acher,
and never thought of laughing at her oddities, until--Helen came.

For Helen came: on her way home from her grandfather's bedside, whither
she had been summoned (as usual two or three times each year) "to see
him die."

"Grandpapa always recovers as soon as I enter the door," she said. "I
should think he would insist upon my living there as a safeguard! This
time I did not even see him--he did not wish me in the room; and so,
having half a day to spare, I decided to send my maid on, and stop over
and see _you_, Crystal."

Anne, delighted and excited, sat looking at her friend with happy eyes.
"I am so glad, glad, to see you!" she said.

"Then present me to your hostess and jailer. For I intend to remain
overnight, and corrupt the household."

Jeanne-Armande was charmed with their visitor; she said she was "a lady
decidedly as it should be." Helen accompanied them on their botany walk,
observed the velvet bodice and beet-root muslin, complimented the
ceremonious courses of the meagre little dinner, and did not laugh until
they were safely ensconced in Anne's cell for the night.

"But, Crystal," she said, when she had imitated Jeanne-Armande, and Anne
herself as pupil, with such quick and ridiculous fidelity that Anne was
obliged to bury her face in the pillow to stifle her laughter, "I have a
purpose in coming here. The old dragon has appeared at Caryl's, where
Aunt Gretta and I spent last summer, and where we intend to spend the
remainder of this; she is even there to-night, caraway seeds, malice,
and all. Now I want you to go back with me, as my guest for a week or
two, and together we will annihilate her."

"Do not call her by that name, Helen."

"Not respectful enough? Grand Llama, then; the double l scintillates
with respect. The Grand Llama being present, I want to bring you on the
scene as a charming, botanizing, singing niece whom she has strangely
neglected. Will you go?"

"Of course I can not."

"You have too many principles; and, mind you, principles are often
shockingly egotistical and selfish. I would rather have a mountain of
sins piled up against me on the judgment-day, and a crowd of friends
whom I had helped and made happy, than the most snowy empty pious record
in the world, and no such following."

"One does not necessitate the other," said Anne, after her usual pause
when with Helen: she was always a little behind Helen's fluent phrases.
"One can have friends without sins."

"Wa