e.

"Oh, yes! Miss Carr--"

"Oh, please, won't you call me Clover?"

"Indeed I will,--Clover, then,--we want to take you for a good long drive
to-morrow, and show you something; but the trouble is, the doctor and I
are at variance as to what the something shall be. I want you to see
Odin's Garden; and the doctor insists that you ought to go to the Cheyenne
canyons first, because those are his favorites. Now, which shall it be? We
will leave it to you."

"But how can I choose? I don't know either of them. What a queer
name,--Odin's Garden!"

"I'll tell you how to settle it," cried Marian Chase, whose nickname it
seemed had been given her because when she first came to St. Helen's she
wore a bunch of poppies in her hat. "Take them to Cheyenne to-morrow; and
the next day--or Thursday--let me get up a picnic for Odin's Garden; just
a few of our special cronies,--the Allans and the Blanchards and Mary
Pelham and Will Amory. Will you, dear Mrs. Hope, and be our matron? That
would be lovely."

Mrs. Hope consented, and Clover walked home as if treading on air. Was
this the St. Helen's to which she had looked forward with so much
dread,--this gay, delightful place, where such pleasant things happened,
and people were so kind? How she wished that she could get at Katy and
papa for five minutes--on a wishing carpet or something--to tell them how
different everything was from what she had expected.

One thing only marred her anticipations for the morrow, which was the fear
that Mrs. Watson might be hurt, and make a scene. Happily, Mrs. Hope's
thoughts took the same direction; and by some occult process of influence,
the use of which good wives understand, she prevailed on her refractory
doctor to allow the old lady to be asked to join the party.

So early next morning came a very polite note; and it was proposed that
Phil should ride the doctor's horse, and act as escort to Miss Chase, who
was to go on horseback likewise. No proposal could have been more
agreeable to Phil, who adored horses, and seldom had the chance to mount
one; so every one was pleased, and Mrs. Watson preened her ancestral
feathers with great satisfaction.

"You see, dear, how well it was to give that little hint about the
Reveres and the Abraham Peabodys," she said. Clover felt dreadfully
dishonest; but she dared not confess that she had forgotten all about the
hint, still less that she had never meant to give one. "The better part of
valor is discr