“i ’ll ask uncle carroll. uncle carroll, sha’n’t aunt fay take me? please say yes.”

“no use to ask him, grace; you’re too young.”

“please, uncle carroll, don’t mind what aunt fay says. just you say i’m to go.”

“where?” he dropped his paper.

“out to mrs. king’s reception to-morrow afternoon.”

“nonsense! you’re too young.”

“child, i told you so,” said aunt fay quietly, slipping the cosey on the tea-pot again.

“too young!” grace pulled savagely at the girlish hair on her brow, and twisted her long braid

hanging down her back, up high on her head.

“i’ll do up my hair, and pull down my face—so,” lengthening her round cheeks—“anything, to

just get the chance of going,” she cried. “o uncle carroll! and i’m sixteen. you’re positively

cruel.”

“you’re nothing but a school-girl,” said aunt fay; “the idea of going to a reception.”

“why, those receptions of mrs. king’s are packed; you don’t seem to understand, grace; and

you’d take the standing-room of some one else,” added uncle carroll.

“i’d take my own standing-room,” declared grace positively, “and i wouldn’t tread on other

people’s toes;” seeing a chance for her, since the two guardians of her peace had begun to argue

the point. “just think, i’ve never seen the king house nor miss phronsie.”

“well, she’s a raving, tearing beauty,” said uncle carroll, “and worth going miles to see, i tell

you.”

“and i want to see mrs. king again,” cried grace, pursuing her advantage. “i got a peek at her

once, when she came to call at the drysdales. bella and i heard she was in the drawing-room, and

we crept in behind the cabinet. she was just lovely; and the color kept coming and going in her

cheeks, and her brown eyes were laughing, and i’ll do anything to see her again.”

“she’s the rage, that’s a fact,” assented uncle carroll. “well, mrs. atherton, why don’t you take

the child for once; i would.”

“carroll atherton!” exclaimed his wife in dismay, “how could i ever look her father and mother in

the face, and they’ve trusted her to us, while she went to school, to do the right thing by her. the

idea of a sixteen-year-old girl, and a school-girl, going to a reception!”

“the child won’t have a chance to get there any other way,” observed mr. atherton. “one little

social break won’t matter.”

“the worst place to make a social break is at mrs. king’s,” said mrs. atherton. “no, grace, you

cannot go.” she set her lips tightly together. “any other thing you might ask, i’d try to indulge you

in; but i won’t make a faux pas at mrs. jasper king’s.”

“i don’t want anything else,” cried grace in a passion. just then a young girl ran over the steps,

and plunged without ceremony into the pretty breakfast-room.

“oh, joy—joy—joy!” she cried, beating her hands together, “mamma’s going to take me to mrs.

king’s reception to-morrow afternoon.”

“the idea of a school-girl going to a reception,” said aunt fay.

“bella drysdale!” shrieked grace, deserting her chair to throw her arms around her friend. “there,

uncle carroll, now you see what mrs. drysdale’s going to do for bella,” she flung over her

shoulder, not deigning to notice her aunt.

“it’s too bad,” began mr. atherton.

“i shall see that lovely mrs. king again,” cried bella in a rapture. “brother tom’s going to get a

look at miss phronsie; and we’ve got a cousin from chicago, and he’s going for the express

purpose of seeing her. oh! everybody will be there, grace. mamma says you must go.”

“you’re older than grace,” began mrs. atherton to gain a little time before the storm should begin

again around her head.

“only one month,” said bella; “what’s that?”

“sixteen days!” cried grace, “only sixteen days! just think of that paltry atom of time to keep one

away from that glorious reception. uncle, wouldn’t you be ashamed to have every one know that

aunt fay kept me away for just sixteen days? i should positively die of mortification.”

“well, you cannot go anyway,” suddenly and decidedly declared mrs. atherton. mrs. drysdale or

no mrs. drysdale, whom she followed when it suited her to do so, she was determined to keep to

that decision. “it is of no use to argue and to tease—you cannot go.”

bella dragged grace off to her room, and shut the door on their woes.

“i shall go! i shall go!” declared grace in a white heat, raging up and down the room.

“oh, mercy! mrs. king won’t have you, if you go on that way. she’s awfully nice and particular.

stop it, grace.” bella shook her arm.

“i’m going—i’m going—i’m going, so there!” declared grace determinedly. “that’s settled.

now, how shall i do it? help me to think, bella.” she stopped suddenly.

“what’s the use of thinking,” cried that young lady, throwing herself on the broad window-seat in

among its cushions, and stretching restfully, “as long as you can’t go?”

“as long as i can go, you mean,” corrected grace, an ugly little gleam in her blue eyes.

“well, you’re a regular western fury,” declared bella, regarding her. “gracious, i wouldn’t have

taken you from the ‘wild and woolly plains’ as your aunt has for a year!”

“don’t speak to me of aunt,” commanded grace, frowning heavily. “what has she done? kept me

out of this, the thing i wanted most of all. and besides, the ‘wild and woolly west’—why, i

haven’t been educated there, as you know. it’s new england, if any place, that’s to blame for me.

oh, oh, i’ve an idea!”

bella sat up straight, the transition was so great, to stare, as grace ran softly to the door, opened it,

and looked and listened; then locked it again, and tiptoed back.

“the very thing!” she seized bella’s hands, and dragged her off the window-seat. “i’m going to be

your western friend; you put that idea into my head—don’t you see? dressed up. o bella, you

stupid, you owl, i’m going as your visitor; and i’ll hire my bonnet and gown, and change my hair,

so aunt won’t catch me. and—and—what joy!”

when the luckless bella, nearly danced out of breath, was released, she made a faint protest. but

she was fairly talked off her feet again; and by that time the fun of the thing had entered into her

soul and clutched her. so she said “yes,” and began to plan as smartly as grace herself.

“but mother never will take you in all this world,” she said, sobering down.

“did you for an instant suppose i was going to let your mother know who i am?” cried grace,

bursting into a laugh. “oh, what a sweet owl you are, bella drysdale! of course i’m going to fool

her too.”

“well, she won’t let me take a stranger,” said bella sharply, tired of being called an owl twice. “i

guess i’m as smart as you, grace tupper. i should know better than to get up such a silly plan.”

“i’m to be miss strange from omaha, nebraska,” said grace solemnly; “a pupil of miss

willoughby’s boarding- and day-school. all this is true—my name is grace strange tupper. and

because i don’t happen to board, instead of going to her day-school at miss willoughby’s, isn’t

my fault. i would if i could. now, owlie, do you see?”

“if you call me an owl again i won’t do a single thing about it,” cried bella stubbornly; “that’s

flat.”

“so she was a dear,” cried grace, soothing her, and launching at the same time into an animated

discussion as to ways and means; which milliner to hire the bonnet from, and which was the most

becoming way to do up her hair, and how to darken her eyebrows, till bella looked at her watch

aghast. “and i’ve a horrible french letter to write for to-morrow, or mademoiselle will kill me,

and mamma won’t let me go to the reception.”

“oh, misery! hurry, do; run every step of the way home,” begged grace, nearly pushing her out of

the room as she ran off.

and the next afternoon grace shut herself up again in her room; and while the french maid was

evolving the usual fine creation out of her aunt for the reception, grace was also doing wonders,—

to steal softly down the stairs, and out and away to bella’s.

“i thought i’d save you the trouble of calling for me,” she said, in a sweet little drawl as far unlike

her usual tones as possible, as she entered the long drysdale drawing-room. “oh, beg pardon, i

thought bella was here!”

“er—no; allow me to do the honors.” a tall young man with shoulders built for ball-team work,

came slowly into the centre of the room. “bella will be down soon. take a seat, miss”—

“strange,” murmured grace faintly, and wondering if her front frizzes had slipped, and if the

pencilling under her eyes looked natural. “i—i—it isn’t any matter. i suppose i’m too early.”

she sank into an easy-chair in the darkest shadow of the room, and covered her feet primly with

her hired gown, regardless of the wasted elegance of her new little boots. these had been her one

extravagance; but now she was too far gone to care whether or no they were seen.

“oh, bella’s the same as she was ten years ago when i last visited here,” observed the young man,

carelessly leaning his elbow on the mantelpiece, and staring at her. “she was always a tardy little

thing, i remember; kept us waiting everlastingly when we were going outing.”

so this was bella’s cousin from chicago. well, he was perfectly horrid to talk that way of her

dearest friend; and besides, what sharp black eyes he had, piercing through and through her. she

put her hand up involuntarily to feel of her frizzes, shivered, and drew in her boots farther than

ever under her chair.

“i don’t think it is very nice to speak so of your relatives when you are visiting them,” she

observed to her own astonishment. then she would have bitten out her tongue sooner than have

spoken.

“er—oh, beg pardon, did you speak?” exclaimed the young man, starting out of a revery.

joy! he hadn’t heard her. “no—that is—it isn’t any matter,” said grace hastily. “i was going to

say i think bella is perfectly splendid. we all do at school.”

“you attend miss willoughby’s boarding-school, i believe,” said the black-eyed young man,

bending on her a sharper gaze than ever. “it’s a delightful school i’m told. isn’t that a fact?”

grace was saved from replying by his next remark, which he presented without any pause to speak

of. “i’ve two cousins, jenny and francina day, there. i’m going over to call on them this evening

after dinner.”

oh, horrors! why hadn’t bella told her of this before she had taken upon herself such a scrape!

well, there was no help for it now; there was no other way, if she would see mrs. king, and be

part and parcel of mrs. king’s great reception. she tried to recover herself enough to smile; but

she felt, as she afterward told bella, as if her face wobbled all over.

“i’m glad to meet somebody who will give me a sort of a welcome there. fact is, i don’t know my

cousins by sight. never saw but one of them, and she was a kid of three years old. are they nice

girls?”

“perfectly splendid,” said grace recklessly, glad to think she had made up a long, outstanding fight

between jenny and herself just the day before, and stifling the qualms of conscience when she

reflected on francina’s heavy dulness. “oh, i’m so glad they’re your cousins,” she said, smiling

radiantly.

the sharp-eyed young man showed two rows of even white teeth as he also smiled expansively.

“miss willoughby is extremely gracious to allow you to go to a swell reception,” he said slowly.

“if i’d supposed it would be of any use, i’d have begged my cousins off. i presume it’s too late for

me to run around now and get them.”

“oh, yes, yes,” cried grace, starting forward, and beating one little boot in terror on the carpet.

“miss willoughby doesn’t like short notice about anything; and—and—it’s an awful long way

there—and—here comes bella.” to her great relief in came that young lady, resplendent in a new

blue hat quite perky, with a grown-up air that was matched by bella’s manners as she drew on a

white kid glove.

grace deserted her shady corner, and flew at her. “o bella, do hurry,” as she threw her arm around

her; “it’s dreadfully late; do be quick; we ought to go.”

“there’s oceans of time,” said bella with a drawl, and smoothing out the little finger in a

painstaking way. “mamma isn’t half ready yet—at least she hasn’t her bonnet on. oh! do you

know my cousin charley swan?” indicating with a nod the sharp-eyed young man.

“we’ve entertained each other for a good half-hour or so,” observed charley, not particular as to

exact statements. “say, bella, if aunt isabel isn’t ready, i believe i’ll run around to miss

willoughby’s, and get her to let jenny and francina off to go with us. stupid in me not to think of

it till i saw miss strange come in.”

“er—ow!” grace gave a sharp nip to bella’s plump arm. “stop him,” she whispered tragically.

bella pulled out a hair-pin from some mysterious quarter under her hat, and set it in again, before

she condescended to answer. “no, you must not, charley,” she said, pursing up her small mouth,

and then falling to on her glove again. “button it, will you?” presenting it to him. “you see,

mamma will be very angry; for she’s just as likely to settle her bonnet right the first attempt. i’ve

known her to. and although tom’s no doubt wrestling in the agonies of tying his necktie, yet it’s

just like him to hop down without the least warning before you could possibly get back. then

think of me!” she spread her white gloves dramatically out, as if words were unequal to the

occasion.

just then tom whistled his way in. “whew, you ready in your togs, charley! well, it takes you

western fellows to be spry. where’s the mother?” turning to bella.

“here’s miss strange, tom,” said his sister, clutching grace’s arm; “haven’t you any manners?

angela, this is my brother tom.”

grace started at the word angela, and forgot to bow, as tom doubled up like a jack-knife and

made her his best obeisance. then it was too late when she remembered; and she stood there

blushing under the hired bonnet, till charley remarked in a way that did not help matters any, “oh,

so i am an older acquaintance of miss strange than you, tom.”

“how did you ever tell such an awful story as to say my name was angela,” cried grace in a

whisper as they hurried off to the carriage, mrs. drysdale at last appearing.

“i didn’t say so; stop pinching me; i’m black and blue already,” retorted bella. “i’ve a right to call

you what i’ve a mind to. and i’m going to call you angela the rest of this blessed afternoon. so

mind you act as if you’d heard the name before. if you don’t, i’ll tell everybody who you are.”

this had the effect of throwing grace into such a panic that she answered mrs. drysdale’s kind

attempts at conversation with her at random, and the twenty miles to badgertown were made in a

whirl of emotions possessing her, till by the time the train paused at the little station, she had a

confused notion of either telling her whole story and throwing herself on the mercy of the

chaperone, or of picking up her long skirts, and fleeing over the country meadows toward home.

instead, she was saying, “thank you; yes, i’d rather walk,” to cousin charley. bella and tom said

the same thing. mrs. drysdale was helped into one of the carriages that always ran back and forth

on mrs. king’s reception days—a bevy of ladies and gentlemen filling the others; and off they all

set, to meet in the dressing-rooms at “the oaks.”