of beauty. Helen was a
dainty, compelling brunette with flashing eyes--eyes she had already
learned to use to the undoing of what Ruth called "the youthful male of
the species."

As for Ruth herself, she considered boys no mystery. She was fond of
Tom, for he was the first friend she had made in that long-ago time when
she arrived, a little girl and a stranger, at the Red Mill. Other boys
did not interest Ruth in the least.

Without Helen's beauty, she was, nevertheless, a decidedly attractive
girl. Her figure was well rounded, her eyes shone, her hair was just
wavy enough to be pretty, and she was very, very much alive. If Ruth
Fielding took an interest in anything that thing, Tom declared, "went
with a bang!"

She was positive, energetic, and usually finished anything that she
began. She had already done some things that few girls of her age could
have accomplished.

The trio of friends trooped into Aunt Alvirah's clean and shining
kitchen.

"Dear me! dear me!" murmured the little old woman, "I sha'n't have the
pleasure of your company for long. I'll miss my pretty," and she smiled
fondly at Ruth.

"That's the only drawback about coming home from school," grumbled Tom,
looking really forlorn, even with his mouth full of Aunt Alvirah's pound
cake.

"What's the drawback?" demanded his twin.

"Going away again. Just think! We sha'n't see each other for so long."

He was staring at Ruth, and Helen, with a roguish twinkle in her eye,
passed him her pocket-handkerchief--a wee and useless bit of
lace--saying:

"Weep, if you must, Tommy; but get it over with. Ruth and I are not
gnashing _our_ teeth about going away. Just to think! ARDMORE!"

Nothing but capital letters would fully express the delight she put into
the name of the college she and Ruth were to attend.

"Huh!" grunted Tom.

Aunt Alvirah said: "It wouldn't matter, deary, if you was both goin' off
to be Queens of Sheby; it's the goin' away that hurts."

Ruth had her arms about the little old woman and her own voice was
caressing if not lachrymose.

"Don't take it so to heart, Aunt Alvirah. We shall not forget you. You
shall send us a box of goodies once in a while as you always do; and I
will write to you and to Uncle Jabez. Keep up your heart, dear."

"Easy said, my pretty," sighed the old woman. "Not so easy follered out.
An' Jabe Potter is dreadful tryin' when you ain't here."

"Poor Uncle Jabez," murmured Ruth.

"Poor Aunt Alvirah, you'