g."

"Of course then I must go away, and leave you alone," said her cousin
petulantly. "Mamma doesn't want me to bother you when you are writing to
him; but please don't be long, Bee."

"I won't," promised Bee, and at last she was left in peace.

An hour later Adele opened the door the merest trifle to peep in: "Mamma
wants you to come to her just as soon as you have finished Bee," she
said. "Are you through?"

"I have written the letter, but I haven't fixed the envelope for the
picture yet," answered Beatrice jumping up from the desk. "If you don't
mind doing it for me, Adele, I'll see what Aunt Annie wants."

"I don't mind a bit, Bee." Adele came into the room quickly. "Where is
the address?"

"Here!" Bee moved a slip of paper on the desk toward her. "He is to be
in Egypt this month."

"Just think of it," commented Adele bending over the desk. "That's a
long way off. Shall I put the picture in for you, Bee?"

But Bee had already left the room. Adele directed the envelope in her
best hand, then picked up her cousin's photograph, and looked at it
critically.

"Poor Bee!" she said aloud. "It isn't very good of her. I'd hate to have
my father think I looked like that if he was far away from me. And Bee
is much better looking. I suppose Uncle William won't mind though, as
she is his daughter. Now if it were my picture--"

She placed her own picture beside that of Bee's, and gazed at it
complacently. Suddenly she gave a little ripple of laughter:

"Wouldn't it be fun to send my picture instead of Bee's?" she exclaimed,
her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I believe I'll do it. Bee will never
know, and hers is really not good enough to send."

With this she slipped Bee's photograph into a drawer of the desk, placed
her own in the envelope, and sealed it just as Bee re-entered the room.

"You're a dear!" exclaimed Bee taking it from her, and picking up her
letter. "Aunt Annie wants me to go down town for her, and I'll be just
in time for the night mail."

Chapter II

The Omen of the Butterfly

"Light and silv'ry cloudlets hover
In the air as yet scarce warm;
Mild, with glimmer soft tinged over,
Peeps the sun through fragrant balm."

_May Song. Goethe._

"I am so glad that I sent it," exclaimed Beatrice again and again after
posting the letter and the photograph. "Father has always wanted my
picture, but I waited hoping that sometime I'd get a good one. Still, it
will give