"The rightest kind of right, Rob," said Frances emphatically. "You are eighteen, and it is time you came into your kingdom—besides, it is most becoming! I only wish I could make my hair puff and lie up loose like that."

For Frances' hair was of that fine, yet determined kind which is no more capable of trifling with life than were the Puritan ancestors from whom it was derived.

"There is no power on earth could make mine lie down smooth and decorous like yours," retorted Rob, surveying with half approval, half disfavour her hair which, like her face, was as full of ripples and curves as ever. "Then, on the whole, the sentiment of the meeting is in favour of the new departure. Girls, you have been singularly fortunate! You have seen the larva turn into the butterfly—and you didn't have to stand a glass over me either! I am now, Roberta Grey, spinster, and I will fold up my hair-bow and present it to Prudence to have and to hold, and to use until her hour of eighteen sounds."

"Here she comes now, with your mother," announced Frances from her seat by the window.

"They went up to Aunt Azraella's, and then Mardy was going to Cousin Charlotte's, while Prue went to the post-office. They were to meet at Cousin Charlotte's, and come home together. I hope Mardy isn't tired," said Wythie, untwining herself from her Turkish position on the foot of the bed, and running to look over Frances' shoulder and to wave her hand at the beloved mother and Prudence.

Prue ran up-stairs; the girls heard Mrs. Grey going through the house to find Lydia in the kitchen. Accustomed as she was to seeing Prue, Frances felt anew, as she always did each time that she saw her, the startling quality of the youngest Grey girl's great beauty. During the past year Prue had grown amazingly, and had shot up into a slender creature that topped by nearly a head Rob, who had seemed fairly tall until Prue accomplished this feat. Her complexion was white with not a hint of colour, unless it was brought there by her emotions, or whipped into her cheeks by the breeze. Her features were faultlessly regular; her hair bright gold, silky and abundant, flying like floss around her low white brow. Her lips relieved the pallor of her face by their warm crimson, and from under the golden crown of hair, which the tall young creature wore proudly, there looked out a pair of large dark brown eyes that startled one by their contrast with their surroundings. There was no question that Prue was not only the beauty of the family, but that she had grown into a beauty of a rare type and of a very high rank. Unfortunately, she was conscious of her effect, although she was hardly to blame for this, since every one, except her wise mother and sisters, flattered her. It was a lucky thing for Prue that Wythie's sweetness and Rob's charm surpassed in the long run the attraction of Prue's dazzling beauty; for, otherwise, she might have forgotten altogether that beauty is by no means the only gift that the good fairies can bestow at a christening.

"I thought I should find you here, Frances. Here is a letter for you, Rob, but there was no other. I saw Battalion B down by the post-office; I thought they went back this morning," said Prue, dropping a letter in Rob's lap, and laying her hat on her knee as she seated herself beside Wythie and picked out the edges of its bows.

"No; Basil said he had to meet Mr. Dinsmore—they are having some trouble with their landlord, and Basil said if they couldn't get it straightened up they would buy the Caldwell place. It isn't really their landlord, but his agent that bothers them," said Wythie, trying to mention Basil Rutherford's name in the same old, easy, unconscious way she had used it when Battalion B and the Grey girls had first become friends. "And Bruce wanted to see Dr. Fairbairn, so they all waited to go back to New Haven this afternoon—of course Bartlemy waited to go with Basil and Bruce."

"Basil and Bruce both said that they would buy the Caldwell place rather than leave Fayre," smiled Frances, and Wythie blushed; but Rob was deep in her letter and did not heed. "Do you know, Wythie, I don't believe we realize what a lot of money those boys must have?" Frances continued. "You know they never say anything directly, but here they are, all three of them in Yale, keeping this place here, and having every wish gratified—all this means wealth, Oswyth, my dear. You know papa is called the richest man in Fayre, but he says Commodore Rutherford must have a great deal more than he has, for his boys to do all this. They are so nice and simple that somehow they seem to have the effect of being quite poor, but they are far from that."

"It doesn't make people simple to be poor, Francie; it makes them self-conscious and generally horrid. I have so recently escaped the throes of dire poverty, you know, that I speak by the book. The reason Battalion B are such nice, straightforward boys is that they don't have to think of money at all, and that—"

"That they are upright, straightforward, honest boys, well-bred, and all 'round fine," said Mrs. Grey, entering and interrupting Rob. "What nonsense you do talk, Robin, you chatterbox! I think Wren would be a better name for you than Robin! As though money made people or unmade them, by its possession or lack! Qualities are intrinsic, as you know quite well, my dear. The boys are gentlemen, in the true sense of that abused old word, and would be such were they kings or beggars. Whom is your letter from; isn't it Hester Baldwin?"

"Yes, Mardy," said Rob meekly. "Please don't call me Wren; it doesn't sound lofty and dignified, somehow. Don't you see that I've done my hair up in what Wythie called 'a grown-up do'? I'd hate to be called Wren with my hair done up—it's such an abbreviated bird!"

"Rob, you are so very silly!" smiled Mrs. Grey reproachfully. "Your hair looks well, dear, but must I lose the last vestige of my little Rob?"

"Yes, Mardy; she is gone but not forgotten. Prue, here before these witnesses, I give you my last-worn hair-bow, and these, and these," said Rob, hastily rummaging in her drawer and producing several big, soft ribbon bows which she tossed into Prue's lap.

"Much obliged," said Prue, beginning to fold her acquisitions. "I think that I shall give up hair ribbons before I am eighteen; whom will mine descend to?"

"There are always little girls, Prudy, though they may not be little Grey ones," said Rob wisely. "Your ribbons will probably go to little Polly Flinders. How did you find our relatives, Mardy? Is Aunt Azraella still herself, and is dear Cousin Peace well?"

"Aunt Azraella has a cold, Rob; it isn't serious, but she is nursing it. I think it would be as well if you and Wythie would go up there after tea. And Charlotte looked tired. I fear it is too much for her to go on keeping house there, now that she is alone. The dear soul clings to her life-long home, but without some one besides Annie to look after her it seems to me unsafe for her to live there," said Mrs. Grey, looking anxious. "Why, what did Hester say, Rob? I forgot to ask you?"

"And you may well ask!" cried Rob, springing to her feet. "How could I forget to tell you? She says that she wants to bring her favourite cousin here to-morrow, and that if she doesn't hear from us to the contrary she will assume that it is all right to do so, and come."

"Her cousin? What cousin is it? Does she mean to stay with us, or merely to call? asked Mrs. Grey with a quick mental outlook over the domestic conditions for guests.

"To lunch only," said Rob, looking over her letter. "The cousin is that Lester Baldwin of whom she