t notice how many times Tom gets a
'drop.' I'll bet the girls will be afraid he would keep the
handkerchief. He looks girlie enough to fancy one with lace on," and
at this Alice went forth to inaugurate the old-time game.

CHAPTER XI

OFF FOR GLENWOOD

The lawn party ended in a shower; not only a linen shower as May Egner
had planned, but in a specific downpour of rain. The day, so
beautifully promising, suddenly changed colors and sent, from a sky of
inky blackness, one of the heaviest rainfalls of the season. But this
change only added sport to the festivities, for a game of blindman's
buff had to be finished in the dining-room, and the way the boys ducked
under the big table actually put the "blind man" (Nettie) out of
business.

It had been a splendid afternoon, every moment of the hours spent
seemed to all present the best time of their gay young lives, and that
Viola had contributed to the merriment and made herself particularly
agreeable, left nothing to be wished for, Alice thought.

Dorothy and Tavia felt that the time had come to make their adieux, and
were about to undertake that task when, at a signal from Alice, the
room was suddenly filled with flying bits of linen--the other shower.

"Hurrah!" cried the boys, catching the gifts and tossing them up again
and again.

"Fen!" called Tavia, using a marble game expression, but the boys would
not desist. They liked the linen shower first-rate, and insisted on
keeping it going.

"Then let us snowball the travelers," suggested Sarah Ford, and at this
Dorothy and Tavia were forced into a corner and completely snowed under
with the linen.

When the excitement had subsided, and the gifts were counted, Dorothy
found she had fourteen beautiful dainty little handkerchiefs, four
hand-made collars, and a darling pink and white linen bag. This last
gift was from Alice, and had Dorothy's name done in a tiny green vine,
with dots of pale lavender violets peeping through. This was such a
beautiful piece that Alice admitted she had worked on it sometime
previous to the party, intending to keep it for Dorothy's birthday gift.

Next Tavia counted twelve handkerchiefs, and seven collars. She
declared the girls knew she never had a decent collar, and, in her
profuse thanks, almost wept with joy at the unexpected blessing.

"It's the collar that makes the girl," she assured those who stood
about her admiring her treasures, "and I never could make the col