f it now, was something she couldn't understand.

All this information and more, Elizabeth carried home, distributing it
judiciously where it was most appreciated. She found that any news of
Mrs. Jarvis warded off a scolding, and when a torn pinafore or
unusually untidy hair made her dread her home-coming, she made Horace
walk with her as far as Eppie's bars and gathered from him sufficient
news of the great lady to insure her a welcome from her aunt.

Meantime in school she was living in a new world. She was wonderfully
popular. There was no more talk of a poor makeshift for a beau like
Charlie Peters. All the girls in the school canceled her name with
that of the velvet boy, and Rosie was so proud because Katie Price was
so envious that she fairly hugged Elizabeth for joy.

But the latter was not altogether happy. Of course it was fine to be
the chosen one of the boy from town, but there were drawbacks. Horace
was not strong enough to play baseball, and his mamma had forbidden him
to play shinney, so he always stayed with the girls at recess, which
was often very inconvenient when Elizabeth and Rosie wanted to teeter
by themselves or stay indoors and tell secrets. Then, too, John and
the Pretender teased her unmercifully. They called her beau "Booby"
Oliver and said he should have been a girl. She took his part
valiantly, but she did wish he wouldn't say "papa" and "mamma," it made
her ashamed of him.

On the whole, Elizabeth was not sorry when his two-weeks' visit to the
Cleggs' ended and he went back to Cheemaun. Rosie did not regret his
departure either; he had served his day. For there was no doubt the
age of chivalry was drawing to a close. Winter was coming on and the
mantle of squire of dames was slipping off the boys' shoulders. The
spirit of chivalry did not thrive in the day of snowballs.

The first news of the change in affairs came to Elizabeth, as usual,
through Rosie. The latter confided to her friend that she didn't
believe she liked Hector McQueen half so well as she used to. He had
just been horrid mean only that morning. He had thrown a snowball
right at her. Of course he didn't hit her, but she was mad at him, so
she was, and if he wrote her a note she just wouldn't answer it, see if
she would.

This was but one indication of the decay of chivalry. There were many
others, and at last it was swept away altogether in a new fashion that
shortly broke out. Jessie Robertson's unc