nto a pile of sand.

It was in early September that Eliza Bailey, my cousin, decided to go
to London, ostensibly for a rest, but really to get some cretonne at
Liberty's. Eliza wrote me at Lake Penzance asking me to go to Morris
Valley and look after Bettina.

I must confess that I was eager to do it. We three were very comfortable
at Mat Cottage, "Mat" being the name Charlie Sands, Tish's nephew, had
given it, being the initials of "Middle-Aged Trio." Not that I regard
the late forties as middle-aged. But Tish, of course, is fifty. Charlie
Sands, who is on a newspaper, calls us either the "M.A.T." or the
"B.A.'s," for "Beloved Aunts," although Aggie and I are not related
to him.

Bettina's mother's note:--

Not that she will allow you to do it, or because she isn't entirely
able to take care of herself; but because the people here are a talky
lot. Bettina will probably look after you. She has come from college
with a feeling that I am old and decrepit and must be cared for. She
maddens me with pillows and cups of tea and woolen shawls. She thinks
Morris Valley selfish and idle, and is disappointed in the church,
preferring her Presbyterianism pure. She is desirous now of learning
how to cook. If you decide to come I'll be grateful if you can keep
her out of the kitchen.

Devotedly, ELIZA.

P.S. If you can keep Bettina from getting married while I'm away
I'll be very glad. She believes a woman should marry and rear a
large family!

E.

We were sitting on the porch of the cottage at Lake Penzance when I
received the letter, and I read it aloud. "Humph!" said Tish, putting
down the stocking she was knitting and looking over her spectacles at
me--"Likes her Presbyterianism pure and believes in a large family! How
old is she? Forty?"

"Eighteen or twenty," I replied, looking at the letter. "I'm not anxious
to go. She'll probably find me frivolous."

Tish put on her spectacles and took the letter. "I think it's your duty,
Lizzie," she said when she'd read it through. "But that young woman
needs handling. We'd better all go. We can motor over in half a day."

That was how it happened that Bettina Bailey, sitting on Eliza Bailey's
front piazza, decked out in chintz cushions,--the piazza, of course,--saw
a dusty machine come up the drive and stop with a flourish at the steps.
And from it alight, not one chaperon, but three.

After her first gasp Bettina was game. She was a pretty gi