he was amazed to see all the
children had disappeared into the building. She scampered over to the door
as fast as ever she could. And up the stairs--but not a soul did she see!
Only the click of a closing door could be heard--a click that made Mary
Jane feel really shut out and lonely.

"Now let's see," said Mary Jane to herself, "Betty's room was right around
a corner--" But there wasn't any room around that first corner--only a
long hall. A lump came into Mary Jane's throat. The building was so big,
so very, very big. And she felt so little, so very, very little. She
swallowed twice, determined not to cry and then she said out loud in a
queer frightened little voice, "I guess I'm lost. I'm lost in school!"

SAND CASTLES

"I Guess I'm lost! I'm lost in school!"

Mary Jane's frightened little whisper sounded like a shout and the doors
and walls and hallways seemed to echo back, "Lost! Little girl lost!" in a
most desolate fashion. Mary Jane was so frightened that she stood
perfectly still--just as still as though her shoes were fastened to the
floor. And she looked straight ahead as though she was trying to see
through the wall at which she was staring. To tell the truth, Mary Jane
wasn't trying to see through the wall. She didn't even know a wall was in
front of her. She couldn't see a single thing, not even a big wall,
because a mist of tears was in her eyes and a great lump was growing in
her throat.

Now Mary Jane wasn't a baby. And she never cried--or any way, she _hardly_
ever cried because she was going on six and girls who are going on six
don't cry. But to be lost in a strange school and in a strange city
and--everything; well, it's not much wonder that Mary Jane felt pretty
queer.

But before the tears had time to fall, there was a heavy footstep behind
her and Mary Jane whirled around to see--the kindly face of Tom the
janitor smiling at her.

"Aren't you pretty late getting to your room?" he asked.

Mary Jane couldn't answer. She was so relieved to have someone around that
for a minute she just couldn't get the lump out of her throat enough to
talk.

Tom must have been used to little girls--maybe he had one of his
own--because he didn't pay any attention to Mary Jane's silence. He took
hold of her hand and said pleasantly, "Now don't you worry a minute. You
just show me which your room is and I'll go with you."

"I'm looking for it too," said Mary Jane, finding her voice again, "but I
d