the arms of Jessie
Staples, who was awaiting her there.

"Oh, Dorothy!" she began, reproachfully, "how _could_ you do it?"

"Do what?" cried Dorothy, with a very innocent air.

"Come riding home from work with that stranger!" cried Jessie,
reproachfully.

The gayest laugh that ever was heard broke from Dorothy's ripe red lips,
and her blue eyes fairly danced.

"I did not think that _you_, of all other girls, would be jealous,
Jessie Staples!" she declared.

"I am not jealous," responded the girl, quietly--"only I pity you for
your want of sense in being fascinated by a handsome stranger, when you
have such a lover as honest, warm-hearted Jack Garner, who fairly
worships the ground you walk on. Every one knows that--and--and pities
him."

Dorothy's red lips curled scornfully, and she turned away on her heel.

"He is only a gilder in the bindery," she declared, "while the one I
came home with is a grand high-toned, wealthy young fellow, and so
aristocratic. He thought nothing of bringing me home in a cab, while
Jack Garner would have fainted at the idea. He is so frightened if he
spends a dollar of his hard-earned wages. It's no fun going around with
a _poor_ fellow. I hate them! So there!"

With that Jessie took the bill from her pocket, and told all that poor
Jack had said about treating to the ice-cream.

Dorothy looked astounded, but turned the matter off by saying:

"It is a good thing to have him stand treat once in his life-time, I
declare!"

But, nevertheless, she felt ashamed deep down in her own heart for the
way she had spoken of poor Jack. Still she would not listen to Jessie's
admonition, declaring, too, that she meant to go on an excursion on
Labor Day with Harry Langdon, even though it made an enemy of Jack for
life. She was tired of Jack, anyhow.

"You will rue it if you go with that stranger. Trouble will come of it
as sure as you live." Those were Jessie's last words to Dorothy as they
parted an hour later, and they rang in Dorothy's brain for many and many
a long day afterward; and these two girls, who had been such steadfast
friends parted from each other in coldness and in anger for the first
time in their lives.

The sun rose bright and golden on the eventful morning, and Dorothy was
in high glee as she looked out from her curtained window, and the
visions of a joyous day flitted before her.

At two o'clock Langdon put in a prompt appearance, and Dorothy was quite
ready, and he co