o Ethel Blue,
Ethel had replied that Helen had learned from her dressmaking teacher
that dresses should be suited to the wearer's age and occupation, and
that she thought her linen blouses and skirts were entirely suitable for
a girl of fourteen who was a gardener when she wasn't in school.

This afternoon Dorothy had offered her a pongee dust coat when she
stopped at the Smiths' on her way to the cars.

"Aren't you afraid you'll get that pretty silk all cindery?" she asked.

Mary realized that Dorothy thought her not appropriately dressed for
traveling, but she tossed her head and said, "O, I like to wear
something good looking when I go into New York."

One of the purposes of the expedition was to see at the Museum of
Natural History some of the fossil leaves and plants about which the
Mortons had heard from Lieutenant and Captain Morton who had found
several of them themselves in the course of their travels.

At the Museum they gathered around the stones and examined them with the
greatest interest. There were some shells, apparently as perfect as when
they were turned into stone, and others represented only by the moulds
they had left when they crumbled away. There were ferns, the delicate
fronds showing the veining that strengthened the leaflets when they
danced in the breeze of some prehistoric morning.

"It's wonderful!" exclaimed the Ethels, and Mary asked, "What happened
to it?"

"I thought some one would ask that," replied Mrs. Smith, "so I brought
these verses by Mary Branch to read to you while we stood around one of
these ancient rocks."

THE PETRIFIED FERN

"In a valley, centuries ago
Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender,
Veining delicate and fibers tender;
Waving when the wind crept down so low.
Rushes tall and moss and grass grew round it,
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it,
Drops of dew stole in by night and crowned it,
But no foot of man e'er trod that way;
Earth was young and keeping holiday.

"Monster fishes swam the silent main;
Stately forests waved their giant branches,
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain;
Nature revelled in grand mysteries,
But the little fern was not of these,
Did not number with the hills and trees;
Only grew and waved its wild sweet way,
No one came to note it day by day.

"Earth, one time, put