Glory consulted her little chatelaine watch impatiently.

"I hope we're 'most there!" she sighed. "If this hasn't been the
longest ride! I know one thing--I shall bring my crochet-work
to-morrow, and my tatting, and my knitting-work, and my--patchwork!
There's more than one way to 'kill' time." She smiled to herself a
little. From the cover of the tiny watch Aunt Hope's picture looked
up at her, smiling too. Glory nodded back to it.

"Yes'm, I've got everything--I haven't forgotten a thing. And I'm
going to be good," she murmured, as she shut the sweet face out of
sight.

The train slowed up. Glory was feeling better because of the little
draught of Sweet Face Tonic, and she was even humming a tune under
her breath when she stepped down on to the platform. She stepped
daintily along with her pretty head held up saucily and her skirts
a-flutter. It wasn't so bad, after all, once off that horrid
train--good riddance to it! Let it go fizzing and puffing away. The
farther the better--

Suddenly Glory stood still and gazed downward at her empty hands,
then at the fading curl of white smoke up the track. Her face was a
study of dismay.

"Oh! oh! That horrid train has carried off my books!" she cried.

Chapter II.

Glory swung about on her toes and marched away to the Centre Town
ticketman, whom she knew a little.

"Mr. Blodgett," she cried, "what do you do when you get off the train
and your books don't?"

The pleasant old face twinkled at her out of the little window. Mr.
Blodgett's acquaintance with Glory had been enlivened by a good many
such crises as this. In his mind he had always separated her from the
other Douglas young misses as "The Fly-away One."

"Forgot 'em, eh? Got carried off, did they? Well, that's a serious
case. You'll have to engage a counsel, but I ain't sure you'll get
your case. Looks to me as if the law was on the other--"

"Mr. Blodgett," laughed Glory, "I don't want to get my 'case'--I want
my books! What do folks do when they leave things--umbrellas or
something--in their seats?"

"Never left an umbrella yourself, of course?"

"Ye-es--three," admitted Glory, "but I never _did_ anything--just let
'em go. This time it's my school-books, you see. It's different. I
don't see how I'm going to school without any books."

"Sure enough. Well, I'll see what I can do for you, my dear. I'll
telegraph to the conductor to take 'em in charge and deliver 'em to
you at your place, in