om
her Jimmie, full of Mr. Tony's plans and their contemplated sailing, lay
close to her heart.

"What would you like most to do, Beryl?"

"Oh, let's ask Williams to take us for a long ride--I adore going like
the wind," answered Beryl promptly.

This suggestion appealed to Robin, who, although she didn't like to "go
like the wind," never tired of riding among the hills. She went
immediately with Beryl to find Williams, the chauffeur. Williams, like
the others around the Manor, with the exception of Mrs. Budge, had
fallen under Robin's spell and was enjoying the stir that her coming
brought to the old house. So he declared, now, that it would be a "nice
day for a run" and they could take the Cornwall road, because there was
a fellow in Cornwall he ought to see.

Before the holiday fun could begin Beryl had her "duties" to perform.
These were tasks which she had set for herself so that she might not
feel for one moment that she was living on Robin's charity and were most
of them quite unnecessary and little things that Robin would really like
to do herself. However Beryl was too proudly intent upon saving her
pride to realize this and Robin, instinctively understanding, let her
have her way.

Finally started, the girls snuggled close together in the car, holding
hands under the big robe. And, as they sped over the smooth road, each
let her thoughts take wings. Beryl's, with the honest self-centredness
that was characteristic of her, fluttered about herself. How she looked
in this peachy car--how she'd love to steer it and just step on the gas
and fly; some day, when she was famous, she'd have a car like this only
much bigger and painted yellow and she'd take Mom and Pop out and go
through the Mill neighborhood so that that gossipy Mrs. Whaley who had
called her "stuck-up" could see her. What she'd do in Robin's shoes,
anyway! Why, Robin didn't know what money meant, probably because Robin
had never wanted any one big thing, like she did.

Robin, beside her, sat in cosy contentment--mainly because of her
precious letter. She drew a mental picture of her Jimmie, sailing away.
Then her thoughts came back to the gray hills and she wished her father
might see them at that moment, so as to paint them. He would love
Wassumsic, she knew--but, oh, he would hate the Mills. He would think,
as she did, that it was too bad they had built the Mill cottages between
the dingy buildings and the freight yards when they might have b