and one is for
you. It is a shame for you to sacrifice it just to hear grand opera, Miss
Bonner. Are you really intending to take the nine o'clock train?"

Again the fellow nodded. Robbie Belle's wondering gaze rested a moment on
Berta's gypsy face alight now with an intensity of longing. Deliberately
depositing her spoon on one side of her saucer and her buttered bit of
roll on the other she devoted her entire attention to this marvel.

"I cannot understand," she said clearly, "it is only singing. And to-day
is Thanksgiving Day. It comes once a year."

Miss Bonner brushed her napkin across her mouth rather hurriedly and
excused herself from the table. Robbie Belle watched her retreating down
the long vista of the dining-room.

"Would you honestly choose to go with her if you could, Berta?" she
asked, "grand opera is only something to see and hear and then it is all
over."

"Oh, Robbie Belle!" groaned Berta, "how about the Dinner? That is only
something to eat, and then it is all over too."

"Why don't you go if you want to?" inquired Robbie Belle as she
reflectively picked up her roll again. "We can invite somebody else to
take your place at the table. Bea and Lila are going to the hothouse for
smilax and chrysanthemums."

"Why don't I go?" Berta leaned back and drew a long and melancholy sigh
from the bottom of her boots. "Girls," she turned to the others who were
still lingering over their breakfast, "she asks why I don't go to hear
grand opera. And it costs two dollars railroad fare even on a commutation
ticket, and seats are three dollars up, and I have precisely thirty-seven
cents to last me till Christmas."

"Oh," commented Robbie Belle repentantly, "I didn't think. I'd love to
pay for all of you, only I haven't any money either."

Berta clutched at her heart and bent double in a bow of gratitude
unspeakable. Robbie Belle continued to stare at her thoughtfully. "If you
truly want to, Berta, we might save up and go to the opera some other
day. I'm willing."

"Willing! Dear child! Willing! Behold how she immolates herself upon the
altar of friendship! She is willing to go to grand opera and sit
listening to sweet sounds from dawn to dark----"

"Oh, Berta!" interrupting in alarm, "not from dawn to dark really? How
about----"

"Luncheon?" the other caught up the sentence tragically. "Ah, no, but
calm thyself, dear one. Be serene--as usual. There is an intermission for
luncheon. We could go to a restaur