rnold Dempsey and who
might very easily have been a professor, judging from the number of
books he carried.

Then there was the freckled-faced small boy in number three whose antics
kept his mother in a continual state of "nerves." Once when he bounced
one of those implements commonly known as "spit balls" off of the
bookish little man's bald head, the girls thought they would die trying
to stifle their merriment.

Then there was the very pretty, but much be-powdered and rouged girl
behind them in number nine. Grace embarrassed Betty very much by turning
around to look at her every five minutes or so.

"She's a moving picture actress or something, I'm sure of it," Grace
confided in Betty's unsympathetic ear. "I wonder if I could fix my hair
the way she does. She fascinates me."

"She seems to," Betty retorted dryly, adding with a twinkle. "You may be
able to fix your hair like hers--though I doubt it--but please remember
that your mother doesn't want you to use rouge."

"Well, you know I wouldn't do that," said Grace in a huff, adding
maliciously, "I guess you are just jealous, that's all."

"Uh-huh, that must be it," said Betty, with an unruffled good-nature
that made Grace secretly ashamed of herself.

"I'm sorry, Betty," she said after a rather long pause, adding
generously: "You don't need to be jealous of anybody."

"Thanks," Betty answered, with a smile. "I knew you didn't mean it,
dear."

And so the long hours of the afternoon wore away, dusk came, shrouding
the swiftly moving landscape in a veil of mystery. So engrossed were
the girls in contemplation of the changing beauty of nature that it
seemed almost sacrilege when the blatant lights of the train flashed
forth, bringing them violently back to a realization of time and place.

"Don't you want any supper?" Mr. Nelson was asking, in his pleasant
voice. "It isn't like the Outdoor Girls to overlook meal time."

"Far be it from us to spoil our good reputation," cried Mollie
buoyantly, and away they rushed to the dressing room to wash for supper.
Though dining on a train was no novelty to the girls, they never lost
the keenness of their first delight in the experience.

"It's fascinating," Mollie remarked once, spearing desperately at an
elusive potato as the train jerked and jolted over the rails at sixty
miles an hour, "to see how often you can raise your coffee cup without
spilling the coffee all over your food!"

On this night at supper Mollie