long in finding her mother, and in plying her with questions upon the all-important subject, but she received no further assurance than had been given her in the beginning and was fain to exercise her patience and unburden herself to her sister Celia, who was interested and sympathetic. But at last even Celia became tired of the topic and went off to take a nap in her own room. So Edna went down to a cool spot at the 21 back of the house where there was a little stream, and tried to amuse herself with a book.

But even her favorite fairy tales failed to fix her attention, so she returned to the house to find everyone given up to napping and the place so still that finally in the coolest corner of the library where a little breeze found its way through the open windows, she herself fell asleep.

When she awoke it was to hear her father's voice saying: "Hallo! who is this? The Sleeping Beauty?"

"Oh, Papa," cried Edna, awake in a moment, "how nice and early you have come home."

"It was too hot to stay in the city any longer than necessary," her father told her. "There wasn't much doing, so I thought I would be better off here."

"I called you up on the 'phone this morning," said Edna, "but you weren't at the office."

"And what did you want of me?"

"Mother will tell you," answered Edna, suddenly shy of meeting a decision which might disappoint her.

"Then I'd better find mother and see what it is all about."

Left to herself Edna waited for what seemed to her a very long time, quite long enough for the affairs of a nation to be settled, and then she went 22 slowly up the stairs, and paused before the open door of her mother's room. To her surprise her parents were talking about something quite different from the subject uppermost in her own mind.

"Edna, dear," said her mother, catching sight of the little figure, "you'd better get ready for dinner. We shall have it a little earlier, so Susan won't be kept so late over the hot fire."

Edna took a step into the room. "Did you ask him?" she said wistfully.

"Ask what? Oh, yes, I forgot dear," she said turning to her husband. "Edna has had a very cordial invitation from Mrs. Ramsey to spend some weeks at the Ramsey's summer home. She and Dorothy Evans are both invited, and I think the Ramseys really will be disappointed if we do not allow Edna to go. What do you think?"

Wasn't it just like mother to put it that way? thought Edna. Surely her father could not be so heartless as to refuse his consent after that.

Her faith in her mother's tact was not misplaced for her father replied: "Why, I think that will be great for Edna. Of course let her go."

"Oh, Mother, Mother, may I? May I?" cried Edna with clasped hands and beseeching eyes.

Her mother turned from the mirror before which she was standing to arrange her hair. "Well, honey," she said. "I think it is decided that you may."

23 Edna flew to her to bestow a rapturous hug and kiss, and then sped out of the room and downstairs to the telephone. "One, six, seven; ring two," she called in an excited voice.

Presently there was an answering "Hallo," from the other end.

"Is that you, Dorothy?" called Edna.

"Yes. Oh, Edna, I hoped it was you. Do tell me, is there any news?"

"I'm going," came the triumphant reply.

"So am I," came promptly back to her.

24CHAPTER II
THE ARRIVAL

For the next few days there was much talk of clothes and packing, of trains and time-tables, and it was a matter of some discussion as to the best way for the little girls to make their journey of some hundreds of miles. Dorothy had never been so far away from home, and was therefore the more excited of the two. After some writing back and forth it was decided that the two children should go to the city under Mr. Conway's care and there he turned them over to Mr. Ramsey who was to join his family at the seashore in about a week.

"Do you suppose we shall get homesick?" asked Dorothy as the time drew near for them to make their start.

"Oh, I hope not," returned Edna fervently. "I was awfully homesick at Aunt Elizabeth's, but this will be quite different, for there will be Jennie, and Mrs. Ramsey is a real mother; besides we shall have one another."

"I know all that," returned Dorothy a little dubiously, "but Jennie's mother won't be mine nor yours."

Edna was willing to admit this, but she had gone through some rather trying experiences and was 25 not disposed to think that anything but pleasant times awaited them. As Jennie had pictured it the visit was to be one long season of delight, so Edna said determinedly. "Well, I don't intend to be homesick."

"Then I'll try not to be," returned Dorothy, not to be outdone in courage.

However, when the trunks stood ready packed, and Edna said good night for the last time before undertaking the journey, she held her mother very tightly around the neck and whispered: "I wish you were going too, Mother."

"That can't be, darling," said her mother. "You will have such a fine time that you will not miss your mother at all."

"Oh, but I shall," returned Edna, half wishing she were not going after all. "I 'most wish it was time to come back instead of time to go."

Her mother laughed. "And this is the little girl who could scarcely wait to be told she could go. Never mind, dearie, you will feel quite differently to-morrow morning. Now go to sleep, for you must get up bright and early, you know."

Edna settled down with a sigh, but, in spite of her excitement, she soon fell asleep to waken in the morning with the feeling that something very important was to happen. Her mother came in to see that she was properly dressed and to tie the bows on her hair. Then just as they were about 26 to sit down to breakfast, the expressman came for the trunk, and next Dorothy arrived all impatience.

"Why, Edna, haven't you had breakfast yet?" she asked. "Aren't you afraid we shall be late?"

"We don't have to go till papa does, and he hasn't half finished," replied Edna. So Dorothy had to possess her soul in patience for there was no gainsaying the fact that they could not go without Mr. Conway.

At last the good-byes were said, and Edna waved to her mother till she could no longer see the white figure on the porch. Agnes and Celia had gone on ahead to the station and the boys were there, too, to see them off. Soon the train came in sight; in another moment they had been helped aboard, and the next they were off. It was but a short ride to the city, and this part of the journey was not exciting, as it was one with which they were very familiar. But when they were ushered into Mr. Ramsey's private office, they felt that here began their untrod way.

They sat for some time, their feet dangling from their high chairs while Mr. Ramsey conferred with his clerks in the outer office. Their talk was carried on in whispers, though once in a while a stifled giggle told that they were in good spirits.

At last Mr. Ramsey appeared. "Well, young ladies," he said, "I am sorry I had to leave you so long, but when a man is about to take a holiday, he has so many things to see about that he doesn't 27 know which way to turn." He looked at his watch. "I think we have just about time enough to get that ten o'clock train." He pressed an electric button and a boy in a grey uniform came to the door. "Take these bags, Edward," said Mr. Ramsey, pointing to the satchels each little girl had placed carefully by her chair. The boy led the way to the elevator and down they went to the first floor of the big office building, then to the street where an automobile