sed, as she swung herself up
on the kitchen table.

"Now, Miss Phyllis, I couldn't help it this time, for how did I know
that the can of mustard, standing there on the shelf as big as you
please, was empty?"

It was chronic with Lucy to forget things, and it was usually Phyllis
that went after them.

"Never mind, Lucy; it's hard luck. I don't see myself why those
everlasting cans don't tell you when they are empty; it would save my
steps, I know that."

"Cans speak! Go way with you," Lucy replied in a gust of laughter.

Phyllis swung down off the table.

"After two more days there'll be another me to go out and buy what you
forget to order," she said as she ran up the back stairs.

Lucy watched her and then shook her head at the row of shining pans on
the wall opposite.

"That, my dear, will never be," she said solemnly. "Look like you she
may and lucky she is to be so blest, but be like you, I beg to differ.
The dear Lord only made the one. Glory be," she added piously.

Phyllis, upstairs, was trying to think of something, no matter how
small, to do to improve Janet's room.

CHAPTER III

FRIENDS

"Well, dear?" Auntie Mogs looked up from her paper the next morning at
breakfast to greet her niece. Phyllis kissed her and sat down quietly
at her place.

"Only one more morning to wait," she said happily, "and then--"

"And then the Page twins will have breakfast together for the rest of
their lives, I hope," Auntie Mogs finished for her. "Or until one or
the other of you get married."

"Married! Oh, what a perfectly silly idea!" Phyllis laughed. "I'm
never going to get married, and I don't believe Janet wants to either."

Miss Carter did not contradict, but she picked up her newspaper to hide
the amused smile that played on her firm red lips.

Phyllis looked around the dining-room and hummed contentedly. It was a
charming room, and the fire blazing in the grate added to the warmth
and coziness.

"No,"--Phyllis returned to the subject under discussion--"I'll never
marry, but that doesn't mean I don't like boys. I do. I adore them.
They are such fun and much more sensible than most girls, but I
wouldn't admit that to any one but you, Auntie Mogs, because, nice as
they are, they are fearfully conceited and that would keep me from ever
being silly about them."

"I hope that's not the only reason," Auntie Mogs laughed. "Boys
are--but there goes the telephone. Will you answer it, plea