lecture should be delivered once a month, the queen leading off, and the princesses following in turn, according to ages.

Isa Harrington tried to pass a resolution against any two members of the society being especially intimate, and setting themselves up for "particular friends." She was quite eloquent upon this resolution, but was frowned into silence by Grace, who would have cried, "Down with the Ruby Seal," sooner than she would have given up Cassy for an intimate friend.

The society broke up mutually pleased, every one of the princesses sealing the compact with a kiss, and parting with the password for the month, "Vera." The only discontented face was Isa's, and her handsome eyes darkened with jealousy as she looked back and saw that Grace lingered, talking with Cassy. What was there about Cassy Hallock so very remarkable? For Isa's part, she couldn't see that she was better than other folks! Ah, Isa Harrington, look out for that tiny serpent of jealousy. Crush it before it grows to a monster.

[Illustration: Grace and Cassy]

Grace and Cassy walked slowly along, their arms about each other's waists, chatting socially, and making the most of the time, for Cassy was to go to Kentucky next week. There are few things more pure and delightful than the mutual friendship of two good little girls. Isa Harrington, to be sure, did not think so, but her jealousy was not more than half suspected by Grace and Cassy.

The Cliffords lived a little way out of town, and their beautiful grounds were soon in full view. The broad lawn, enclosed by a trimly-cut hedge, was now of a sleepy brown, in harmony with the freestone house which stood on a terrace overlooking the clusters of evergreen trees and well-trained shrubbery. On the other side of the house was a conservatory filled with choice flowers, and beyond that the cottage of Mr. Sherwood, the English gardener.

The girls parted at their trysting-place, the "acorn-tree," and Grace walked the rest of the way alone, musing upon the glorious destiny which awaited the distinguished Miss Clifford in the rosy future.

When within a few steps of the gate, she saw her mother coming from Mr. Sherwood's cottage in apparent haste. There was evidently some cause of disturbance, for every member of the Sherwood family ran out of the house, one after another, followed by Barbara Kinkle, with her apron over her head.

"What is the matter," cried Grace, rushing into the yard in breathless haste.

"Nothing much," replied Barbara, trying to speak calmly. "Your brother has only been and lost himself. But don't you have no fears, Miss Grace; he never did go and fall in the river."

Every particle of color fled from Grace's face. She forgot that Horace belonged to the condemned race of "awful boys." The bare possibility that he might be drowned was too horrible!

"O, Barby," she cried out. "O, Mr. Sherwood, run for the river."

And for her own part, she ran round and round in a maze, wringing her hands, peeping under the hedge, examining the gravel path, and all the places where Horace certainly could not be, even if he had tried to conceal himself. Mr. Sherwood and his wife had gone to the river.

"It is, perhaps, a foolish alarm," said Mrs. Clifford, pacing the yard. "Horace asked me to let him go, with some other boys, shooting squirrels, but I said No, very decidedly. I cannot think Horace would disobey me so."

"Hurrah!" shouted a boyish voice from the house. "Here is the runaway, safe and sound. Please come here, Mrs. Clifford, if you want to see a curiosity."

Mrs. Clifford, Grace, and Barbara went up stairs with hearts wonderfully lightened.

"Further yet," said Robert Sherwood's voice from a distance.

Ascending the fourth flight of stairs, they entered the square, unfinished room called the Observatory. Here sat the boy who had caused this anxiety, surrounded by a chaos of tools, blocks of wood, pieces of tin, and coils of rope.

"Now, there!" cried he, bending his elbows into acute angles, and trying to hide his work in his leather apron. "What made you come in my shop? My pa said—"

"My son," said Mrs. Clifford, trying not to smile at the boy's perplexed gestures and eager attempts to put things out of sight, "if you had only told us you kept shop in the roof of the house, we would have been spared this needless alarm."

"Yes, Horace Clifford," said Grace, loftily, "I do despise to see anyone so secret and mysterious."

"I wonders we didn't think he was whittling sticks some-place," said
Barbara, glancing admiringly at Horace.

"Well, now you know," said the boy, fidgeting. "You've found me, and
I wasn't lost; now can't you go off?"

"Pretty talk to your ma," cried Grace.

"O, ma, I don't mean you. But I just don't want anybody to see this thing I'm making till it's plum done."

"Plum done!" repeated Grace; "where did you pick up such droll words? and why will you twist your mouth so, Horace?"

The boy threw down his jackknife with a jerk of despair.

"There, now, can't you go away?—I mean you and Barby. 'Tisn't fair play. This is my own shop-room, and my pa said I could keep my tool-chest in it, and there shouldn't anybody—"

But Horace found himself talking to empty air, for his visitors had disappeared. He unrolled his leather apron, removed the bit of straw matting from sundry boards, and gazed at them fondly, muttering, "Too good for Gracie, now, isn't it, when she blows me up so?" But for all that, he set to work again till it was so dark that he could not see to guide his jackknife; when he went downstairs, declaring—to use his own words—that he "was hungry enough to eat ginger."

Phebe, the little colored girl, who, during all the excitement about Horace, had been obliged to stay in the nursery with the baby, was glad now to wash dishes for Barbara, and pour into her ears complaints of wee Katie, who was, she said, "a right cross one—as cross as two hundred sticks."

Barbara listened in indignant silence, only asking at last, "What for a baby would she be now, if she goes to cut her teeth and doesn't cry?"

"Bravo! Chalk Eyes," cried Horace, suddenly rushing out upon Phebe, "none of your grumbling."

"O, Horace," whispered Grace, reprovingly, "hush saying Chalk Eyes.
Haven't you any feeling for poor discolored creatures?

"Poh, Gracie! Niggroes don't feel any worse than we do. Come, let's play catch."

They played till they were called into the parlor to learn their
Sabbath school lessons.

Grace's last waking thought was about the new society. Who knew but they might some day build a little asylum for poor children? People would wonder and admire. Well, nobody should know a word about it yet,—not for a year and a day. Just as if girls couldn't keep secrets! And Grace at last dropped to sleep with her finger on her lip.

CHAPTER III.

THE PRIZE.

The princesses quite enjoyed their stolen meetings and their mysterious signs. O, how little the world suspected that they were keeping weighty secrets! So surprised as the world would be if the princesses only had a mind to tell!

It was evident that Isabel was more interested as soon as Cassy Hallock had gone away to Kentucky. Then there was no rivalry, for Isa was sure that she stood next to Cassy in Grace