stood to whizz them off to the station. Mr. Ramsey directed the chauffeur to see about the trunks while he conducted the little girls to the waiting-room where he left them, returning in a moment to hurry them to the train, and the second part of their journey began.

"I never was in a parlor car before," whispered Dorothy to Edna as the porter turned their seat to a proper angle and adjusted their footstools.

"I was once," replied Edna.

Here Mr. Ramsey handed over some picture papers to them and a box of chocolates. "I am going into the smoking-car," he said. "Do you think you young ladies can get along a little while without me?"

"We'll try to," replied Edna politely.

"If you want a glass of water or anything, just call the porter," Mr. Ramsey told them and then he left them.

There were not so very many persons in the car to interest them and for a time the children gave 28 their attention to the newspapers and the box of chocolates, but after a while they wearied of these, and began to look at their fellow travellers. A very pretty young lady smiled at them from across the aisle, and an older woman back of her looked interested in their movements. After a while this latter person came over and took the place directly behind them where Mr. Ramsey had been sitting.

"Are you children all alone?" she began the conversation.

"No," replied Dorothy.

"Are you sisters?" was the next question.

"No, we are only friends," Edna answered this time.

"And is the gentleman who came with you your father?"

"No, he is just taking us to his house where we are going to make a visit."

"Is he any relation to you?" came next.

"No relation at all. He is the father of the friend we are going to visit." It was Dorothy's turn this time.

"And do your mothers approve of your going off this way without a member of your family?"

This question the children thought a very disagreeable one. They looked at one another before Dorothy made reply. "If it wasn't exactly right our parents wouldn't let us do it. They never let us do a thing that isn't exactly right."

29 "And nobody knows what is right so well as my mother," Edna chimed in.

"Mine, too," put in Dorothy.

"How far did you say you were going?" asked their questioner.

"We didn't say," answered Dorothy, "but we are going to New York." She gave a little frown to Edna, who understood that she was not to vouchsafe any further information. "I just wasn't going to tell her where we were really going from New York," Dorothy said to her friend afterward. "It wasn't any of her business."

"New York is a very wicked city," their acquaintance informed them. "You must be very careful not to be alone in the streets. I would advise you never to lose sight of your escort for a moment."

Both little girls felt rather glad that they were not to remain in such a dreadful place, but they made no reply and wished most heartily that Mr. Ramsey would return to his seat and rid them of this undesirable companion. Presently Edna had a bright idea. "Would you like to look at some of our papers?" she asked.

"What have you?" asked the lady putting up her lorgnette.

"We have Life and Puck and Judge and—"

"I'll take Life and Puck." She accepted the papers handed to her and settled back in the seat 30she had behind them. The two children looked at each other with relieved expressions. "Don't you wish Mr. Ramsey would come back?" whispered Edna.

"Yes, but where will he sit?" Dorothy whispered back. They both smothered a giggle at this, and looking up Edna caught sight of the pretty young lady looking at them with an amused expression. She made a little movement with her hand to beckon Edna over to her.

"Is that old turtle quizzing you?" she asked in a low tone. "She is a perfect bore. She tackled me first but I wouldn't talk to her. Are you wondering if she is going to take that seat and keep it?"

"We were wondering what Mr. Ramsey would do," returned Edna.

"I'll tell you what to do; you take her seat and see what will happen. It is just here in front of me."

Edna took possession and in a few moments the inquisitive lady looked up and saw her there. She at once hurried over, dropping the papers by the way. "Here here," she cried, "what are you doing in my seat? You must get right up. All my things are here, and I don't want anyone to meddle with them. Get right up."

Edna arose with alacrity while the pretty young lady leaned over and said: "I asked her to sit there while you occupied her friend's seat. I wanted to 31talk to her, too. It is a poor rule that doesn't work both ways, you know."

The inquisitive lady gave the speaker a withering look and sank to her place with an air of great dignity while Edna returned to her place by Dorothy. In a few minutes Mr. Ramsey returned and both children gave a sigh of relief, though both kept wondering what would have happened if he had found someone in his place, and what more would have happened if he had taken the place the lady now occupied. They soon forgot all this, however, for Mr. Ramsey began to talk to them about the place to which they were going and before they knew it they had reached New York. The pretty young lady gave them a nod and a smile as she passed out, but the inquisitive lady did not look their way at all though she still retained the copy of Life they had lent her.

A taxi-cab whirled them up-town to the hotel where they were to lunch. Mr. Ramsey sent them upstairs to a pretty room, in charge of a neat maid who tidied them up and then took them down to the dining-room where Mr. Ramsey was already seated waiting for them. They felt very grand to be in so fine a place lunching with a gentleman quite like grown-up young ladies, and both wished their sisters could see them.

Lunch over, Mr. Ramsey took them to a large reception room where he stationed them at a window so they could look out on the street. "I think you will be entertained here," he said. "I am 32obliged to meet a business appointment, but I will be back as soon as I can. In the meantime amuse yourselves as you like, but don't leave the hotel. Here is the key of your room. The elevator boy or one of the chambermaids will show you where it is, if you would rather go there. I am glad there are two of you, for you can't be lonesome with one another. Good-bye." He was off and the two little girls, feeling that they were very small frogs in an immense puddle, sat by the window looking out on the street. Although it was not so warm as it had been earlier in the week, still it was warm enough, and the passers-by looked hot and tired, and after a while the two little girls wearied at looking at the constant stream of people.

"Let's go upstairs," suggested Dorothy.

"All right. Let's," returned Edna.

But just as they were standing timidly looking up and down the corridor trying to determine in which direction to go to find the elevator, a man wearing many brass buttons on his coat, came up to them. "Are you the young ladies in Number 136?" he asked.

Dorothy looked at the key she was holding and on its wooden tag she read the number 136. "Yes, that is the number," she told the man.

"Then here's something that's come for you," he said holding out two packages. "I knocked at your door, but you wasn't there, and the chambermaid said you might be in here."

33 The children thanked him and looked at the packages which were quite distinctly marked with their names and the number of their room as well as with the name of the hotel. They inquired their way to the elevator and had soon closed the door of their room after them.

"I'd a great deal rather be in here to ourselves," said