are
there making my 'Seaside Idyl.'"

"Oh, bully!" cried Helen, repeating one of her brother's favorite phrases,
and now quite as excited over the idea as he. "I do so love to act in
movies. Is there a part in that 'Idyl' story for me?"

"I cannot promise that," Ruth said. "It would be up to the director. I
wasn't taking much interest in this particular picture. I wrote the
scenario, you know, before I went to France. I have been giving all my
thought to----

"Oh, dear! If we could only find my lost story!"

"Come on!" interrupted Tom. "Let's not talk about that. Will you write to
Jennie Stone?"

"I will. At once," his sister declared.

"Do. I'll take it to the post office and send it special delivery. Tell
her to wire her answer, and let it be 'yes.' We'll take both cars. Father
won't mind."

"Oh, _but_!" cried Helen. "How about a chaperon?"

"Oh, shucks! I wish you'd marry some nice fellow, Sis, so that we'd always
have a chaperon on tap and handy."

She made a little face at him. "I am going to be old-maid aunt to your
many children, Tommy-boy. I am sure you will have a full quiver. We will
have to look for a chaperon."

"Aunt Kate!" exclaimed Ruth. "Heavy's Aunt Kate. She is just what Helen
declares she wants to be--an old-maid aunt."

"And a lovely lady," cried Helen.

"Sure. Ask her. Beg her," agreed Tom. "Tell her it is the crying need. We
have positively got to have some fun."

"Well, I suppose we may as well," Ruth sighed, in agreement.

"Yes. We have always pampered the boy," declared Helen, her eyes
twinkling. "I know just what I'll wear, Ruthie."

"Oh, we've clothes enough," admitted the girl of the Red Mill rather
listlessly.

"Shucks!" said Tom again. "Never mind the fashions. Get that letter
written, Sis."

So it was agreed. Helen wrote, the letter was sent. With Jennie Stone's
usual impulsiveness she accepted for herself and "_mon Henri_" and Aunt
Kate, promising to be at Cheslow within three days, and all within the
limits of a ten-word telegram!

CHAPTER V

OFF AT LAST

"The ancients," stated Jennie Stone solemnly, "burned incense upon any and
all occasions--red letter days, labor days, celebrating Columbus Day and
the morning after, I presume. But we moderns burn gasoline. And, phew! I
believe I should prefer the stale smoke of incense in the unventilated
pyramids of Egypt to this odor of gas. O-o-o-o, Tommy, do let us get
started!"

"You've started already--in y