ugh out loud. But I don't mind doing all the visiting."

"Oh, it will spoil everything!" groaned Mary to herself, as she ran
up-stairs when Girlie was at last out of sight. She felt that nothing
could compensate her for the loss of the whole morning, and the thought
of losing any more precious time in that way was unendurable.

Mrs. Sherman met her in the hall, and pinched her cheek playfully as she
passed her. "You make a charming little hostess, my dear," she said. "I
looked out several times, and you were so absorbed with your play that
it made me wish that I could be a little girl again, and join you with
my poor old Nancy Blanche doll and my grand Amanthis that papa brought
me from New Orleans. I'll have to resurrect them for you out of the
attic, for I'm afraid it has been stupid for you here, with nobody your
own age."

"Oh, no'm! Don't! Please don't!" protested Mary, a worried look on her
honest little face. She was about to add, "I can't bear dolls any more.
I only played with them to please Girlie," when Lloyd came out of her
room with a letter.

"It's from the bride-to-be, mothah," she called, waving it gaily.

"She'll be heah day aftah to-morrow, so we can begin to put the
finishing touches to her room. The day she comes I'm going to take the
girls ovah to Rollington to get some long sprays of bride's wreath. Mrs.
Crisp has two big bushes of it, white as snow. It will look so cool and
lovely, everything in the room all green and white."

Mary stole away to her room, ready to cry. If every morning had to be
spent with that tiresome Dinsmore child, she might as well have stayed
on the desert.

"I simply have to get rid of her in some way," she mused. "It won't do
to snub her, and I don't know any other way. I wish I could see Holland
for about five minutes. He'd think of a plan."

So absorbed was she in her problem that she forgot to ask whether the
kid or the satin slippers had been chosen, and she went down to lunch
still revolving her trouble in her mind. On the dining-room wall
opposite her place at table were two fine old engravings, illustrating
the fable of the famous dinners given by the Fox and the Stork. In the
first the stork strove vainly to fill its bill at the flat dish from
which the fox lapped eagerly, while in the companion picture the fox sat
by disconsolate while the stork dipped into the high slim pitcher, which
the hungry guest could not reach.

Mary had noticed the pictures in a