her pretty color had
quite faded during the last half-hour. "I think if you would tell us
plainly, exactly what you mean, Phillis, we should be able to
understand everything better."

"My notion is this," began Phillis, slowly: "remember, I have not
thought it quite out, but I will give you my ideas just as they occur
to me. We will not say anything to mother just yet, until we have
thoroughly digested our plan. You and I, Nan, will run down to the
Friary, and reconnoitre the place, judge of its capabilities, and so
forth; and when we come back we will hold a family council."

"That will be best," agreed Nan, who remembered, with sudden feelings
of relief, that Dick and his belongings would be safe in the Engadine
by that time. "But, Phillis, do you really and truly believe that we
could carry out such a scheme?"

"Why not?" was the bold answer. "If we can work for ourselves, we can
for other people. I have a presentiment that we shall achieve a
striking success. We will make the old Friary as comfortable as
possible," she continued, cheerfully. "The good folk of Hadleigh will
be rather surprised when they see our pretty rooms. No horse-hair
sofa; no crochet antimacassars or hideous wax flowers; none of the
usual stock-in-trade. Dorothy will manage the house for us; and we
will all sit and work together, and mother will help us, and read to
us. Aren't you glad, Nan, that we all saved up for that splendid
sewing-machine?"

"I do believe there is something, after all, in what you say," was
Nan's response; but Dulce was not so easily won over.

"Do you mean to say that we shall put up a brass plate on the door,
with 'Challoner, dressmaker,' on it?" she observed, indignantly. A red
glow mounted to Nan's forehead; and even Phillis looked disconcerted.

"I never thought of that: well, perhaps not. We might advertise at the
Library, or put cards in the shops. I do not think mother would ever
cross the threshold if she saw a brass plate."

"No, no; I could not bear that," said Nan, faintly. A dim vision of
Dick standing at the gate, ruefully contemplating their name--her
name--in juxtaposition with "dressmaker," crossed her mind directly.

"But we should have to carry parcels, and stand in people's halls, and
perhaps fit Mrs. Squails, the grocer's wife,--that fat old thing, you
know. How would you like to make a dress for Mrs. Squails, Phil?"
asked Dulce, with the malevolent desire of making Phillis as
uncomfortable a