ee. This feat was
accomplished with some difficulty, but nothing whatever was brought up
except withered leaves and debris and a broken piece of wood much
saturated with rain.

"This must have been what she saw," said Sibyl. "I asked her if it was
wood, and I think she said it was. Only, why did she look so very
queer?"

The girls continued their walk, but Martha West stayed at home.
She had hushed the remarks made by the younger girls that morning,
nevertheless she could not get them out of her mind. Sibyl's story was
circumstantial. She had described Betty's annoyance and distress when
they met, Betty's almost confusion. She had then said that it was Betty
who suggested that she was to wear the marguerites.

Now Martha, in her heart of hearts, thought this suggestion of Betty's
very far-fetched; and being a very shrewd, practical sort of girl, there
came an awful moment when she almost made up her mind that Betty had
done this in order to get rid of Sibyl. Why did she want to get rid of
her? Martha began to believe that she was growing quite uncharitable.

At that moment, who should appear in sight, who should utter a cry of
satisfaction and seat herself cosily by Martha's side, but Fanny
Crawford!

"This is nice," said Fanny with a sigh. "I did so want to chat with you,
Martha. I so seldom see you quite all by yourself."

"I am always to be seen if you really wish to find me, Fanny," replied
Martha. "I am never too busy not to be delighted to see my friends."

"Well, of course we are friends, being Specialities," was Fanny's
remark.

"Yes," answered Martha, "and I think we were friends before. I always
liked you just awfully, Fan."

"Ditto, ditto," replied Fanny. "It is curious," she continued, speaking
in a somewhat sententious voice, "how one is drawn irresistibly to one
girl and repelled by another. Now, I was always drawn to you, Matty; I
always liked you from the very, very first. I was more than delighted
when I heard that you were to become one of us."

Martha was silent. It was not her habit to praise herself, nor did she
care to hear herself praised. She was essentially downright and honest.
She did not think highly of herself, for she knew quite well that she
had very few outward charms.

Fanny, however, who was the essence of daintiness, looked at her now
with blue-gray eyes full of affection. "Martha," she said, "I have such
a lot to talk over! What did you think of last night?"

"I though