air, briefly surveyed the result with a
hand-glass, and rose from her dressing-table. Ruth, at a considerably
earlier stage of her dressing, regarded her sister's head with interest.

"I can always tell the difference between a school day and another day,
just by looking at your hair," she observed, sagely.

"How, Miss Big Eyes, if you please?"

"You never leave a curl sticking out, on school days. They sometimes
work out before night, but that's not your fault. You look like one of
Jane Austen's heroines, now."

Roberta laughed a laugh of derision. "Miss Austen's heroines undoubtedly
had ringlets hanging in profusion on either side of their oval faces."

"Yes, but I mean every hair of theirs was in order, and so are yours."

"Thank you. Only so can I command respect when I lecture my girls on
their frenzied coiffures. Oh, but I'm thankful I can live at home and
don't have to spend the nights with them! Some of them are dears, but to
be responsible for them day and night would harrow my soul. Hook me up,
will you, Rufus, please?"

"You look just like a smooth feathered bluebird in this," commented
Ruth, as she obediently fastened the severely simple school dress of
dark blue, relieved only by its daintily fresh collar and cuffs of
embroidered white lawn.

"I mean to. Miss Copeland wouldn't have a fluffy, frilly teacher in her
school--and I don't blame her. It's difficult enough to train fluffy,
frilly girls to like simplicity, even if one's self is a model of
plainness and repose."

"And you're truly glad to go back, after this lovely vacation? Shouldn't
you sort of like to keep on typing for Uncle Calvin, with Mr. Richard
Kendrick sitting close by, looking at you over the top of his book?"

Roberta wheeled, answering with vehemence: "I should say not, you
romantic infant! When I work I want to work with workers, not with
drones! A person who can only dawdle over his task is of no use at all.
How Uncle Calvin gets on with a mere imitation of a secretary, I can't
possibly see. Why, Ted himself could cover more ground in a morning!"

"I don't think you do him justice," Ruth objected, with all the dignity
of her sixteen years in evidence. "Of course he couldn't work as well
with you in the room--he isn't used to it. And you are--you certainly
are, awfully nice to look at, Rob."

"Nonsense! It's lucky you're going back to school yourself, child, to
get these sentimental notions out of your head. Come, vacation'