ed them, with happy serenity, except at infrequent
intervals, when she worried herself "distracted" over them. At such
times she always turned to "Uncle Johnny."

Isobel and Gyp had almost managed to answer: "There's no place to go,"
when the mother's next words cut short their complaint.

"I have the most astonishing news from Uncle Johnny," and she held up a
fat envelope.

"Oh, when's he coming back?" cried Tibby.

"Very soon. But what do you think he wants to do--bring back with him a
little girl he found up there in the mountains--or rather, _she_ found
_him_--when he got lost on a wrong trail. Listen:

"'...She is a most unusual child. And she has outgrown the school
here. I'd like, as a sort of scholarship, to send her for a year or two
to Lincoln School. But there is the difficulty of finding a suitable
place for her to live--she's too young to put in a boarding house. Could
not you and the girls stretch your hearts and your rooms enough to let
in the youngster? I haven't said anything to her mother yet--I won't
until I hear from you. But I want to make this experiment and it will
help me immensely if you'll write and say my little girl can go straight
to you. I had a long talk with John Randolph, just before I came up
here--we feel that Lincoln School has grown a little away from the real
democratic spirit of fellowship that every American school should
maintain; he suggested certain scholarships and that's what came to my
mind when I found this girl. Isobel and Gyp and all their friends can
give my wild mountain lassie a good deal--and she can give Miss Gyp and
Isobel something, too----'"

"Humph," came a suspicion of a snort from Isobel and Gyp.

"Wish he'd found a boy," added Graham.

From the moment she had read the letter, Mrs. Westley's mind had been
working on ways and means of helping John Westley. She always liked to
do anything anyone wanted her to do--and especially Uncle Johnny.

"If Gyp would go back with Tibby or----"

"_Mother!_" Gyp's distress was sincere--the spring before she had
acquired this room of her own and she loved it dearly.

"And Gyp's things muss my room so," cried Tibby, plaintively.

"Then perhaps you'll all help me fix the nursery for her." Everyone in
the household, although the baby Tibby was twelve years old, still
called the pleasant room on the second floor at the back of the house,
the "nursery." Mrs. Westley liked to take her sewing or her reading
there--for h