now I'm as poor as the proverbial church mouse,
Bertie, and the simple truth is that I can't afford to pay my board
all summer and get my winter outfit unless I do something to earn it.
I shall be too busy to be lonesome, and I shall expect long, newsy
letters from you, telling me all your fun--passing your vacation on to
me at second-hand, you see. Well, I must set to work at those algebra
problems. I tried them before dark, but I couldn't solve them. My head
ached and I felt so stupid. How glad I shall be when exams are over."

"I suppose I must revise that senior English this evening," said
Bertha absently.

But she made no move to do so. She was studying her friend's face. How
very pale and thin Grace looked--surely much paler and thinner than
when she had come to the Academy, and she had not by any means been
plump and rosy then.

I believe she could not stand two months at Clarkman's, thought
Bertha. If I were not going to Aunt Meg's, I would ask her to go home
with me. Or even if Aunt Meg had room for another guest, I'd just
write her all about Grace and ask if I could bring her with me. Aunt
Meg would understand--she always understands. But she hasn't, so it
can't be.

Just then a thought darted into Bertha's brain.

"What nonsense!" she said aloud so suddenly and forcibly that Grace
fairly jumped.

"What is?"

"Oh, nothing much," said Bertha, getting up briskly. "See here, I'm
going to get to work. I've wasted enough time."

She curled herself up on the divan and tried to study her senior
English. But her thoughts wandered hopelessly, and finally she gave it
up in despair and went to bed. There she could not sleep; she lay
awake and wrestled with herself. It was after midnight when she sat up
in bed and said solemnly, "I will do it."

Next day Bertha wrote a confidential letter to Aunt Meg. She thanked
her for her invitation and then told her all about Grace.

"And what I want to ask, Aunt Meg, is that you will let me transfer my
invitation to Grace, and ask her to go to Riversdale this summer in my
place. Don't think me ungrateful. No, I'm sure you won't, you always
understand things. But you can't have us both, and I'd rather Grace
should go. It will do her so much good, and I have a lovely home of my
own to go to, and she has none."

Aunt Meg understood, as usual, and was perfectly willing. So she wrote
to Bertha and enclosed a note of invitation for Grace.

I shall have to manage this affair