and Ernestine roomed together in the front room, the twins in one next, and Olive alone across the hall. Generally, while getting ready for bed, the doors were left open, and a merry conversation carried on; but to-night, they were full of thought, and had not much to say, so everything settled into quiet very soon after the "good nights" had been spoken.

In the front room, the girls were wakeful. Beatrice, as the oldest sister, felt, in her quiet thoughtful way, that perhaps, the way she did in the coming change, would act as an example to the others; and that an extra duty rested on her, to be as patient and willing as possible, in whatever might be necessary for them to do, and to be all to mother, that an elder daughter should be, in time of trouble. Ernestine was also deep in thought, and had twisted her pillow into such a position, that the moonlight made quite a halo around her yellow hair and made her face, with its beautiful eyes, look like a cameo in golden setting. She knew it, too, just as well as Beatrice, who at that moment, turned and looked at her, and furthermore, she knew just how to go on with what she wanted to accomplish.

"Bea," she said, with her voice dropped to its sweetest, "I want you to do something for me."

"What?"

"You said you had nine dollars, will you loan me five?"

"How? I was going to give it to papa to-morrow."

"You know he wouldn't take it," began Ernestine, impatiently; then smoothed her voice carefully again, and went on: "Papa won't have us give up everything, Bea. We are all willing to lessen expenses at home, but we are not to scrimp and pinch ourselves all to pieces. I'll pay you back just as soon as——"

"It isn't that," interrupted Bea, "But I don't see how you can want to spend it now."

"But I do; there are the loveliest lace scarfs——"

"Lace scarfs;" cried Bea again, in shocked surprise. "Would you, Ernestine?—Five dollars?"

"Certainly! Since we've made my old black silk over, it looks so nice, and I've nothing fit to wear around my neck. I'm sure its not much and I'm going to work this winter, am I not?"

Bea turned her pillow over and laid her head down thoughtfully. Was Ernestine selfish, or had she much heart? The question had often come silently up, and been put as silently down, but now it lingered persistently, though Bea moved her head restlessly, as if to get rid of it. If Ernestine wanted anything, she left no avenue untried, and got it if possible, no matter at whose expense or self-denial. All through fifteen years of her life, she had kept a clear unfaltering eye on herself, her wants, and her welfare, and after they were all supplied, she was ready and willing to help any one else; but no one must ever ask, or expect it at the expense of her personal comfort or plenty. Yet with her candies, the girls had lion shares; her pretty things,—and somehow all of Ernestine's things were so pretty and graceful,—she loaned willingly, and was never too tired or unwilling to help the girls' dress on great occasions; for though Olive was the artist, Ernestine had the artist's quick eye for graceful draping, harmony of colors, and picturesque structures of hair. Moreover, she was always good natured, nothing ever ruffled her, except for a passing moment, and any hour of the day, you might hear her voice, just like a bird's, filling the house with music, while her lovely face made sunshine; so it came, that she received the credit for making home happy, when she did it with no such intention, or exertion, only because she loved to sing, and it was perfectly natural for her to be gay and untouched by anything.

"I'm sure," she said, speaking suddenly, as Bea gave a restless twist to her head. "You needn't, if you don't want to, Bea. Perhaps you want to buy——"

"You know better," cried Bea, flying up from her rumpled pillow. "I don't want to buy anything, and if you want to spend five dollars for a lace scarf, why you're welcome to my money. That's all. Good night."

Next Sunday, when the girls went to church, Ernestine wore a cob-webby scarf of ivory white over her "made-over" silk, and put a creamy day lily in her yellow hair, and the girls looking at her, silently thought: "No wonder papa calls her his picture!"

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CHAPTER III.

A FOUNDATION THAT BROUGHT KAT TO GRIEF.

Slam! went the gate, knocking the dead leaves right and left, and whiz! went two girls up the walk, like unruly sky-rockets, with the odd ends flying. Rattle-de-tap, went four feet with steel-capped heels over the old shady porch, and bang! went the door back against the wall; then:——

"Mama,——"

"Bea,—Er,——"

"Nestine, Olive,——"

"Jean, hurry;—let me tell first. Miss——"

"I beat to the steps, I ought to tell," shrieked Kat, as Kittie choked for breath. "Miss Howard is going to give us a,——"

"Nutting party!" shouted Kittie, with a triumphant breath. "Hurrah, three cheer-r-s!"

"Mercy on me," cried a voice from up stairs. "What is the matter; what are you doing?"

"Kittie's dancing a jig, and Kat's sliding down the bannisters," exclaimed a horrified voice from somewhere else. "Mercy! Bea, call mama; I think they've gone crazy."

"Nutting party," cried Kittie, dancing furiously and nodding her head like a demented monkey. "To-morrow,——want to go?"

The girls had all collected by this time around the boisterous pair, and Bea flapped her sewing warningly, as Kat came whizzing down the bannisters for a final time, and landed with a dexterous jump, in the middle of the group.

"I'm going down town," said Ernestine, after hearing of the near and great event. "I can't go."

"Of course not," said Kittie, with great scorn. "You'd rather go down town, and be all the afternoon buying a shoe string, than get a Saratoga trunk full of nuts; but you'll want some of mine this winter."

Olive was busy on a picture, Bea had some sewing, so the twins must represent the Dering family, and accepted the matter quite blissfully, to judge from the way they raced off for parts unknown, and remained absent for some time, as if strange and wonderful preparations were necessary, and being undergone for to-morrow. They came back when the tea-bell rang, at least Kittie did, slowly and solemnly through the back yard, and lingered several minutes on the porch, with many mysterious signals to some one, down where the long yard sloped to the pond, and a fringe of willows shaded the water.

"Where's Kathy," inquired Ernestine, who strongly objected to the extremely abbreviated form of 'Kat.'

"Down at the pond, she's coming," answered Kittie, with a strangely worried look; but Ernestine flitted by without noticing it, and pretty soon Kittie quit leaning over the lattice and went in slowly.

Just as Mrs. Dering was leaving her room to go down to tea, she heard a peculiarly suspicious noise out in the back hall, unmistakably the careful opening of a window, as of someone on the low roof without, and pausing to listen, Mrs. Dering became convinced, that someone was surely making entrance to the house in that questionable manner. A midnight burglary was a rare occurrence in Canfield, but one in the early fall of evening, was beyond imagination, and yet Mrs. Dering was conscious of a little trepidation, as she tiptoed her way round to the back hall, and fancy pictured a man, with sly intent, coming over the