in Grandma's. Six in a bed--more or less. I remember we used to lie
awake in the early morning before Aunt Elinor would let us get up, and
study the outburst of robins and grapes on the ceiling. And one day we
got the boys in with their toy guns and tried to shoot the tails off
the birds. Cousin Harry Armstrong hit one. Do you see the ghastly
remains of that bird without the tail? That was the one. I never hit
anything, but I tried hard enough. I am responsible for the bangs on
the ceiling. Each one tells when I missed my aim."

Helen laughed all unawares. She was surprised at herself. It was so
long since she had laughed she thought she had forgotten how.

"That robin proved to be the Albatross for us," continued Leslie
Graham, sitting up again, "for Aunt Elinor found out about it, and we
had no more good luck from that day till we went home." She sprang up.

"Dear me! here I am jabbering away, and Mother must be gone." She
caught up her hat, dislodging a couple of books that went over on the
floor. "Oh, dear, I've knocked something over." She did not make any
motion to pick them up, however. "Mother says I always leave a trail
behind me."

She stood before the glass arranging her hat, a radiant figure. Helen
looked at her wistfully. There was nothing this girl wanted, surely,
that she could not have; and yet she seemed so restless and
dissatisfied.

"Do you go out much?" she asked.

"Not very much," said Helen. "My school keeps me busy." She did not
say that she knew so very few young people she had no one to go with.

Miss Graham turned to the mirror again. She seemed embarrassed. "The
lake's lovely here for paddling. Only the season is nearly over. Have
you been out on the water much?" She did not look at the girl as she
asked the question.

"No," said Helen, and the other faced round and stared at her. "I
don't know how to paddle and I am rather afraid of a canoe."

"Do you mean to say you've never been on the lake since you came here?"
asked Leslie Graham, standing and staring with a hat-pin in her mouth.

"Oh, yes, I was--once," said Helen innocently. She did not think it
necessary to tell all about Roderick's rescue of her from the point;
for already she had heard the Misses Armstrong coupling his name with
their niece's in tones of high disapproval. "I was once--but only
once."

Leslie Graham's face grew radiant.

"Is that all?" she cried in a tone expressing decided re