repared for bed she began to regale
Miss Judd with spicy descriptions of the yachting party. Jane Judd
laughed heartily.

"You're very naughty, but you are funny," she said to the girl.

"I don't suppose Mrs. Brendon and Althea think I'm funny. Poor old
baby-doll Althea! She must be furious. She was so sure of Jerry."

"You hop into bed and forget all about Altheas and Jerrys. Sleep is what
you need," said Miss Judd, putting out the light.

But the flow of Isabelle's talk was not to be stayed. She was excited
and keyed up high. There was a simplicity and directness about this Judd
woman that made her think of Mrs. Benjamin, so she told all about Hill
Top and her life there, her love of it, her despair at Mrs. Benjamin's
death.

Jane Judd listened with patience and understanding. Here was laid out
before her the bared heart of the "poor little rich girl." She pieced
the bits together until she had the whole picture of this odd,
unnatural, hothouse child--antagonistic to her parents, to her school,
yet full of feeling, and coming into the age when the emotions play such
havoc. No wonder she had settled her youthful affections upon Jerry. He
was so preeminently the type one loves at sixteen, Jane smiled to
herself.

"Do you think he will marry me?"

"I doubt it."

"Don't you think he loves me?"

"Lots of other women are in love with Mr. Paxton, too," said Jane.

"You just say that to scare me!" cried Isabelle.

So the self-revelation of this young egotist went on and on until sleep
laid a finger on her lips.

Long after she was silent the older woman lay awake, and thought about
her, about the conditions in our world that produced her. She was so
sorry for the child, even while she laughed at the memory of Jerry's
furious embarrassment, at the mercy of her jejune affections.

* * * * *

Jerry arrived early, and Jane and Isabelle parted like old friends.

"Miss Judd is very understanding," remarked Isabelle, en route to the
school.

"Yes, isn't she?"

"She's not at all snippy like so many people. It's ridiculous to act as
if it were so clever just to be grown up. It isn't clever; it's only
luck."

"The luck lies in being young, Isabelle."

"Can't you even _remember_ how you hated being squelched by elders?" she
inquired.

"Do they ever squelch you, Cricket?"

"You ought to know. You've done enough of it."

"Let's make a new compact. Let's be good pals,