Jeanette, when they had stopped giggling over the look the man gave Nancy.

“And what did she say?” asked Nan eagerly.

“She has engaged a stateroom on one of the boats from Boston to Yarmouth, Nova Scotia, for the tenth of August. Madelon has gone back to Beaupre for a couple of weeks——”

“What for?” interrupted Nancy, in disgust.

“Her foster mother is ill; and, since her daughter has married and gone to live at Batiscan, she is lonely. Madelon could not withstand her appeal for a short visit.”

“She was ready enough to get rid of Madelon when she didn’t need her!” said Nancy, vehemently. Then she added, “But, of course, she doubtless did do a lot for Madelon when she was little; and I do admire her for going back, in spite of the way she treated her in later years.”

“Well, anyhow,” continued Jeanette, “Madelon will be back in Boston about the first of August; and Miss Ashton suggested that we go down about that time, or a few days later, so as to have a little time to look about Boston before we sail.”

“‘Sail!’ Doesn’t that sound exciting?”

“But don’t get your hopes of the trip up too high, Nan; that is, the ocean part of it. I understand it is often quite rough; so there is quite a possibility of being sick.”

“Oh, Janie, be an optimist! I read recently that seasickness is nothing more than a condition of the mind. We just won’t be sick.”

“Coming in?” asked Jeanette, as they passed in front of her house, which they reached at that point in their discussion.

“No, not to-night. I’m going home and visit with Mother and Dad. I have hardly seen them alone since our guest arrived.”

“All right. I’ll see you sometime to-morrow, then.”

“Yes; and we’ll make a list of what we are going to need for our travels.”

CHAPTER III

BON VOYAGE

“There is one thing I must have,” decreed Nancy, a few days later, as she and Jeanette were setting out on one of their frequent shopping excursions.

“What’s that?”

“A new suitcase.”

“But Nan,” objected Jeanette, “you bought one when we went to New Orleans!”

“I know it; and when I got home from college this June, someone had kindly put a hole right through the side of it. Under the circumstances, even a person as economically-minded as you are, must admit that I can’t carry a suitcase in such a condition. I saw a new kind advertised the other day, called a wardrobe suitcase; and I thought we’d go to Leonard’s now and look at one. Dad said he would buy it for me as a sort of going-away present, if it doesn’t cost too much.”

Before long they were in the luggage store, listening to the persuasive voice of the salesman, who was enlarging on the advantages of that particular type of suitcase.

“It is lovely,” agreed Jeanette, as Nancy exclaimed over the little compartment for shoes, and a larger one for hats and underwear.

“And you see,” continued the clerk, “this rod in the cover lifts out so you can hang several dresses on it, by folding them