an. The girls remained in their hiding places, and only with
great effort suppressed their desire to giggle. Mrs. Johnson led the way
to the kitchen, where she explained the cause of the difficulty to the
man.

In the meantime, more steps were heard outside; the hearts of the
concealed girls beat all the more wildly with excitement because of the
false alarm they had just experienced.

It was evident, after a moment or two of silence, that Mrs. Johnson had
not heard the bell. Probably she had gone down the cellar with the
plumber. Marjorie was debating in her own mind whether she ought not to
creep out of her hiding place and open the door, for the day was too
disagreeable to keep anyone outside longer than necessary, when Miss
Phillips tried the knob, and, finding that it turned, she opened the
door and walked in. Frieda followed, and then Frances.

Frieda Hammer, a girl of fourteen or fifteen, was dressed in an
old-fashioned woolen suit of a style of nearly ten years back. Its
bedraggled, uneven skirt reached down to her ankles, while the sleeves
of the coat came far short of her wrists. Her hair was arranged in an
exaggerated fashion, with huge ear-puffs, according to her idea of the
latest mode; and on her head was a dirty straw hat, trimmed with big
artificial roses. She slouched into the room, dragging her muddy feet
over the carpet, and threw herself into Mrs. Johnson's chair.

She glanced around the room with a look of the utmost disdain; then
closed her jaw tightly, causing her lower lip to protrude, as is often
the habit with persons of sullen dispositions. Marjorie caught sight of
her attitude and could hardly repress a sigh of dismay; then she espied
Frances, looking nervous and unhappy, and her last hope vanished. Ruth
must be right after all!

Miss Phillips sank into a chair opposite to Frieda, as if she were both
mentally and physically exhausted. Then, breaking the silence at last,
she remarked, in a tone which she tried to make pleasant,

"It's nice to be home, isn't it?"

But she received no reply from the girl. Her sullen expression never
changed; it might seem that she had not heard Miss Phillips' remark.

"I guess Mrs. Johnson will be here in a minute," the latter added,
cheerfully. "And then you can go to your room and wash."

Still there was no word or sign from Freida. "She certainly isn't very
appreciative," thought Marjorie; "but maybe she's homesick."

"Would you like to try on your