spoke.

"Never you mind about that; you'll soon enough know." The old man bustled toward them. Peter stepped in front of Janet.

"Now look here, young fellow, don't give me any of your impertinence, but come along quick." The quieter Peter's voice got the more excited grew the little man. "What are your names, eh? Tell me that," he squeaked.

"What, what, what! You tell me at once and no more nonsense," the old man fairly spluttered.

"We refuse to tell our names to any one but the owner of this house." By now, Peter was thoroughly enjoying himself, and he winked ever so slightly at Janet.

Janet was chuckling to herself, but not at Peter. She was wondering what would happen if she did tell her name. From past experiences she knew that from blustering the old man would apologize and offer to take her home. But he might insist on arresting Peter, and loyalty made her keep silent.

The old man was getting very angry at Peter; he even stamped his foot and his big gold chain jingled.

"You come straight along and tell the owner then," he exploded, "and you'll be sorry you didn't tell me first. I can promise you. I'm a sheriff, and you are both under arrest. Now then, what have you got to say?"

The sheriff turned on his heel. They followed him through the hall and out of the back door, of which he had the key. A buggy was standing in the woodshed, and they all got in. The rain had stopped and soft mud spattered them as they drove along.

"Oh, so am I," she agreed, "but of course I knew he couldn't be and look like that."

The sheriff did not notice them in any way. His ridiculous little fat face tried to look grim, but only succeeded in looking funny. He was thinking very hard and wondering if the owner would approve of his actions. He had not bothered to explain, when he said he was a sheriff, that he was a retired one, without the slightest right in the world to make an arrest.

"Where does the owner live?" Peter inquired, breaking a silence that had lasted a mile.

"Never you mind where," the sheriff retorted; "all that concerns you is that you will find the owner at my house to-day."

"We're in for it," Peter whispered, "but it can't be very bad, and anyway we will see him at last."

"I'm almost sorry," Janet sighed. "He was always such a thrilling mystery to me. Do you suppose those are his gloves on the library table?"

Peter did not have time to reply, for they were turning in at the gate of a big farm, and the sheriff whipped up his horse to make a gallant approach.

Once on his own land he regained his assurance, and he opened the door of the tool house as though it were a dungeon cell.

There was nothing else to do, so in they went, and Janet heard the key grate in the rusty lock with a queer sinking feeling. But a look at Peter's face made her swallow her fears and manage a little laugh.

"Nothing very terrible," Peter assured her. "You see, we never did any harm to anything, and if we explain about the books, it ought to be all right."

"That will depend on the owner,"—Janet's voice sounded frightened in spite of herself. "If he is nice, he will understand, and I suppose he is if he owns the Kingdom; still, why doesn't he live in it?"

"Why, that's the mystery,"—Peter laughed. "We will find out soon enough. Mr. Sheriff is probably telling all about us now, and I guess he is not saying anything to help our case much."

"Oh, Peter, do you realize that we can never go to the Kingdom again? It isn't enchanted any more; it's just a house that belongs to a man that probably has a bald head and whiskers."

They passed through a big clean kitchen, full of shiny pots and pans, and then into a dark little hall.

"Wait here," their guide directed, as he shoved them into a little room that looked like an office.

It would be hard to say just what either Peter or Janet imagined the owner of the deserted house to resemble. Janet, when she thought of the place as belonging to any one but herself, usually pictured a modern King Arthur who would admit her claims as princess without hesitation. Peter knew that it was a house that his father would have loved, and he thought of the owner as a quiet gray-haired man in consequence. They were neither of them prepared to see a woman.

"Mrs. Todd!" Janet after a stupefied second fairly shouted the name, and it was Peter's turn to be astonished. He looked from one to the other and blushed a little; he realized it might be difficult to explain to a woman, for Peter knew nothing about women.

Mrs. Todd did not say anything. She stood in the doorway and laughed and laughed.

"Yes, it's my house, and perhaps you can tell me, for Mr. Simpson's benefit, what you two were doing in it."

"We weren't doing anything just when he found us," she said, "except waiting for the rain to stop, but this wasn't the only time we've been there. You see, I found it first, oh, ages ago, and I used to row over and read in the Kingdom—I mean the library—"

"Oh, that was just my name for it. I always thought of it as 'The Enchanted Kingdom' because of all the wonderful books first and then because it was so old and deserted and spooky." Janet looked at Peter and he nodded encouragement.

"I only met Peter the other day; it was the very day of the fair. I came over because—"

"He was fixing the roof, and he dropped a piece of tin down on my nose, and then, well, of course we began to talk, and he said he had found the books, too, and so we went into the Kingdom, and it was Peter that made me go back to the fair in spite of—" Janet stopped, confused.

Mrs. Todd surveyed the two before her. There was nothing left of her laughter but the tiniest twinkle in her bright blue eyes. She snapped open her old-fashioned watch, looked at the time, and snapped it shut again.

"It's late," she said. "Janet, I'll drive you home. Where do you live?"—she turned to Peter.

"Humm, well, you won't have far to go. Good-by. I'll see you again, and thanks for mending my roof," she added, as Peter hurried to the door.

"Maybe," Peter hesitated and then finished, "Do you remember asking me what the matter was this morning? Well, it's this. Doc is going to Europe, and I won't let him leave me any money 'cause I know he needs it all himself, so I've got to get work, and I think I'll be starting soon."

"Maybe," Peter drawled as he had done the first time she had ever seen him. "Anyway good-by for now."

Janet watched him walk down the road until the twilight shadows swallowed him up. There was something that felt like a lump in her throat.

CHAPTER IX

THE MYSTERIOUS OWNER

"And now, you amazing child, tell me all you know about Peter." Mrs. Todd let her horse trot along unguided through the dusk and settled back in her seat, with a look of amused expectation on her face.

Janet plunged into a recital of Peter's life, or at least that portion of it that she knew, and before very long the amusement changed to interest and then to pity. Mrs. Todd was a splendid listener and a very understanding woman.

"What kinds of books does he like to read?" she asked, when Janet paused for breath.

"Everything in the library," Janet told her. "He laughs just as hard at 'Alice in Wonderland' as he does over 'Robinhood and his Merrymen,' but of course he likes Robinhood best, especially the part about Little John. He likes the 'Idyls of the King' too, and he just eats up history. To-day I found him reading a stuffy old book about sheep. I think he would like to raise, or do whatever it is you do to, sheep, but of course he can't now because of Doc."

Again Janet explained as best she could, and this time it was Mrs. Todd's eyes that were wet.

"Hum," she said after a little pause, "perhaps sheep would be a good idea, I never thought of it myself. I'll talk to Peter about it."

"It's the most perfect fairy tale that ever came true," she said. "Of all the people in the world that I would have chosen to be the mysterious owner of the Enchanted Kingdom, you would be the first, only I simply can't understand why I never knew or why you never lived in it."

"My dear child," she said, "that is a very long and a very disagreeable story, but perhaps I can tell you enough of it for you to understand why I left my home and Old Chester.

"When I was not so very many years older than you, say about eighteen, your grandmother decided that I was to marry your father Tom, and my parents thoroughly agreed to the plan. Your father and I, however, did not. In fact I might say that we thoroughly disapproved. We were the very best of friends, but we were both in love with other people; Tom with your beautiful mother and I with Mr. Todd. You know quite well how your grandmother acts when anybody goes against her wishes, so I need only say that my father was just about as stubborn and they had both determined on the match. Now then! to make a very long story short, I ran away with Mr. Todd, and that made them both, your grandmother and my father—my mother, bless her dear heart, understood—very angry. Your grandmother said that I was never to enter her house again. I never did until the other day when I went with you. My father was just as severe and told me that I could never come home with my husband. Well, of course, there was never any idea of my returning without him, and so we stayed away and traveled in every country under the sun and had the happiest three years imaginable, and then he died." There was a long pause before Mrs. Todd continued her story.

"I went home after that with my baby boy and—oh, my dear child, you will think this a very dismal tale, but it's best to finish it. My baby died the next year, and I left the house, I thought, forever. It was mine for my father had died the year after my marriage and left it to me, but for so many years I had been unhappy there that I determined never to come near it again. That was thirty years ago and I have just come back.

"To-day I determined to go and see how the old place looked, I was afraid it would be in ruins. On my way I stopped in at the Simpsons and there my courage failed. So, I sent Mr. Simpson up to look at it and see if there was any chance of repairing it. I thought perhaps if it were patched up and swept out and tidied a bit it would not be as hard to return. Now I know I was a very silly and sentimental old lady, and I will go myself to-morrow morning and see about hurrying up the work of repairs. With two caretakers I am sure it has not suffered too much." Mrs. Todd stopped as shortly as she had begun and picked up the reins and chirruped to the horse, as though to say the conversation was finished now and forever.

Janet knew it was, and without quite understanding it she realized the effort it had taken to tell it. She wanted to say something to Mrs. Todd, but she knew there was nothing that could be put into words, so she sat silent for the rest of the drive. This was the second "story" she had heard that day, and the combination of the two opened up a world beyond Old Chester and gave her a sudden glimpse of life, its sorrows, its struggles, its joys and, above all, its victories. The knowledge made her restless, but it made her happy and above all expectant.

If big things happened to the Mrs. Todds and the Peters in the world, surely big things would come to her.

"Good night, child," she said. "Don't think too much of all I have told you, or, if you do, remember this: no matter how much sorrow there is in this old world of ours, there is never a minute of it that is not worth the living. And now, good night; go to your Enchanted Kingdom whenever you like, it is more yours now than it ever was."

Janet held the big firm hand tight, but all she could find to say was "thank you." There were a hundred questions that she wanted to ask, and she finally found the words for the most important of them all.

Mrs. Todd looked at her intently for a long time and then she looked at the light that always burned in Mrs. Page's room.

"Yes, my child, I did, and I loved her; but then everybody did with the exception of—" she hesitated; "no, that's not quite fair, so I won't finish. Some day, with your grandmother's permission, I will tell you all I can about her, and now hurry in and eat your dinner or Martha will be having one of her nervous spells."

Janet laughed, and squeezed Mrs. Todd's hand a little harder before she let it go.

"All right," she promised, "I just suddenly realized that I am as hungry as a bear."

Then Mrs. Todd did something that would have surprised her friends. She leaned out of the carriage and kissed Janet.

Martha was on the verge of a nervous spell, Janet found her looking out of the front hall window. She tiptoed up behind her and said "boo."

"Miss Janet, you're home at last; wherever have you been!" Martha exclaimed. "I have been worried to death over you out in that storm."

"Oh, but I wasn't out in all of it,"—Janet laughed. "I've been driving with Mrs. Todd."

"I might have known that," Martha said, exasperation written large on her face. "Ann Hitchens was always one to upset things. Here we've been living in peace for years and the minute she comes back, oh, deary me, everything's a-flutter and topsy-turvy, I wish she'd go away again, I do indeed."

"But she won't," Janet replied happily. "She is never going away again, and I am so glad I could dance."

Martha sniffed, and when Martha sniffed it was never necessary for her to put her meaning into words.

"Well, don't dance into your grandmother's room," she advised. "Walk like a little lady and go at once. She has been worrying about you all afternoon."

Contrary to all expectations, Mrs. Page had nothing to say about the lateness of the hour. She greeted Janet as usual, told her to wash her hands and eat her dinner; then she turned her face to the wall, her way of saying good night.

Janet was about to leave the room, but something made her pause at the foot of the bed.

"Grandmother," Janet began again, "I am sorry if I worried you by being out late."

"Martha talks too much," Mrs. Page snapped. "I was worried, but you are back now so don't talk any more about it."

Janet left the room, closing the door very softly behind her. In the hall she studied the grandfather's clock with apparent interest, but it is a question whether she saw it at all. She was realizing for the first time in her life that her grandmother was a very old lady.

CHAPTER X

PETER

Martha was cleaning house; rugs were hanging in the kitchen yard and clouds of dust testified to the strength of her arm. Indoors all the chairs were turned over, and white sheets covered the rest of the furniture. Janet and Boru fled to the "widow's walk" to escape.

"I hate house cleaning," Janet complained; "if I ever have a house of my own I will go away on a trip and not come back until there's enough dust to make things look comfy again." Boru, who had a marked respect for Martha's broom, folded his paws over his nose and looked sympathetic.

"I wonder what will happen to-day," Janet went on; "everything has been so exciting for the last few weeks that I love to wake up in the morning. I wonder if it wasn't all a dream about Mrs. Todd and that absurd little man and Peter. I don't really believe that I ever paddled that canoe yesterday at all."

A whistle interrupted her musings, and she leaned over the railing and saw Harry Waters at the garden gate.

It was a little time before Harry could locate her, but when he did he beckoned.

"All right, wait a minute,"—Janet sighed. Harry was not the form of excitement she would have chosen for the day, but he was better than talking to Boru or listening to Martha's beating the rugs.

"Oh, he's all right. He caught a rabbit the other day." Harry bragged as though the credit were his.

"I think that was horrid of him. That's just the trouble with those hunting dogs,"—Janet flared up—"they are always catching some poor little animal that never did anybody any harm. If Boru ever did such a thing I would whip him good and hard, I can tell you." Boru hung his head; no doubt the memory of countless innocent rabbits weighed heavily on his doggish conscience.

"Ah, shucks," Harry grumbled; "that's just like a girl. They make a fuss and even kiss a dog if it gets a splinter in its paw, but the minute one does something worth while they want to whip it."

"Well, I don't like to think of a little dead bunny. They're so soft and snuggly,"—Janet defended herself; "and I don't care who knows it."

"Oh, I know what you're thinking of, but that's different," he protested; "my mother says so. Anyway, I didn't come over here to argue," he finished crossly.

Janet wanted to ask him what he had come over for, but she was just a little ashamed of the way she had been acting. After all, Harry was an old friend of hers, and it wasn't his fault that he was fat and always complaining. She gave herself a little shake and smiled.

"All right, if you want to," Harry agreed, "but I came over to tell you that there's a letter for you at the post office, and Miss Clark says you haven't been for mail for over a week, and there are some letters for your grandmother and a newspaper. I'd have brought them to you but the old crosspatch wouldn't let me. She said I'd lose them on the way, and she was responsible for the U.S. mail. I don't think much of Miss Clark any—" Harry stopped rambling, and stared at Janet. "Now what have I done!" he demanded.

Janet stopped to look at him. Her cheeks were bright red, and her eyes danced with excitement.

At the post office, Miss Clark insisted on asking innumerable questions about Mrs. Page.

"You didn't come for the mail for such a long time that I said to my sister last night, 'I wonder if Mrs. Page has had a turn,' so this morning I told the Waters' boy to tell you that there were several letters in your box—"

"May I have them, please,"—Janet tried politely to stem the tide, but Miss Clark did not even notice the interruption.

"Time was when one letter a week was all most folks looked for, but, lands sakes, nowadays with all these advertisements and picture postcards, your box is full before you know it. Did you say your grandmother was sick?"

"No, she is quite well, thank you. Er—may I—?" Janet tried again, and Miss Clark did walk over to the box.

"Well, that's a blessing," she said over her shoulder. "I do think that when a body must lie abed all day that they ought to have good health except for that. Now when my aunt Lucy— Why, I do declare—" Miss Clark interrupted herself this time—"I clean forgot to tell you there was a letter for you. It's from your brother. Now that seems odd; he always writes to your grandmother, but this certainly is for you. I can't imagine why it slipped my mind. I've been thinking about it all week."

"May I have it, please?" Janet held out her hand, and with apparent reluctance Miss Clark gave her the little bundle of letters. She took them, said a hasty thank you, and escaped from the post office before there was time for any more conversation.

She studied the envelope with its Arizona postmark and made sure that it was directed to her. Then she tore it open to find a penciled note inside that read:

"I am almost everything that you accused me of being, except my appearance, and that is a little better than you feared. To prove it to you I am going to come in person to see you and then we can talk over all those worrying things you spoke of. Until I get there please try and think a little better of me than you have through all your short, little life, and please believe that I am heartily ashamed of myself, but that I solemnly promise to make up for it in the future.

Janet read the letter over three times and then she sat down on the carriage block and read it again.

Harry watched her and shook his head. He had no doubts now that Janet was anything but an ordinary, and by ordinary he meant queer and unreasonable, girl.

"Matter?" Janet's laugh rang out happily. "Not a single thing in all this wide wide world, Harry!" she exclaimed.

"I'm not crying, silly," she denied hotly. "Anyway you wouldn't understand. I'm going home. Good-by."

"Well, I'm darn glad I can't," was Harry's parting, and he walked off in the opposite direction.

Janet read her letter all the way home. It was such a surprise, for she had quite given up all hopes of ever finding the letter she had written a month before. She had never entertained the idea of receiving an answer, and such an answer, full of every sort of promise. And he was coming, and coming soon. She consulted the postmark and found that the letter had been in the post office six days.

The sight of Martha still patiently beating rugs was unbearable. She hurried into the house and took the rest of the mail to her grandmother. As she handed them to her, she saw to her surprise that one of them was from her brother. Perhaps he was writing to tell her that he was coming home, and that would make it unnecessary for her to mention her letter.

"A letter from your brother," Mrs. Page said solemnly. "Please wait, Janet, and I will read you what he says." She opened the letter with her customary precision and read it first to herself. Apparently she thought better of her promise to read it aloud, for she folded it up and put it back into its envelope.

"Your brother is well," she said at last, "and he is coming home. This letter is a week old so that I imagine he will be here before long. Please tell Martha not to make so much noise in the hall and don't say anything to any one about Thomas's proposed visit."

"Because I dislike gossip," Mrs. Page snapped. "When he comes all the village will know it; that will be soon enough."

"Yes, grandmother." Janet left the room, but she forgot to tell Martha not to make so much noise. The house was unbearable, and she decided that even if she could not share her secret with Mrs. Todd, it would be a comfort to go and see her and talk about the Enchanted Kingdom.

She was hardly on her way with the idea fixed in her mind when she heard horse's hoofs coming toward, and after a minute she saw Mrs. Todd in her carriage. She stopped her horse at sight of Janet, and beckoned to her.

"I was just coming to see you," she said. "Have you been over to your house this morning!"

Mrs. Todd was plainly upset about something. She was frowning, and there was not a spark of fun in her eyes.

"No, child, I haven't," she answered. "I went over to find Peter early this morning, and the Blunts told me he had gone away. They said he had told them that he was going west and that he could not leave any address, but he left a letter addressed to Dr. Peabody in Boston. Now I happen to know Jack Peabody. He was a very dear friend of my husband. Of course I haven't seen him in years but I am going up to Boston this afternoon and give him Peter's letter, and between us we ought to be able to find the boy. It's dreadful to think of his hunting for work and with no money."

"That's because you are a silly, romantic child with your head full of story-book nonsense," Mrs. Todd said briskly. "What I wanted to see you about was to ask you if that foolish boy gave you any hint as to where he was going."

"No, indeed, he didn't," Janet said. "I didn't even dream he was going. Oh, Mrs. Todd, do you think you really can find him!" she asked suddenly.

"There, there, child, don't worry your head about it," Mrs. Todd comforted. "Of course we can. Peter's hair is too red to allow him to run away unnoticed."

Janet tried to smile, but it was difficult. The more she thought of Peter's going, the more she realized how much she would miss him, and half the joy in her brother's return was lost when she realized that she could not introduce him to Peter.

"Do you think you could manage Clinker,"—Mrs. Todd was speaking—"if you do I wish you would drive over to Simpsons' this afternoon and give him a letter for me."

"Why, I think I could drive him," Janet replied. "I'll just let him walk and I'll be awfully careful of him."

"Very well, then, that's settled." Mrs. Todd spoke with her usual briskness, and a little of the laughter returned to her eyes as she added, "It will be a sorry dose for our friend the ex-sheriff, but I think it will do him good."

CHAPTER XI

ANOTHER LETTER

At two o'clock Janet was waiting in front of the rectory. She was to drive Mrs. Todd to the station and then go on to Simpsons' and deliver the letter. Alice and Mildred came out on the steps to see them off, and their faces mirrored their thoughts. Mrs. Todd had never let them drive Clinker, and they could not understand why Janet should be allowed the privilege. There was an air of mystery about their cousin's sudden departure, and Janet holding the reins and watching Clinker's ears importantly added to it.

Mrs. Todd's "Hurry along now, child, or we'll miss the train," put a stop to further questions.

"I do hope you won't be away very long," Janet said softly when they were on their way. "Something exciting, that I can't tell you about, is going to happen, and I think I will simply die if you are not here."

"Mercy, child, you sound mysterious,"—Mrs. Todd laughed. "Why can't you tell me about it?"

"Well, I can see that I'll have to come back and find out for myself then," she said; "when is it going to happen?"

Mrs. Todd considered for a moment. "Of course I haven't the slightest idea when I will come back. It all depends on when we find that boy. Oh, but I shall give him such a talking to when I find him. Why couldn't he have waited until to-morrow and saved all this fuss?"

"It was really to save fuss that he ran away," Janet reminded her. "Poor Peter! I just hate to think that maybe he's hungry, but just the same it was a splendid thing for him to do."

"Splendid, fiddlesticks!" Mrs. Todd ejaculated, as they drew up to the station platform.

She said good-by very briskly, and Janet watched her, preceded by a porter carrying her bags, get into the parlor car. Clinker did not approve of the noisy engine, and she turned his head and started off before the train pulled out.

It was a long drive to the Simpsons', and she let the horse set his own gait, and so it was well over an hour later before they reached the Simpsons' place. Janet, remembering the style in which Mr. Simpson had driven in the day before, touched up Clinker with the tip of the whip and the cart swung into the gateway and rolled briskly down the drive.

Mr. Simpson came out of the barn at the sound of Clinker's hoofs, and was as startled as Janet could have wished.

"How do you do, Mr. Simpson!" she said in her sweetest manner. "I have a letter for you here from Mrs. Todd. She asked me to deliver it to you." She held out the envelope, and Mr. Simpson, after carefully wiping his hands on his overalls and finding his glasses, took it from her.

"She had to go to Boston, so she won't be able to come over to the house to-day," Janet explained.

Mr. Simpson eyed her suspiciously, then he read the letter. Janet watched his face, and at the sudden change of expression, she could not repress a smile.

"Did you and that boy from Blunts' know all the time that the owner of that house was Mrs. Todd!"

"Weren't you scared!" The question was asked with so much anxiety, that Janet could not find it in her heart to disappoint the little man before her.

"Indeed I was," she said. "I was frightened to death. You see, you looked so very severe that I thought at first you were the owner. It was lucky for us, wasn't it, that Mrs. Todd did own it, for of course she didn't mind a bit."

Mr. Simpson stroked his chin slowly and tried to hide the smile of satisfaction on his round face.

"Waal," he said condescendingly, "I'm sorry I scared you, though I must say neither of you looked very frightened; but, you see, I had to do my duty as a one-time officer of the State."

"I hope you'll tell Mrs. Page that I am sorry my duty lay in the direction it did," he continued. "I wouldn't like to have her put out with me."

"I'll tell her," Janet laughed, and added, as she turned Clinker around, "I am going to the house on the hill now, so please, if you happen in as you did yesterday, ring the bell and let me know you're coming. I'd hate to be frightened that way ever again."

Mr. Simpson was now thoroughly sure that he was not the object of ridicule, and he beamed upon Janet and all the autumn landscape.

"Don't you worry, little lady," he chuckled; "now that I know who you are I won't never question your right to be any place in this county, and any time I can do you a service you just call on me and you'll find I'm your man."

Janet thanked him graciously and drove off, without giving herself away by even a smile. Once on the road and out of earshot, however, she laughed so heartily that Clinker pricked up his ears and started to run.

"There, there, old fellow, I didn't mean to frighten you,"—she quieted him—"take your time and do stop frisking. It would be too awful for words if you ran away and dumped me anywhere. Think what Alice and Mildred would say."

Clinker obligingly settled into a trot, and they were soon at the entrance to the Enchanted Kingdom. Janet had never before approached it from the land side, and she was surprised at the broad sweep of driveway before her. The house and barns looked more imposing from this side too.

Clinker submitted to being tied under one of the sheds, and Janet hurried around to the front porch. Mrs. Todd had offered her the key Mr. Simpson had, but she had said she would rather go in the old way.

Everything was very still, and somehow she felt the loneliness of it all more than ever. The roof seemed to sag dejectedly, and a few dead autumn leaves swishing in the wind against the front door added to the unnatural dreariness.

She shivered a little before she slipped through the window. She wanted more than anything else in the world at that moment to hear Peter's cheery "hello."

Once in the library, she went straight to the books and ran her hand over them as if to find consultation in their worn backs. She finally selected a little book bound in red. It opened readily, more readily than usual, at a little poem. Janet sat down on the floor and started to read aloud to herself. There was something in the rhythm that always comforted her when she was lonely. Surely Mrs. Browning had understood much when she wrote "Little Ellie." Janet read it idly:

"Little Ellie sits alone
'Mid the beeches of a meadow,
By a stream-side on the grass.
And the trees are showering down,
Doubles of their leaves in shadow
On her shining hair and face.

"She has thrown her bonnet by
And her feet she has been dipping
In the shallow water's flow;
Now she holds them nakedly
In her hands all sleek and dripping
While she rocketh to and fro."

"Little Ellie sits alone,
And the smile she has been using
Fills the silence like a speech,
While she thinks what shall be done
And the sweetest pleasure chooses
For her future within reach."

Many and many an afternoon Janet had read the beginning of the little poem and then chosen the sweetest pleasure for herself and lost the rest of the day in dreams.

She looked up from the pages with a sigh, then her eyes fell on a folded piece of paper lying on the floor beside her. She picked it up and opened it. Idle curiosity gave place to excited interest as she read:

"I am sorry to go away without another good-by, but I must. Doc was coming here to see me, and I knew if he talked to me I would give in and that wouldn't be fair to either of us, and Dad would never approve. I'm awfully glad you know the owner of the 'E.K.,' for now I can always think of you there.

"I left the canoe on the bank below your house, and I rowed your boat back. When I get a job in the West I will write and tell you about it if you want me to, and of course some day I will see you again.

Janet's eyes were blurred long before she came to the end of the letter, and as she finished reading two big tears splashed on to the book in her lap.

She stood up and looked about the room forlornly; the old gloves were gone from their accustomed place on the table.

CHAPTER XII

JANET'S PASSENGER

Janet left the house by the cellar window instead of the easier way. It would be hard to explain her reasons, but it was noticeable that when she had safely climbed out and stood on the ground by the window, she leaned over and picked up something and put it away hastily in the pocket of her dress. A great many years were to pass before she showed it to another soul.

"Come along, Clinker," she said briskly, as she went to the shed. "It's high time we were starting." She jumped into the cart, and Clinker, only too delighted to start for home, set off at a brisk pace.

It was a long way by road back to the village, and it was dusk before they neared it. As they came within sight of the railroad station Janet heard a train pulling in, and remembering Clinker's dislike for locomotives she slowed up to wait until it left the station.

It was the train from Boston, and she could not help wishing that Mrs. Todd and Peter were on it.

When the last puff of the engine was lost in the distance, she drove past the station very slowly. Of course there was no sign of Mrs. Todd or Peter, and she drove on, disappointed in spite of herself. A short stretch of wood made the road quite dark ahead of her for a way. Clinker pricked up his ears as they entered it but Janet did not pay any attention to him and was therefore thoroughly startled when a voice, coming apparently from nowhere, called:

She pulled Clinker to a sudden stop and waited. A man walked out of the shadows and came up to the cart.

"I beg your pardon," he said, taking off his hat. "I didn't see it was a lady driving."

"Well, but what difference does that make?" Janet answered awkwardly. "Won't I do?"

"Well, as a matter of fact," he explained in his low voice, "I was going to ask for a lift."

Janet looked at him for a minute and decided she liked him, and therefore it would not be necessary to treat him the way she usually treated strangers.

"Well, now, that's mighty nice of you, and I'm very much obliged," he said. "My bag is a little too heavy to make walking any fun." He got in with surprising quickness, and Janet started Clinker by a word.

"Yes, isn't he a beauty! His name's Clinker," Janet replied. "He doesn't belong to me, though. I only wish he did."

They were out of the wood by now, and she turned to look at her passenger. He was, to judge from the way he had to pull his knees up, a very tall man and certainly he was handsome. His face was burned a dark tan, and his eyes were set far apart and deep in his head. His hat covered most of his hair, but Janet knew it was brown like his eyes. There were lines at his temples that proved, if proof were necessary, that he laughed a good deal. He had big broad shoulders and nice long lean hands, that looked as though he could do almost anything with them.

"I really couldn't help it, you see," she apologized, very much confused. "Why, I've forgotten to ask you where you wanted to go?" she added.

"Oh, but there isn't," Janet laughed. "We have a boarding house where most every one stays. The post mistress keeps it, but I'm afraid you won't like it very much."

"Then I must take the chance of being mistaken for a tramp in these dusty clothes and go straight home."

"Where's home?" Janet inquired. "I don't like to be inquisitive, but we are almost to Main Street now."

"Not at all, I didn't realize I hadn't introduced myself. I'm Tom Page; perhaps you know my little sister Janet."

Whatever Janet did no one will ever know, but Clinker, and he showed his disapproval of it by almost jumping over the shafts. If Tom had not caught the reins and made him come to order he might have succeeded in running away.

"Well, well, what happened?" he inquired, when Clinker was walking quietly again. "I didn't see anything to frighten the animal, did you?"

"I—I did it," Janet gasped. "Can't you see! I'm Janet, and you—oh, I know I'm dreaming."

"You!" It was Tom's turn to be surprised. "Why, you can't be. Janet is just a youngster and you are a very grown up young person."

"But I'm Janet just the same, and, well—how do you do, Tom; I'm very glad to see you." She held out her hand.

"Bless your heart!" Tom put his arm around her and in spite of Clinker gave her a hearty kiss. "What luck for us to meet like this!"—he laughed—"and I had pictured it so differently, and you are just about fifty times as nice as I thought you were going to be."

"Well," Janet sighed happily, "you certainly are heaps nicer than I thought you were going to be."

They turned the corner by the rectory, and Clinker, without asking any one's permission, turned in at the gate.

"We will have to leave the horse here," Janet explained. "He belongs to Mrs. Todd. I was just doing an errand for her."

"Mrs. Todd." Tom was thoughtful. "I seem to remember her—oh, yes,"—and he laughed. "I'd like to meet her."

"Well, you'd better let me out anyway," Tom suggested. "I don't want to meet anybody to-night. You rustle along, and I'll wait here." He jumped out, and Janet hurried to the barn, where the hired man was waiting to unhitch Clinker.

"Yes, Mrs. Blake, I was a little delayed in getting home. I hope you haven't been worried," Janet replied.

"Only a little uneasy," Mrs. Blake confessed; "won't you come in and see the girls?"

"Oh, not to-night, thank you. I must really hurry home." Janet spoke with so much concern that Mrs. Blake did not urge her, and after a hurried good night she was able to join Tom.

"It's quite a long walk home," she apologized. "I wish I could have driven all the way. Won't you let me help you with that bag!"

Tom laughed his hearty, good-natured laugh, and caught his little sister by the arm.

"You little featherweight! I could carry you and the bag and never know you were there. But we'll take it easy, and that will give us more time to talk. First of all, how is grandmother?"

"Oh, she's well; that is, of course, she is in bed always, but I think she feels all right otherwise," Janet replied.

"I am sometimes," Janet confessed; "that is, I used to be. Lately I haven't had time because there's been Peter and Mrs. Todd."

Janet did not reply at once. Her own mind was far from made up on the subject, and it was difficult to answer Tom.

"I don't know any girls, really," she replied slowly. "The ones I have met didn't like me much, and I didn't like them. When I wrote that letter to you I thought I wanted a girl friend more than anything else in the world, but now I guess boys are better; anyway, they don't say mean things behind your back."

"All girls are not alike, little sister of mine. There are lots of girls in the world that are just like you and you'd like them, even better than you like boys."

"Tom, do you remember what I said in my letter about wishing you were a sister instead of a brother?"

"Even to the exact words,"—Tom laughed. "You said that I would be much more of a comfort to you as a sister. That's what made me come on at once. I wanted to prove that brothers are some use in the world."

"Don't tease," Janet begged. "I only reminded you of it so that I could say I was sorry."

"Oh, of course,"—Janet laughed. "I'd like to have one too, but not in place of you."

"Then that's all right,"—Tom gave her arm a tight squeeze. "Isn't that our house?" he inquired, as the light from Mrs. Page's room twinkled in the distance.

"Oh, I was ten years old before I left for school," Tom explained. "You were a tiny baby then."

"That, little sister of mine," he said, "is one of the many things I am going to tell you about after I have talked to your grandmother."

CHAPTER XIII

THE GREATEST SURPRISE IN THE WORLD

Janet tiptoed down stairs and stole softly out into the garden. It was very early in the morning, and even Martha was still asleep. But there was no sleep for Janet. Her eyes had been wide open since the first streak of pale light had fallen slantwise across her floor. For hours she had tossed restlessly, and at last, unable to stand it any longer, she had dressed.

It was the morning after Tom's arrival. Janet thought over the events of the night before and frowned. As soon as they had entered the house he had gone straight to his grandmother's room, and she had not seen him since. She and Martha had sat up until after ten and then, very much against her will, she had gone to bed and listened for a long time to the murmur of voices in the room below. At first her grandmother's querulous tones had predominated, but after a while Tom's low rumble sounded comfortingly in her ears, and she had slipped off to sleep.

This morning, as she thought about it, she tried to imagine all that had been said behind that closed door, but she found it impossible. Why there should be anything to discuss, she couldn't imaging. Other people lived without an air of mystery surrounding them, and at this moment of Janet's life she envied those people with all her heart.

Once several years before she had asked her grandmother to tell her about her mother and father. Mrs. Page had told her there was nothing to tell, and had forbidden her ever to speak of the subject again. She had looked so gray and sick as she said it that Janet had been frightened, and she had never ventured to refer to it again except to Martha, and all Martha could tell her was that her mother had been a dear patient saint and her father the finest man that ever lived. Janet had tried to picture them from this description, and up until a year before she had been contented. Now she wanted to know more. Mrs. Todd, too, had made her think.

She looked up at Tom's window impatiently, and as she looked the shade moved and Tom put his head out.

"Hello!" he called down softly. "I knew you'd be up with the birds. Wait a jiffy, and I'll be down with you."

Janet threw him a kiss and told him to hurry. She listened, smiling, as she heard him splash in the bathtub. It was not many minutes before he was beside her, and they were seated on the old stone garden bench.

"Poor youngster,"—Tom patted her shoulder affectionately—"so you shall, but first let me have a look at you, I hardly saw you last night." He turned her face toward him and smiled down into her eyes.

"Janet, what would you say if I told you that you had a sister?" he asked slowly.

"Not only an ordinary sister," Tom continued, "but a twin sister." He studied her anxiously.

"It does sound unreasonable," Tom agreed, "but it's true. Do you want me to tell you about her?"

Janet put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him, still doubtful and a little frightened.

Tom stood up and put his arm around her, and they walked slowly down the garden path.

"I will have to say some things about grandmother that I would rather leave unsaid, but you must try and understand that although she is a very unreasonable and selfish old lady she did what she thought was right."

"I thought that you must know all about mother and father, I never dreamed she would refuse to answer your questions, and of course I knew you would ask questions as soon as you began to think. I've been a very selfish brother and I am heartily ashamed of myself, I should have come home ages ago, but we'll let that pass now.

"Well, a long time ago grandmother decided that she was to marry father, but father was in love with mother then; very, very much in love with her." Tom smiled as he added, "And he married her. Grandmother was furious, but she adored father and before long she forgave him and he and mother came here to live. I guess grandmother had to like mother in spite of herself, but she could never quite forgive her for not being the girl she had chosen. I was born, and then ten years later you and Phyllis came along."

"It was mother's name too," Tom told her, and went on with his story. "One day when you were just tiny tots father and mother went out for a sail. It was windy, and grandmother tried to persuade them not to go, but mother laughed at the idea of danger and they went." Tom paused and stroked Janet's soft hair.

"They never came back, dear," he said gently. After a little he went on: "When grandmother heard it she almost lost her mind from grief, and she was sick for a long time. When she got better she had a fixed idea in her head that it was mother's fault and she would not let any one mention her name before her. Aunt Marjorie, mother's sister, came down, and of course she wanted to take you and Phyllis home with her, but grandmother wouldn't let her. She let her have Phyllis, because she had been named for mother, but she kept you. Aunt Marjorie was very angry and when she left grandmother told her never to come back and never to write to you or to me. Of course there was nothing for Aunt Mog to do but to agree. However, she didn't keep her promise, for she used to write to me at school and send me all kinds of things to eat. But I never saw her. Grandmother sent me away to school, and because I was noisy in the house she wouldn't let me come home for vacations. I was glad of it, for some of the boys always took me to their houses and I had a much better time. After I finished college I went west and for a while I was so busy on my ranch that I forgot I had any sisters. I used to write to grandmother now and again, as you know, and I sent my love to you, you were quite right to object to that kind of love," he added, laughing.

"But how could you tell I wasn't the horrid prim thing that wrote those letters that grandmother corrected,"—Janet was quick to defend him against himself. "Did you ever write to Phyllis!"

"Only at Christinas and after a while I stopped doing even that. She was just a little kid and I was so far away. Aunt Mog writes me whenever they move and change addresses. Bless her heart, I shouldn't wonder if perhaps she'd guessed that some day we would all want to be together. You'll love Aunt Mog; she's a dear."

"It's the same thing, only better," Janet answered, and then she laughed too. "Oh, Tommy, I'm so happy I think I'm going to cry like an idiotic baby."

"Cry ahead, I won't look," Tom promised, but Janet had too many questions to ask to waste time crying. She swallowed hard, gave herself a little shake, and no tears came.

"Just as soon as I can get ahold of Aunt Mog and arrange for them to come down," Tom assured her.

Tom smiled a peculiar sort of a smile. "Grandmother is going to ask them to come down," he said quietly.

Janet looked at him in amazement. It was hard to imagine her grandmother's giving in to anybody, but it was harder still to look at Tom's mouth and imagine anybody not giving in to him.

As they had talked, Martha had been busy about the kitchen, and the sound of pots and pans and running water reached the garden. Finally Tom sniffed.

"Muffins," he exclaimed, "and I am as hungry as a bear. Come along and let's find breakfast."

Martha's excitement and bewilderment were such that it is a wonder everything was not burned for breakfast, but her ability as a cook was greater than any temporary shock, and the breakfast was delicious.

"It is such fun to have some one at the table to talk to," Janet said, and Tom had a sudden vision of her sitting alone year after year in the big dining-room, and once more he called himself a thoroughly selfish brother and choked a little over his coffee.

After breakfast Janet went to her grandmother's door and knocked as she had always done. It was all a little different this morning and she hesitated a second on the threshold before she went in.

Mrs. Page, propped up as usual by countless pillows, looked smaller and older than ever, and any feeling of resentment that Janet may have felt disappeared and an understanding sympathy took its place.

"Well, what have you to say about it? Come, speak up," Mrs. Page fidgeted with the bed clothes.

"I haven't anything to say," Janet answered. "Of course I am awfully glad really to know Tom and I want more than anything in the world to see my sister."

"You do, eh? Very well, you shall; but if you don't like her, don't blame me. I've tried to keep you away from unhappiness but now you may do as you like."

Janet thought of the lonely yet happy years, and she laid her hand on her grandmother's that was nervously stroking the sheet.

"I know you have, grandmother, and I am very grateful, truly I am; and of course I will love Phyllis," she added with a gay little laugh.

"Let's take a walk down to the village. I want to send off a wire and then you can show me the sights," he suggested.

"I'll take you over to the big house on the hill,"—Janet was eager to be off. "Get your hat and let's start this minute. Oh, dear, I've so many things to ask you and twice as many to tell you."

It was a glorious day, the wind blew the red-brown leaves in graceful swirls, and the sunshine melted everything to a misty gold.

It was surely a never-to-be-forgotten day in Janet's life. Tom told her thrilling stories of the West and his own ranch, and in return she confided all her secrets. He was interested, especially in Peter, for he had heard of his father. He blessed Mrs. Todd secretly for her interest in Janet, and his wish of the night before to meet her took on a new significance.

At the end of the day the "thirteen years" had very nearly been bridged, and Tom's admiration for his little sister was only equalled by her love for him.

"Do you know, Janet," he said half seriously, as they climbed the steps from the shore, "I'm not nearly as sorry as I was that I have neglected you for so long. Left to yourself you have certainly made a very acceptable little sister, and think how badly I might have spoiled you."

"Oh, do stop blaming yourself," Janet cried; "what is the use of thinking about anything that is farther back than last night or perhaps two weeks ago?" she corrected herself, thinking of Peter and Mrs. Todd.

XIV

A LONG DAY

Some one was tapping the knocker on the porch below, and Janet stopped in her work to listen. It was an unfamiliar sound, for most callers came to the house by way of the garden.

She tiptoed to the window and looked down. Alice and Mildred Blake stood below her. She could see the tops of their brown felt hats. A minute later she heard Martha let them in, and then call her from the foot of the stairs.

She looked about her in dismay. She was getting the front room ready for Phyllis and Aunt Mog, and she did not want to be disturbed.

"Just a minute, Martha; I'll be right down." She flew to her room and brushed her tossled hair and took off the huge apron of Martha's that she was wearing.

"Oh, Janet!" they exclaimed in chorus, "we have just heard that your sister is coming. Isn't it exciting! Miss Clark told mother, and she sent us over to ask you if you wouldn't bring her and your aunt—mother used to know her when they were girls—to tea just as soon as they come."

"Why, that's awfully nice of you,"—Janet was a little taken back. "I'd be glad to."

"To-morrow," Janet told them. "Tom went to New York last Monday and he sent me a telegram saying they would all be here to-morrow."

"Yes, so Miss Clark said." Mildred did not try to conceal the fact that her sister's question was asked purely to make conversation. The date and hour had been circulated freely about the village as soon as Tom's wire had arrived.

"It's lucky you spoke of her or we might have forgotten to give you a message she sent you in a letter to mother," Mildred said. "She said to tell you that you could drive Clinker any time you liked and that she would be very glad to have you exercise him."

"How sweet of her!" Janet exclaimed. "She knows I love to drive. I'll come this very afternoon and take him out."

"We have our own horse, you know." Alice spoke with condescension, although Janet knew quite well that only the rector ever drove the ancient gray mare that kept Clinker company in the rectory barn.

"I was tired of driving long ago," Mildred upheld her sister. "I wish father would buy an automobile."

"We must go, Alice," she said. "Good-by, Janet; don't forget to bring your sister to tea."

"No, I won't, and thank you ever so much." Janet watched her visitors until they reached the shore road below the house. She marveled at the easy way in which they spoke of Phyllis and called her "your sister" when she herself found it so hard to grow accustomed to the relationship. Finally she went back to her work.

The room that Phyllis and her aunt were to have was long and low ceilinged. It ran the length of the front of the house. Six latticed windows opened to the south and looked over the bay below. It was a quaint room, hung in faded chintz and furnished with heavy old mahogany. Janet was doing her best to make it shine.

"I'll put some asters in a bowl on the table," she said to Boru, who was watching operations from the doorway, "and then I think we will be all ready. Are you going to like your new sister?" she asked laughingly, as she dropped to her knee beside him and rubbed her cheek against his shaggy coat. "You must, you know, because she's my twin, but you mustn't love her as much as you do me."

Boru got up and walked away, as though he considered that the only way to answer such a silly remark.

Janet sat on the floor where he had left her and cradled her chin in her hand and gave herself up to sudden gloomy speculation. Suppose Phyllis turned out to be like Alice and Mildred! The very idea chilled her, and she stared dismally at the pretty room.

"I don't suppose she'll have to like me just because she's my sister," she said aloud; "perhaps she'll think I'm different too, or maybe she'll think I'm countrified. Oh, dear, I almost wish she were not coming."

Boru came back and snuggled into her lap, and they sat quiet, both busy with their own thoughts until Martha interrupted them.

"There you are, Miss Janet. I knew you'd be tiring yourself out with all this fixing. Come down to your lunch now; do, like a good child, and let me do the rest."

"And no wonder, working yourself to death, poor lamb." Martha's arms comforted her as they had done many times before, and from the shelter of one broad shoulder Janet confessed her fears.

"Not like you!" she ejaculated; "but, my lamb, she's bound to; she's your own mother's daughter and so, tell me now, how could she do anything else?" She offered this method of reasoning as though it were sure to cast out any doubts, and Janet gladly accepted it.

"What a baby I am," she laughed, wiping her eyes; "look at Boru; he's disgusted with me, and no wonder."

"Come now and have your lunch," Martha insisted; "you'll see how hungry you are after the first bite."

"I wish it were to-morrow," she said, as she lingered over her cantaloupe. "I think I will die of suspense if I don't find something to do. I thought I was going for a ride, but look, it's raining."

"And a good thing too," Martha replied emphatically. "I can't understand Mrs. Todd letting you drive that horse of hers. Some day it will run away and kill you, and then I wonder what she will say."

Janet laughed in spite of herself at so dismal a picture, and got up from the table.

"Well, I won't die to-day, that's sure," she said. "I wish I could think of something really interesting to do."

"Perhaps I can find something that will interest you," she said with some hesitation. "Now that you know all about everything there can't be any harm in it," she continued, lowering her voice.

Martha beckoned to her mysteriously and led the way upstairs all the way to the big attic. It was filled with old trunks and bits of broken furniture and pictures, Janet had passed them many times on her way to the "widow's walk" but she had never been curious enough to give them a second thought.

She watched Martha with interest as she pulled out a little old trunk from one corner. From a bunch of keys that was hanging to one of the rafters she selected the right one, and gave it to Janet.

"There now, open that and see what you find," she said mysteriously. "Now I must get back to my work," she added briskly and bustled down the stairs, leaving Janet looking at the key in her hand.

"What do you suppose we will find, old fellow?" Janet asked him, as she fitted the key in the lock.

At sight of the contents of the first tray she gave a little exclamation of delight. It was filled with soft silks and laces, now yellow with age. Janet lifted them out gently and discovered that they were dresses. Old-fashioned little things. There was a pale yellow one and a robin's-egg blue, made with hundreds of little tucks.

Janet smoothed them out with reverent fingers, for she knew they had belonged to her mother.

The next tray held odds and ends, and Janet sat down on the floor and lifted them out one by one. Packages of letters that almost fell to pieces as she touched them, silk stockings of every color, and three pairs of tiny slippers. She could hardly believe a foot was ever small enough to fit them.

She found a wooden box too, beautifully carved and filled with dozens of sheer handkerchiefs and, best of all, a pile of books. She read their titles eagerly; "Pride and Prejudice" by Jane Austin, Scott's "Lady of the Lake," Shakespeare's "As You Like It" and a beautifully bound copy of Mrs. Browning's poems.

"Then mother loved 'Little Ellie' too!" she exclaimed. There was something very wonderful in the knowledge.

She put the books to one side and went on with her discoveries. Toward the very bottom she found a chamois bag wrapped up in a yellow piece of paper. Inside of it was a jeweler's black-leather case. Janet's fingers trembled as she opened it.

Lying on a bed of blue velvet was a miniature set in a gold frame, and as she looked she gave a cry of astonishment. A face almost exactly like her own smiled up at her.

It was dusk before she left the attic, but when she did go down stairs she went straight to Martha.

CHAPTER XV

THE DAY AT LAST

"If it rains to-morrow I think I shall die," Janet said as she got ready for bed that night.

She need have had no fears, for the next day dawned clear, with just enough of autumn chill in the air to whip the color into your cheeks. Tom's telegram had said that they would arrive by the same train that he had come by.

Janet wished it had been an earlier one, but the day passed more quickly than she had hoped. In the morning she drove Clinker out into the woods and came back with the cart full of brilliant autumn leaves.

As she drove back through the village it seemed as though every one stopped her to ask when Phyllis was coming. She told them all, and her excitement mounted every time she uttered the magic words but toward afternoon the fear that had depressed her the day before returned and she could not shake it off. She felt suddenly very shy. When train time came it was all she could do not to fly to the Enchanted Kingdom and hide, as she had done on the day of the fair. She walked up and down the platform in a fever of excitement, and her hands were icy cold.

"Quite a day for you, isn't it?" he asked with evident interest. "Can't say as I ever heard of another case quite like it. To have a twin sister that you never saw and didn't even know you had! I often wondered when you'd find it out."

"I should say I did." Mr. Jenkins nodded his head to give further weight to his words.

"I kinda guess all the folks that knew about it, knew your grandmother didn't want it told, and perhaps you've noticed folks have a way of doing things like she wants."

"I suppose that was it," Janet agreed idly. "Isn't that the train?" she asked a minute later as a faint rumble became audible.

"Wouldn't wonder if it were," he said. "I'd better be getting the mail bags ready."

Janet couldn't very well ask him to wait, but she watched his retreating figure with a sinking feeling around her heart. At least he was somebody to talk to, and anything was better than being alone. She could feel her heart pounding, and something in her throat seemed to interfere with her breathing.

Never did a train take so long to slow up and finally stop, but Janet found herself suddenly wishing that it would take twice as long.

The first person to alight was Tom, and he took time to wave to her before he turned to help down a slender little lady dressed in pearl gray. Janet started forward to meet them, and then stopped short for she saw herself stepping off the train; eyes, hair, straight little nose, even to the solitary dimple in the left cheek. She was carrying a basket and she was laughing at Tom. Then she looked up and stopped too.

"Janet!" Phyllis was the first to regain the power of speech. She dropped her basket into Tom's arms and ran forward.

"Oh, you adorable love!" Phyllis exclaimed rapturously. "Isn't it all perfectly thrilling and fairy-taleish? I could just eat you alive, I am so excited. Please say right away that you are going to love me or I shall die of misery."

Poor Janet! She had never heard so many adjectives in all her life and the speed with which Phyllis rattled on dumbfounded her. Miss Carter, Aunt Mog, came to her rescue.

"Phyllis, my love, do stop talking and give some one else a chance to say how do you do to Janet." She laughed. "Janet, my dear, I am your Aunt Mog, and I am, oh, so very happy to see you."

"Well, don't I get a kiss, little sister of mine?" Tom inquired in his deep, good-natured voice.

"Of course you do!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I am so happy, I can't think of anything to say," she confessed shyly.

"You precious love, that's just exactly the way I feel!" Phyllis could not keep still another instant. "There are all sorts of funny little chills miming up and down my back and—oh, for goodness' sakes, Tommy, what are you doing to Sir Galahad!" She snatched the basket away from Tom and lifted out a huge tortoise-shell cat with a big blue bow around his neck.

Boru, who had been sniffing at Tom's side, gave a sudden jump, and Janet caught him just in time to save the cat.

"Get down, sir," she scolded, "and don't you dare to touch that cat. Do you understand?" Boru slunk away with his tail between his legs.

"Poor kitty, did he frighten you? I'm so sorry,"—Janet stroked the ruffled fur comfortingly.

Phyllis laughed. "What a time we will have with those two!" she exclaimed; "but they'll make friends sooner or later. Sir Galahad is just as much to blame as your dog. He has no manners when it comes to dogs. Go back in your basket, you're in disgrace."

"There's a wagon to carry up your bags," Janet said, "but I'm afraid we will have to walk."

"Oh, yes, let's do start. I'm simply crazy to see the house and grandmother and Martha. Here, Tommy, you carry puss, now that you have no bags. I'm going to walk with Janet. You and Auntie Mogs can bring up the rear."

"You are going to do no such thing," her aunt contradicted her smilingly. "I don't want Janet deaf by the time we reach the house, and besides I want to talk to her myself."

"Phyllis doesn't always talk as much as this," she said as they walked along; "she is just excited to-day."

"Oh, but I love it," Janet said quickly. "She's—well she's everything she said I was." She looked at her companion and smiled. Miss Carter was a dainty little lady, Janet thought she looked as though she had just stepped down from a Dresden vase, her cheeks were such a soft shell pink and her eyes such a delicate china blue. Unconsciously she looked down at her feet; they were nearly small enough to fit the slippers in the trunk in the attic.

"Well, I don't blame him for that!" Phyllis exclaimed. "I'm scared to death of the crawly things myself, but I do think he is a little bit too fat." She chattered on and succeeded in monopolizing the conversation until they reached the house. At the first glimpse of it she went into ecstasies.

"It's perfect," she announced from the garden gate. "Oh, Janet, do love me so that I can stay here always. There's a real sundial! Auntie Mogs, do look. Tommy, you never told me about it. And what ducky little white flowers!"

In the hall she was equally enthusiastic over the grandfather's clock and the big brass warming pan.

Martha met them at the door, arrayed in a stiff white apron, her face shiny with soap applied vigorously.

Aunt Mog smiled. "Yes, she is very like her father," she said. "I see it so often. It's queer, isn't it! Janet is more like her mother."

"She is, indeed, ma'm, even in her ways." Martha spoke proudly, and she looked at Janet affectionately.

They all followed her upstairs, Phyllis leading the way and once more carrying her cat.

Tom brought up the rear, carrying the bags, which had arrived a few minutes before from the station.

"I must change my dress before I see grandmother," Phyllis said as she opened a big suitcase, "but I won't be a minute, so stay and talk to me while I wash in this adorable basin," she said to Janet.

Aunt Mog took off her hat and with a smile, which neither of the girls noticed, she slipped from the room and joined Tom at the foot of the stairs.

"It's quite perfect, as Phyllis says," she laughed, "and now suppose I go in and say 'how do you do' to Mrs. Page."

When the girls came down a few minutes later they heard voices and Tom's hearty laugh. Janet sighed with relief and opened the door softly.

"Grandmother," she said in the hushed voice she always used in that room, "here is Phyllis."

Before Mrs. Page had had time really to look at her other granddaughter, Phyllis had kissed her warmly on both cheeks and was rattling on in her joyful way.

"Grandmother, isn't this fun!" she demanded. "I'm so glad to see you. Why, only just imagine, I never knew you existed until Tom came out of the skies and told me about you and Janet. You can imagine, can't you, how surprised I was, and of course I've been simply crazy to see you ever since."

"Phyllis dearest, be careful; I'm afraid you'll tire your grandmother with so much chattering," Aunt Mog admonished gently.

"Oh, but I'm sorry," Phyllis was contrite at once, "I always forget, and you know you don't look a bit sick, grandmother, even though you are in bed. Here, let me shake up your pillows for you. They don't look half puffy enough to be really comfortable." She suited the action to the word, and in the twinkling of an eye the pillows were re-arranged to her satisfaction.

"Keep still a minute, child," Mrs. Page said not unkindly; "I want to look at you."

"I wish you would all leave me now," Mrs. Page said when she had studied each of Phyllis's features in turn. "Come in and say good night to me, child, when Janet comes."

They left her, and the girls went into the garden. Janet was too surprised to voice her thoughts, but Phyllis did not seem even to know that she had done anything out of the ordinary. She dismissed her grandmother with "she's really a love," and returned to more important subjects.

By evening she knew all about the Enchanted Kingdom, Peter, Mrs. Todd and the Blake girls, and she had moved her suitcase into Janet's room, "for—" she said—"what is the use of having a sister if you can't sleep with her and talk over things with her in the dark."

Miss Carter and Tom, sitting in the living-room before the fire, heard the buzz of their voices late into the night.

Tom nodded. "And to think they're both my sisters; bless 'em, do you know, Auntie Mogs, I'm a very proud man this night!"

CHAPTER XVI

A DAY TOGETHER

Janet kept her eyes tight closed the next morning, long after she was awake. She was afraid to open them lest the memories that had crowded into her consciousness should prove to be only dreams. Phyllis was dancing inside of her eyelids, and she smiled at her and closed her eyes tighter to keep her there.

After a long while she turned over very quietly and listened. Some one was breathing softly on the other side of the big bed. She opened her eyes very slowly and found herself looking straight into Phyllis's merry ones.

"I've been watching you for perfect hours. I thought you were never going to wake up. I very nearly pinched you," Phyllis exclaimed. "Isn't it time to get up!"

Janet was up in a second and clothes flew in every direction. Martha had left a big can of hot water in the hall outside their door, and Phyllis was giggling so hard when she tried to pour it into the basin that she splashed some of it on her bare toes.

"Cricky, but that hurts!" she cried, sitting down on the side of the bed to nurse it. Sir Galahad got up from his basket by the window to come over and see what all the noise was about, and at the same time Boru pushed open the door with his black muzzle.

For an instant the two animals looked at each other, then Boru growled and Sir Galahad arched his back and hissed. Janet and Phyllis just caught them in time to avoid a scrap.

Sir Galahad went back in his basket, and the lid was closed and Boru was shut out into the hall.

"They will just have to get used to each other, but I'm afraid it won't be easy," Janet replied. "Boru hates cats."

"I tell you what to do," he suggested. "You both go off somewhere this morning and leave the live stock with me, when you come back they will both be eating out of the same dish."

Janet and Phyllis exchanged glances and shook their heads doubtfully, but they decided to let him try, after they had made him solemnly promise not to let any harm come to either of them.

"We might take a drive," Janet suggested. "Mrs. Todd sent me word that I could have Clinker whenever I wanted him."

"Of course, that's the very thing!" Phyllis enthused. "He is at the rectory, isn't he! Let's go this very instant. I'm crazy to see those Blake girls."

Janet had an unhappy moment of doubt. Suppose Phyllis liked the Blakes, what would she do then? But she led the way to the village. She only showed that she was worried by being a little quieter than usual. As Phyllis talked all the way, her silence was not noticeable.

Alice and Mildred must have seen them coming down Main Street, for they were at the gate to meet them. Janet introduced them and waited. She expected Phyllis to enthuse as she had been doing ever since her arrival, but a surprise awaited her.

From the laughing, bright-eyed youngster Phyllis changed all in the twinkling of an eye into a quiet self-possessed girl.

"How do you do? I'm very glad to meet you." She shook hands with Alice and nodded carelessly to Mildred.

"We are going for a drive," she went on, still walking toward the barn. "That is, Janet is going to do the driving, and I am going to watch her in real envy."

"Don't you know how to drive?" Alice inquired. "Mildred and I really don't care for it, we've done so much of it."

Janet watched Phyllis and waited, wondering what she would say to such a silly snubbing.

Phyllis looked at both the girls before her and a roguish grin tilted up the corners of her mouth, and then she laughed. It was a merry little laugh, but it made Alice feel very small and very uncomfortable so that she would have given almost anything not to have made her last silly remark.

"Not just now, thanks; we are going for a drive, you see." Phyllis smiled and followed Janet into the barn, where the hired man was already harnessing Clinker. Alice and Mildred stayed and talked until they were ready to go.

"No wonder you don't like them!" she exclaimed. "Of all the sillies! Why, Janet, they are what old-fashioned books call stuck up." She laughed until the tears rolled down her cheeks. "I wish we could have them at school for about a month; they would learn so many things, and how I'd love to help teach them."

"If you think they're funny, what must you think of me?" Janet spoke, without thinking and regretted it at once.

Phyllis eyed her reproachfully. "I don't think that's a very nice thing to say to your sister," she said slowly. "How could I think you anything but the most wonderful girl in the world when I've been longing for you all these years."

"Yes, longing for you!" Phyllis returned with spirit, "and that's more than you can say about me."

"It's no such thing," Janet denied hotly. "I have wanted a sister always. Why, I wrote Tom and told him I wished he'd been a girl instead of a boy."

"Oh, you darling, did you really?" Phyllis returned to her gay self in a flash. "Isn't it just like a story? I wanting you, oh, so much, and you wanting me, and now here we are. I don't see what in the world we are fussing about, do you?"

"Yes, do; I want to see the big room you were telling me about. Auntie Mogs has a lovely library, so you won't miss your Kingdom so very much when you come to town."

"Of course you are," Phyllis insisted. "I heard Tommy and Auntie Mogs talking about it on the train and again this morning. Gracious, you don't suppose that now I've found you I'm going to ever let you out of my sight, do you?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. Tommy will take care of it. Anyway you're coming, and we are going to school together; and, oh, Janet,"—Phyllis broke off impatiently—"aren't you the least little bit excited about it?"

"Excited! I could scream from excitement only I'm breathless, and my mind is all upside down," Janet replied, laughing.

"Well, thank goodness!"—Phyllis was comforted. "I was afraid you really didn't want to come, and I was just having fits, for of course I told all the girls about you, and they are nearly as excited as I am. Where have you been going to school? I asked Tommy, but he didn't know."

"I've never been to school, real school, in my life," Janet confessed. "Grandmother has always had a tutor come every day from Swanet—that's the next town to us. I don't suppose I know very much and I'll probably be years behind you, but perhaps I can catch up."

"Years behind! Nonsense, I haven't any brains," Phyllis said, "and I don't really care very much. The girls at school that are really brainy are awfully stupid; that is—oh, you know what I mean."

They were passing the Simpsons' house by now, and Janet saw a familiar figure standing in the roadway.

"Why, what do you suppose Harry Waters is doing so far from home?" she inquired.

Phyllis looked and laughed. "Oh, that's the fat boy we saw last night, isn't it?"

"He's bashful," Janet laughed. "I'll chase him." She turned Clinker in at the gate, and although Harry did his best to retreat to the barn, they were soon beside him.

"This is my sister Phyllis," Janet said. "Don't you want to drive back with us?"

"Good." Phyllis spoke for the first time. "Then there is no reason why you can't ride home with us; we were going on a little farther but we can do that another day, can't we, Janet?"

It was a new idea to Janet to put off going to the Enchanted Kingdom for the sake of Harry's company, but she nodded and let down the flap of the cart and Harry jumped in without another word.

Phyllis turned her back to the horse and talked to him, though it must be admitted it was a one-sided conversation, for Harry refused to say more than "yes" or "no" in answer to her numerous questions.

Janet, who knew him better than he knew himself, realized that he was angry, but she was too much occupied with her driving to give any assistance to Phyllis.

When they reached the edge of the village Harry insisted upon jumping down, and before they realized it he was lost to view in the scrub oak by the side of the road.

"Did you ever see such an extraordinary boy? What do you suppose is the matter with him?"

"I thought I'd have to laugh the way he sat there and glowered at me." Phyllis was frankly surprised that any one could withstand her charms.

"Well," she added with a sigh, "I suppose, now that we have spoiled our chances of going to your Enchanted Kingdom we may as well stop in to say how do you do to the Blakes."

Janet was not enthusiastic over the proposal, but she agreed, with a nod, and after Clinker was safely in the barn they went around to the front porch and rang the bell.

Alice came to the door. She was delighted to see them, and it was evident she had not expected them to return so soon. She ushered them into the living-room where a cheery fire was blazing in the fireplace. Mrs. Blake and Mildred were sewing before it, and Mrs. Blake greeted the girls with her usual sweet manner.

They stayed until lunch time, and when they left they had given their promise to return the next day at four o'clock.

"We are not going to have a party," Mrs. Blake assured them, "but we want to ask some of the ladies in to meet you and your aunt," she spoke to Phyllis.

"You poor darling," she said; "no wonder you wanted a sister. Well, you've got one, and we'll have a good time at their party. You see if we won't."

When they reached home a comical tableau greeted them. Tom was sitting on the stone bench in the garden holding a plate of milk between his knees. From one side Sir Galahad lapped daintily and from the other, one ear cocked suspiciously, Boru's pink tongue was greedily bespattering his black muzzle.

CHAPTER XVII

AT THE RECTORY FOR TEA

The dining-room table at the rectory was laden with sandwiches and baskets of cake. Mrs. Blake sat at one end pouring tea, and Mildred and Alice took turns with the chocolate pot at the other.

Mrs. Blake had not been entirely truthful when she had said that she was not going to give a real party, for the people who walked in and out of the two rooms gave an air of festivity that was rivaled only by fairs and weddings in Old Chester.

Miss Carter dressed in the palest of gray satin gowns was busy renewing her many acquaintances, and Janet and Phyllis were the center of a laughing group of girls and boys.

Phyllis had on a dainty afternoon dress of dark blue chiffon, which contrasted oddly with the more elaborately made summer dresses on the other girls.

Janet wore her customary white piqué dress with its broad belt of black patent leather. Mrs. Page believed in simplicity, and as far back as Janet could remember she had always owned just such a dress. It served to wear to church and to the occasional meetings of the Ladies' Aid Society that met in her grandmother's room.

She was conscious this afternoon that its plainness marked her among the other girls, and she looked at Phyllis with just a touch of envy in her soft brown eyes.

There was a very small percentage of boys in comparison with the girls, but among these Harry Waters stood out. His hair was brushed back sleek against his bullet-shaped head, and the dotted Windsor tie, that his mother had insisted on his wearing, accentuated his fatness.

Phyllis greeted him upon his arrival like an old friend and insisted on his talking to her, although it was very apparent that Harry was miserably embarrassed. Janet, who was busy at that moment talking dogs to the old country doctor, watched them, and wondered that Harry still carried with him his air of mystery. She determined to find out what was the matter with him before the end of the afternoon. She had not long to wait, before Harry gave her a clew.

"But, Harry, surely you're going to have something," Mildred insisted. She spoke more loudly than she had intended, and all eyes turned toward her.

"I don't know what is the matter with Harry," Mrs. Waters confided to the women around her; "he won't eat a thing, and he's so quiet."

"But surely you'll have a piece of chocolate cake," Alice said and she held a plate temptingly before him. But Harry was obdurate. He shook his head, speech had left him minutes before, and looked about him for a means of escape.

Janet beckoned to him, and when they saw their chance they slipped into the pantry and took refuge on the back stairs.

"Now," Janet said sharply, "tell me what the matter is? I know you're not sick."

"Gee, of course I'm not. Can't a fellow refuse food without all this fuss?" Harry complained bitterly.

"Some could but not you; come on, tell me what's wrong. If you don't, I'll guess anyway," Janet threatened.

"I suppose you will," he agreed. "Well, it's this then—I heard what your sister said last night when you were coming back from the station about—about—well, about me."

Janet thought for a minute and then she laughed. It was not an unkind laugh however, and Harry reluctantly joined in.

"And that's what I was doing out at Simpsons too," he added. "I was walking to reduce. I didn't want to ride home, but, gee, she wouldn't let me off—" he stopped abruptly, for some one was pushing open the door. It was Phyllis.

"Here you are, you scamps!" she whispered. "I've been looking everywhere for you. Changed your mind about that cake, Harry? I brought you a piece in case you had."

Harry looked miserably from the cake in her hand to her laughing eyes, and once more shook his head in refusal.

"All right then, I'll eat it." Phyllis broke the large piece in half and handed one piece to Janet. "Here, Jan, you have to help me, and now listen both of you. I've thought of the greatest idea that ever was."

She sat down between them on the step, and like Janet, rested her chin in her hand. They looked so much alike that Harry could not help laughing.

"Now what do you mean by that?" Phyllis sat up very straight, her eyes bright with a challenge.

"Very well,"—Phyllis dismissed the subject airily and sat munching her cake with evident relish.

"All right, don't then," he said angrily. "You're just exactly as bad as Janet," he added, and the door shut behind him with a bang.

"Poor Harry; that's the very worst thing he could think of to say to you." Janet laughed almost as hard as her sister. "I bet he is eating everything in sight this minute. He heard you say he was fat and—well, now you can understand why he wouldn't eat."

"Yes, but I shouldn't have told you." Janet was ashamed of having betrayed a confidence.

"I'm glad you did," Phyllis said slowly, "and I'm sorry I teased him, but really he shouldn't talk about girls that way, and my idea will really be lots more fun if no one knows it except ourselves."

"Grandmother told Auntie Mogs to ask any of these people to come to our house to tea any afternoon she liked," she began; "to sort of return this, you know. So she has asked them for Thursday. Now I haven't talked to a single girl to-day that didn't say how different we were and they made me furious until suddenly—" she lowered her voice and the rest of the sentence was lost in the soft waves of Janet's hair. It must have been amusing, for Janet's eyes sparkled with suppressed merriment.

When they joined the others a few minutes later they both looked very demure, so much so in fact that Auntie Mogs, who knew Phyllis thoroughly, knew that they were planning some mischief.

Miss Clark had arrived during their absence and was apparently amazed beyond speech at the striking resemblance between them.

"I have seen many twins in my time!" she exclaimed, "but I never saw anything so remarkable! Why, you could never in the world tell them apart."

"Oh, I think you could easily. They're not a bit alike," Alice said, from the chocolate pot.

Phyllis looked at Janet, and a swift glance of understanding and amusement passed between them.

"And, oh, Janet,"—Miss Clark was speaking again—"I almost forgot to tell you that there is a letter in your box for you. Seems to me you are getting lots of mail lately. I didn't recognize the handwriting."

Again Phyllis and Janet exchanged glances, and this time their looks said as plainly as words "Peter."

CHAPTER XVIII

A FULL CUP OF HAPPINESS

"Mrs. Todd says that I really ought to send you a telegram, but a letter can say so much more, and I have a whole lot to say.

"First of all, I came to Boston intending to get something to do as a first step toward the West, but would you believe it whom should I run into the day after I landed but Doc. He grabbed me by the arm, and I felt the way I did the day Mr. Simpson appeared in the doorway of the 'E.K.' He hardly spoke to me, but hustled me off to his house, and there I found the explanation of his queer behavior.

"Mrs. Todd was sitting in the office waiting for me! My ears still tingle when I remember what she said! But I guess I deserved it. And now comes the amazing part of my story.

"I am going to school. She and Doc, who are old friends, by the way, insist upon it. Then, next spring, one of my 'E.K.' schemes is coming true. Mrs. Todd is going to let me raise sheep on her place. This is all thanks to you, Princess, and some day I'm going to show you that I am really grateful.

"Mrs. Todd wants me to tell you that she will be back within a few days, and she hopes it will be in time for your surprise. What is your surprise?

Janet read the letter aloud to Phyllis and explained the parts of it that she did not understand.

It seemed to Janet that with this last good news her cup of happiness was full to overflowing.

The next few days passed all too hurriedly. They spent them out of doors for the most part, either driving or paddling on the bay.

Phyllis added admiration to her affection for Janet. It seemed to her that she could do almost everything in the outdoor line and do it well. As a city girl she marveled and predicted a great success in athletics at school.

The day before the tea was so warm and sunshiny that they decided to have a picnic out in the woods. Martha packed them a basket filled with twice as much as they needed, and they made an early start.

They walked out into the country beyond the village, and Tom chose a sheltered corner under the lee of a hill, and built a fire. Janet helped him, and together they roasted potatoes and broiled a steak. Auntie Mogs and Phyllis watched and offered suggestions. Phyllis upset a jar of Martha's specially preserved peaches, but only Tom saw her, and she scooped them back into the glass, only adding a pine needle or two.

"Tommy, don't you dare to tell," she whispered, and Tom, who had dropped the steak only the minute before had to promise.

It was a merry little party, and Tom kept them all laughing with tales about picnics and camping trips out in the West.

"Tommy, I think, now that you have found two new and perfectly nice sisters, that the least you could do would be to invite them out to pay you a visit," Phyllis suggested airily.

"Children, you have no manners," Auntie Mogs chided. "If I were Tom, I should never think of asking you now."

"Just as I feel about it,"—Tom tried to make his voice sound very dignified and cold and failed utterly. "I intended asking you all next summer, but of course now I shall limit my invitation to just you, Aunt Mog, and I do hope you will accept."

"Meanie," Phyllis teased. "If you ever did such a thing! But seriously, Tommy, did you mean to ask us next summer?"

"Oh, yes; can't we leave the day after school closes?" Janet suggested. "There's no use in wasting time."

"Here, here," Tom protested, "not quite so fast. I accept your acceptance of my ungiven invitation, but I insist on naming the day.

"I stump you both to climb that tree over there," he added, pointing to a tall pine; "the one who wins can have the last piece of cake."

Both girls started for the tree. Janet was almost to the top before Phyllis was half way up. As she climbed down again she noticed that Phyllis was very white and standing perfectly still, holding tightly to the trunk.

"Oh, Janet, I'm scared to death," she whispered. "I looked down and now I am terribly dizzy; what shall I do!"

"Keep your eyes on the sky," she directed. "Don't look down for even a second and don't be afraid. I'm here and I won't let you fall."

She dropped quickly to the branch below and took one of Phyllis's ankles in her strong grasp.

"Hold tight to the bough above and let your foot swing free, I'll put it on a safe branch. There now, bring the other one down beside it." In this way she helped her carefully and surely to the bottom.

"Oh," Phyllis was almost in tears, "thank you, darling. I am quite sure you saved my life. Oh, dear, I'm still dizzy."

"Well, stand still a minute until you are better. There's no need for Tommy to know. He'd be sure to tease," Janet whispered.

"I don't care about Tom, but I hate being such a baby. You went way to the top," Phyllis answered.

"You're a darling to say so, anyway," Phyllis said gratefully. "I feel better now; let's go back."

"It's yours, you won by a dozen branches. What happened, Phyllis? Did you get scared?"

"Of course not," Janet answered for her. "I promised to go halves, so what was the need of her climbing too,"—she held out a piece of the cake, and Phyllis took it.

"Oh, come, that's not fair," Tom protested. "You should eat every bit of it yourself."

"No, we're twins and we have to share everything," Janet insisted. "Isn't that so, Phyllis?"

On the way home Mrs. Todd called them as they passed the rectory. She had only just returned, and she was so delighted at Janet's good fortune that she kissed her, much to every one's surprise.

"Peter is a rogue," Mrs. Todd answered, "but I can't help loving him, and he has promised to be my right hand for the rest of my days. I had a hard time making Dr. Peabody agree to my schemes, but I am a very determined woman, once my mind is made up, and so he had to give in finally."

"What have you made your mind up to this time, Ann?" Miss Carter inquired, from the other side of the room.

"A red-headed boy," Mrs. Todd laughed. "I have seen enough of all my friends with children to think about and I've made up my mind to have one too. I wanted Janet, but I knew you'd find her some day, Marjorie, and so I found Peter. He's alone and so am I. I think we are going to have a very good time together—raising sheep," she added with a twinkle in her eye.

"Isn't it wonderful about Peter?" Janet asked as she walked home beside her aunt.

"Indeed it is, my dear," Auntie Mogs agreed. "Ann is a darling under her bruskness, and she is very fond of you, dear."

"It would be difficult to imagine any one being anything else. Dear little girl," she added tenderly, "you are very like your beautiful mother. Do you think you could be happy with Phyllis and me? We want you very much indeed."

CHAPTER XIX

TWINS INDEED

Janet and Phyllis stood in the middle of Janet's room and looked at each other. There was nothing apparently that was strange in their appearance. One had on a dark blue, chiffon, afternoon dress and the other a white piqué with a black belt.

They joined hands and stood before the mirror, and then they both began to laugh very hard. Boru, who had been dozing on the floor in a patch of sunlight, got up and came over to them. A keen observer might have thought it odd that he chose the blue chiffon dress to rub up against instead of the white one.

A keen observer might have though it odd that he chose the blue chiffon dress to rub against instead of the white one.

A keen observer might have thought it odd that he chose
the blue chiffon dress to rub against instead of the
white one.

"Funny how fond Boru is of me, isn't it?" she asked. Then they went down stairs together.

The white dress stepped forward and then stood still, and the blue chiffon was soon bending over the table.

"Put these on the side table, Miss Janet, please," she said, and the white dress did as she asked.

"Nobody here yet! Then I'm going to have a cooky, a piece of cake and some candy. Janet, dear little sister of mine, give me one of those biscuits, or two if you insist." The white dress offered him the plate and two brown eyes looked at him hard as he helped himself. But he filled his pockets unconcernedly and turned toward the table.

"Phyllis, other little sister of mine, have you a flower for my button hole! I'm not going to be at your party, but I want to look festive none the less."

The blue dress stood very close to him as the flower was carefully poked into place.

"You are both very quiet this afternoon, it seems to me," he observed critically, looking from one to the other. "What's the matter?"

The girls began to laugh, and they kept it up until they had to lean on each other for support.

"Well, evidently something is very wrong indeed, but I didn't mean to remind you of it. Are you going to do this often during the afternoon?"

Only suppressed gurgles answered him, and he marched off to his own room in disgust.

Miss Carter met them at the door, and the girls both shook hands with each one and then went off for tea or cake, and each time the guest said, "Thank you, Janet," to the white dress, and "That's very sweet of you," to the blue one. And every now and then both girls would disappear into the hall, laugh silently and return to their posts.

The Blakes were among the first arrivals, and Mrs. Todd was with them. Mildred and Alice were a little surprised that the wearer of the white dress came up to them and said "hello!" in the friendliest way.

"Will you have a cup of tea and a biscuit? You ought to be hungry after that long walk, or did you drive over? Oh, but of course you didn't; I forgot you were tired of driving." The white dress fluttered away to return a minute later with tea.

"Why, of course," Mildred replied. "How nice it must be for you to have your sister here," she said, smiling.

"Rather nice!" Alice exclaimed. "I should think it would be a perfect blessing."

"Why—why because it is some one for you to be with." Alice was amazed. "You must have been awfully lonely before she came?"

"Well, but you never went with any of the girls except us now and again, and naturally every one thought you must be lonely. Alice isn't the only one who thought so," Mildred said vehemently.

"Then every one was wrong. I never was lonely for a minute. I had too many things to think about. Of course it is nice having a sister that understands you, but even without her I would not be lonely." The white dress drifted away at a sign from the hostess, and Alice and Mildred were left looking at each other in pained surprise. They were wearing their hair rolled up and tied at the back of their necks for the first time, and they couldn't imagine why Janet had said nothing about it.

"And to think we always thought of her as lonely! I guess she didn't come to see us any oftener because she didn't want to," Alice replied.

"I suppose you will be carrying her back to the dreadful city with you before long?"

"Yes, I think we will go in a few weeks. School begins, you see, and we mustn't be too late getting back."

"What a change it will be for dear Janet!" Miss Clark continued. "I can't say I altogether approve."

"Well, it will change her, and I hate to think of her getting cityfied and filling her head with notions." Miss Clark did not specify just exactly what notions were.

"Of course you are very dear and sweet," she continued, "but you are not at all like our Janet; though you look very much alike, I would never confuse you for an instant."

"Indeed I am, and I don't want to hurt your feelings when I say that I hope you will not let Janet change too much."

"Why, I think it will do her good to go to the city. She will meet lots of nice girls and go to school, and certainly anything would be better than being alone so much of the time as she is here. I hope she learns to be like other girls when she gets to town."

"Ah, well, I am afraid I can't agree with you," Miss Clark said sadly. The blue dress hurried off to pass the cake to Mrs. Todd, who was sitting alone in a corner.

"Stay with me, child," Mrs. Todd said when she had helped herself. "I want to look at you. I thought this afternoon that you were like your father in manner,"—her blue eyes searched the brown ones. Suddenly she frowned. "Hello, that's odd. No, I can't be wrong. You little imps you, you've—"

"Oh, do hush, please; some one might hear you, and not a soul has even suspected, not even Auntie Mogs. How did you guess?" Janet demanded.

"Eyes," Mrs. Todd said shortly. "Yours have little tiny flecks of gold in them, like your mother's. Phyllis's are clearer, less dreamy, like her father's. I won't give you away."

"Oh, thanks; you can't imagine what fun it is. I am hearing all sorts of things about myself, and I can't wait to compare notes with Phyllis."

Opportunity came a little later when they met in the kitchen. Phyllis repeated her numerous conversations, and Janet told her that Mrs. Todd had guessed.

"Good; don't let's change even for dinner. I believe we could fool Tommy and Auntie Mogs all evening," Phyllis chuckled.

"It's lots of fun being you," Janet whispered, as they went back into the dining-room.

Dinner passed without their game being discovered, though their occasional fits of laughter mystified Tommy and Auntie Mogs. They might have gotten safely to bed without their knowing if it hadn't been for Boru and Galahad.

They came out into the garden after dinner, pretending not to notice each other, for although Tom had succeeded in making them eat from the same dish, they were by no means friends.

Janet and Phyllis were walking up and down the center path. Sir Galahad purred softly and looked up at his mistress. Phyllis leaned down and picked him up in her aims. Janet let her hand rest on Boru's head.

"There's something wrong with the picture. I think it's your dresses. They don't match your animals. Hold on a minute. I've got it!" he exclaimed. "You've swapped clothes."

"It's no wonder either; you are as alike as two peas in a pod, except for the way you talk. What a lot of larks you will be able to have, but I shouldn't wonder if you found it embarrassing when you got a little older. Perhaps I had better brand you with your initials," he suggested—then he added slowly, "Yes, I think on the whole it would be a lot better for all concerned if I did."

CHAPTER XX

GOOD-BY

One morning at the close of the visit Mrs. Page sent for Janet to come to her. When she was seated in the chair by the bed, the old lady looked at her for a long time before she said anything. When she did speak, it was to ask a startling question.

"Because you have always been kind to me and taken care of me, I suppose," Janet said doubtfully.

"Why, I hardly know how to put it into words,"—Janet hesitated. "I love to be with Auntie Mogs and I like to have her put her arm around me and kiss me."

"I don't think they are opposite reasons," Janet replied. "I love you—well, respectfully, and I like to think of your being here. I think perhaps I'm proud that you are my grandmother."

"Well, it may surprise you to hear it," she said at last, "but I love you. I love you very dearly. I have been a very selfish old woman and perhaps I have not been very gentle with you. Tom says I haven't. Certainly I have never kissed you and put my arm around you, but I have always loved you. I want you to remember that. You have always been very patient with me too, and I realize it. Sometimes I've wished you would lose your temper, but now I'm glad you didn't. Phyllis is more like her father than you are, but I suppose that serves me right. I thought that I could love her the first day I saw her. I do love her, but not as much as I love you. You are the finer of the two and some day you'll prove it."

"When I die,"—Mrs. Page spoke from the depth of the pillow—"I am going to leave everything I have to you. I am telling you this because you are going away, not because I think I am going to die. Now you may go."

Janet left the room, a queer feeling of regret in her heart. She wanted to take her grandmother in her arms and kiss her as she knew Phyllis would have done, but a restraint, born from the custom of years, held her back, and she closed the door behind her, softly, as she had always done.

Phyllis was nowhere to be found, so Janet went up to the "widow's walk" to think over what her grandmother had said. She found Tom already there, smoking his pipe and reading.

"Hello, what did grandmother want?" he inquired lazily. "You were with her an awfully long time. Phyllis got tired of waiting for you and went off for a walk with Harry Waters."

"Tom,"—Janet spoke very seriously, and Tom put down his book to listen—"when I go to the city with Phyllis and Auntie Mogs may I come back and see grandmother whenever I want to?"

"Because I think grandmother is sorry I am going; really sorry, I mean, not just angry; and I think I ought to come back and see her every once in a while," Janet told him.

"Bless your heart, I think you are right. Auntie Mogs and I were talking about the same thing only last night, and she said you could all come up whenever she wanted you." Tom pulled her down beside him and rumpled her hair. "Now are you satisfied?" he asked, laughing.

"Tell me all over again just what the plans are!" she said as she settled herself comfortably.

"I should think you would know them all by heart,"—Tom laughed. "First of all you and Phyllis will have to be separated for a few days. I don't see how you will ever bear it, but you must try. Then Auntie Mogs and Phyllis will go down to the city and get ready for your arrival. To hear Phyllis talk you would think that the walls of your room were going to be hung in gold and that no one could see to it but herself.

"But to resume. As soon as everything is ready for your ladyship I will take you down. I can picture your excitement now when you see Auntie Mogs' library, and when you are comfortably settled I will take a train West and start in rebuilding my modest shanty so that it will be ready to receive you in the spring."

Janet looked out over the water and tried to picture all Tom had said, but she gave it up.

"Do you know, Tommy," she said suddenly, "I made up my mind on this very spot to write you that letter. Doesn't it seem funny to think that we are sitting here now together?"

"It does," Tom agreed slowly, "the only pity is that you didn't write it before."

The remaining days passed rapidly, and the date set for the departure came all too soon.

"Of course it's only for a week," Phyllis said, as they stood on the station platform, "but I feel as though it were years."

"So do I," Janet replied sorrowfully. "I wish I could go home and sleep until Thursday."

"Make Tommy amuse you every minute, and don't you dare to forget me even for a half a second," Phyllis warned her. "Oh, dear, here comes the horrid old train! Kiss me again for good luck."

"You two babies!" Miss Carter looked down at the two doleful faces before her and laughed. "It's dreadful to be separated, especially when you are twins, isn't it? But try and brace up, both of you, and it will soon be over. Good-by for a little while, dearest child. Tommy, take good care of her, won't you?" she added, as she said good-by to him.

They boarded the train, and Janet insisted on waiting until the last puff of smoke curled up out of sight.

The house without Phyllis was unbearable, and Janet rowed over to the Enchanted Kingdom to find consolation. She knew that the workmen would be in possession the next day, and she wanted to have it all to herself once more.

She patted the books and said good-by to all her favorites. As she knelt to read the title of one of them she noticed the volume that she had found Peter reading their last memorable day together. She took it from its shelf and opened it idly. Pictures of sheep and diagrams of gates and fences did not interest her very much, and she was just about to close it up when she had a sudden idea.

She turned to the back of it, tore out a page that had nothing on it, and with Peter's own pencil, which she found on the floor under the sofa, she started to write.

"I am saying good-by to the Enchanted Kingdom, for I am going away next week. Of course I will write you letters to boarding school, but I wanted to leave this for you to find the first time you come back.

"We had lots of good times together, didn't we? I suppose the next time we see each other we won't want to pretend, so this is a last good-by to Lord Carrot Tops from

When it was written, she folded it up and stuck it between the leaves of the sheep book. Then she stood up to go.

"Good-by, my wonderful Kingdom," she said. "I will always love you better than any room in the world." She tiptoed to the window and climbed out swiftly.

CHAPTER XXI

CONCLUSION

An ordinary train pulled in on an ordinary day at the Old Chester station. A man and a girl, with soft brown eyes blurred by unshed tears, entered the Pullman car and took the seats that the porter showed them. Then the car started again, and the girl leaned out of the window.

"They are all there," she said. "Harry, Mrs. Todd, Mildred and Alice, and Martha. I can't believe I'm really going away from them."

"But you are, little sister of mine; you are going to a brand new world, and I am anxious to hear what you and another little sister of mine are going to do in it."

"Yes, just as this was more your world than hers, but she came to your world and liked it," the man replied. "Just as you are going to like her world."

The girl, who was Janet, looked out of the window and smiled, and the train seemed to hurry them along.

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