ause--because the year's
nearly up." She added the last words in a whisper and looked startled
as soon as she had uttered them.

"Because what?" cried Elizabeth, bristling with curiosity.

"Nothing, nothing," said Annie hastily. "It's," she was whispering
again, "it's got something to do with our secret, Lizzie, and you
mustn't ask me like a good little girl. And you won't tell what I
said, will you?"

Elizabeth was quite grown-up now. "Oh, no, I won't ever, ever tell.
But you're not quite sure she's coming, are you? 'Cause I never
finished working the motto she sent me."

"No, I'm not quite sure. But I think she will."

Elizabeth nodded. She understood perfectly, she told herself. That
letter was from Mrs. Jarvis, but having something to do with Annie's
secret--which meant Mr. Coulson--its contents must not be disclosed.

She went to work at her lessons that evening and forgot all about the
letter and Mrs. Jarvis, too. Decimals were not so alluring since the
May flowers had blossomed. A thousand voices of the coming summer
called her away from her books. But Elizabeth was determined to finish
a certain exercise that week, for Mother MacAllister was looking for
it. Malcolm and Jean were sitting down on the old pump platform doing
a Latin exercise. Elizabeth could not understand anyone studying
there, with the orioles building their nest above and the
vesper-sparrows calling from the lane. So she took her books up to her
room, pulled down the green paper blind to shut out all sights and
sounds, lit the lamp, and there in the hot, airless little place knelt
by a chair and crammed her slate again and again with figures.

Miss Gordon had been darning on the side porch, but had left her work a
moment and gone out to the kitchen to request Sarah Emily to
sing--provided it were necessary to sing at all--a little less
boisterously. Tom Teeter was in the study with Mr. Gordon, and, to
show her indifference, Sarah Emily was calling forth loud and clear the
chronicles of all those "finest young gents that ever were seen," who
had come a-courting all in vain.

The singer being reduced to a sulky silence, the mistress of the house
passed out on a tour of inspection. She glanced approvingly at the two
eager young students in the orchard, calling softly to Jean not to
remain out after the dew began to fall. The little boys were playing
in the lane. Mary was with them, but the absence of noise showed that
El