prior to the date set for the formal opening of your camp, you name a rate for three early weeks which would be profitable to you. There will be six men in my party, including myself.

Very truly yours,
Samuel Langham.

Mary, her face flushed with the bright colors of triumph, read this letter aloud to the assembled family.

"Does anybody," she asked, "know anything about Samuel Langham? Is he a suitable person?"

"I know of him," said Arthur, smiling at some recollection or other. "He is what the newspapers call a 'well-known clubman.' He is rich, fat, good-natured, and not old. It is that part of your prospectus which touches upon the cuisine that has probably affected him. His father was a large holder of Standard Oil securities."

"As for me," said Gay, "I've seen him. Do you remember, Phyllis, being asked to a most 'normous dinner dance at the Redburns' the year we came out? At the last minute you caught cold and wanted to back out, but Mary said that wasn't done, and so I went in your place, and, as usual, nobody knew the difference. Well, Mr. Langham was there. I didn't meet him, but I remember I watched him eat. He is very smug-looking. He didn't like the champagne. I remember that. He lifted his glass hopefully, took one swallow, put his glass down, and never touched it again. His face for the rest of dinner had the expression of one who has been deeply wronged. I thought of Louis XVI mounting the scaffold."

"I do wish," said Mary, "that we knew what kind of wine the creature likes."

"Father left a splendid collection," said Arthur. "Take Mr. Langham into the cellar. He'll enjoy that. Let him pick his own bottle."

In the event, Maud sat down in her new office and wrote Mr. Langham that he and his five guests could be received earlier in the season. And then, with fear and trembling, she named a price per diem that amounted to highway robbery.

Mr. Langham's answer was prompt and cheerful. He asked merely to be notified when the ice had gone out of the lake.

"Well," said Mary, with a long-drawn sigh of relief, "the prices don't seem to have frightened him nearly as much as they frightened us. But, after all, the prospectus was alluring—though we say it that shouldn't."

Lee and Gay were troubled by qualms of conscience. The advertisements of The Camp were to appear in the February number of some of the more important periodicals, and the two scapegraces were beginning to be horribly alarmed.

Magazines have a way of being received last by those most interested in seeing them. And before even a copy of The Four Seasons reached the Darlings, there came a number of letters from people who had already seen the advertisement in it. One letter was from a very old friend of the family, and ran as follows:

My Dear Mary:

How could you! I have seen your advertisement of The Camp in The Four Seasons. It is earning much talk and criticism. I don't know what you could have been thinking of. I have always regarded you as one of the sanest and best-bred women I know. But it seems that you are not above sacrificing your own dignity to financial gain——

"Well, in the name of all that's ridiculous," exclaimed Mary; "of all that's impertinent!—will somebody kindly tell me what my personality has to do with our prospectus of The Camp?"

Those who could have told her held their tongues and quaked inwardly. The others joined in Mary's surprise and indignation. Even Arthur, who hated the whole innkeeping scheme, was roused out of his ordinary placidity.

"I shall write to the horrid old woman," said Mary, "and tell her to mind her own business. I shall also tell her that we are receiving so many applications for accommodations that we don't know how to choose. That isn't quite true, of course; but we have received some. Since I am not above sacrificing my dignity"—she went on angrily—"to financial gain, I may as well throw a few lies into the bargain."

The next day, addressed to "The Camp," came the long-expected number of The Four Seasons. Arthur opened it and began to turn the leaves. Presently, from the centre of a page, he saw his six beautiful sisters looking him in the face.

"Mary!" he called, in such a voice that she came running. She looked and turned white. Eve came, and Maud and Phyllis.

"Who is responsible for this—" cried Arthur, "for this sickening—this degraded piece of mischief?"

"You corrected the final proofs yourself," said Maud.

"And sealed them up. If I find that some mischief-maker in the office of The Four Seasons has been playing tricks——"

"The mischief-makers are to be found nearer home," said Mary. "Don't you remember that Lee and Gay took the proofs to the post-office. They said they were bored and could think of nothing to do. This is what they were thinking of doing!"

"Where are they?" he said in a grim voice.

"Now, Arthur," said Maud, "think before you say anything to them that you may regret. As for the picture of us in our bathing-suits—well, I, for one, don't see anything dreadful about it. In fact, I think we look rather lovely."

Arthur groaned.

"I want to talk to Lee and Gay," he said. "My sisters—an advertisement in a magazine—for drummers and newsboys to make jokes about——"

He grew white and whiter, until his innocent sisters were thoroughly frightened. Then he started out of the playroom in search of Lee and Gay.

In or about The Camp they were not to be found. Nobody had seen them since breakfast. With this information, he returned to the playroom.

"They've run away," he said, "and I'm going after them."

"I wouldn't," said Mary. "The harm's been done. You can't very well spank them. I wish you could. You can only scold—and what earthly good will that do them, or you?"

"I don't know that anything I may say," said Arthur, "will do them any good. I live in hopes."

"Have you any idea where they've gone?"

"I'll cast about in a big circle and find their tracks."

When Arthur, mittened and snow-shoed, had departed in search of Lee and Gay, the remaining sisters gathered about the full-page advertisement in The Four Seasons, and passed rapidly from anger to mild hysterics. Mary was the last to laugh.

And she said: "Girls, I will tell you an awful secret. I never would have consented to this, but as long as Lee and Gay have gone and done it, I'm—glad."

"The only thing I mind," said Eve, "is Arthur. He'll take it hard."

"We can't help that," said Maud. "Business is business. And this wretched, shocking piece of mischief spells success. I feel it in my bones. There's no use being silly about ourselves. We've got our way to make in the world—and, as a sextet——"

She lingered over the picture.

"As a sextet, there's no use denying that we are rather lovely to look at."

Phyllis put in a word blindly.

"Maud," she said, "among the applications you have received, how many are from women?"

Maud laughed aloud.

"None," she said.

"There wouldn't be," said Eve.

"Well," said Mary, "compared to the rest of you, I'm quite an old woman, and I say—so much the better."

V

Even on going into the open air from a warmed room, it would not have