dle afternoon
stretched out before her like a desert. Henry had gone fishing,
and Willie Jones--_Willie Jones!_ With that name came a dazzling
thought, a plan full-blown, a balm sweet to her soul, a glorious
solution!

Margery skipped up to the porch and called out in a coaxing,
pleasant tone: "Mamma, may I take a little walk?" The maternal
voice, plainly relieved that the storm had spent itself, gave
consent, and Margery danced out the front gate and up the
street, her heart thumping fast in exultation.

O-oh! Let Katherine and Alice distribute as many of their
calling-cards as possible, for soon they will have no further use
for them. Soon--to be exact, by the time they get home--they will
be disgraced, horribly disgraced, and no one will ever care to
receive them or their visits again. Even Gladys, their adored
Gladys, will give them one cold glance of scorn and turn her
back. It was hard, certainly, not to be able to include Gladys in
the impending doom. But, after all, Katherine and Alice were the
more culpable, for had they not cast aside all feelings of
sisterly relationship? Let them, then, bear the brunt of the
punishment.

After a fashion Margery was grateful to Gladys, for it was really
Gladys who had placed in her hands the weapon she was about to
use. Gladys was forever saying to Katherine and Alice: "If you're
not careful, Margery will disgrace you all some day. Then how
will you feel? No one will play with you; no one will even speak
to you on the street. And it won't be your fault, either. But,
you see, everybody'll know Margery is your sister."

Yes, every one would know, and Margery, as she skipped along,
gloated in the thought. It went without saying that, in
disgracing the others, Margery was willing to sacrifice herself.
Willing? She was almost too willing. In fact, it must be
confessed that there was something in the present undertaking
which, quite apart from all anticipations of revenge, hummed a
gay little tune in her ear, and tempted her hurrying feet into
many a frisky little side-step. From time to time she had to
nudge herself, as it were, to remember that her purpose was one
of retributive justice, that the end was what her soul hungered
after--not the means.

She gave a passing regret to the afternoon shoes she was wearing,
the white stockings, the clean dress, the great pink bow of
ribbon in her hair. Likely enough these would be sadly draggled
before the deed was done. But even