o the young girl's welfare, knowing how
much she must miss Peggy this winter.

Nelly was simply dressed in a gown which had once been Peggy's, for most
of Peggy's garments went to Nelly, but were given so sweetly and with
such evident love, that not even the most sensitive nature could have
been wounded, and they were a real blessing to her. No one ever
commented upon the fact and before going to Columbia Heights, Nelly had
spent many a busy hour with Mrs. Harold remodeling and working like a
little beaver under that good friend's guidance, for Nelly was a skilful
little needlewoman. As a result, no girl in the school was more suitably
gowned. The only girls who had eyed her critically were Lily Pearl,
Helen and Juno. The first because she was too shallow to do aught but
follow Helen's lead, and Juno from a naturally critical disposition.
Juno meant to hold her favor somewhat in reserve. She intended first to
see what Nelly's standing at Severndale proved. She might be Polly's and
Peggy's friend--well and good--but who was she? Would she find a
welcome among the Delacys, the Vanderstacks, the Dryers and heaven knows
which-or-whats of New York's glitterers?

Juno was hardly in a position to gauge her standards by those who
represented the big city's finest and best. She saw the patrons of the
great hotels and moved among them, but of New York's sterling worth, she
was as ignorant as a babe. Its superficial glamour and glitter, as well
as its less desirable contingent, which she was not sufficiently
experienced in the world's ways to fully understand, made the strongest
appeal to her. Poor little Nelly Bolivar would have been a modest, sleek
little Junco compared with the birds of paradise (?), cockatoos, and
pheasants of Juno's world, but of all this Nelly was quite unaware and
too happy in her present surroundings to care.

It was a merry afternoon for all, but a diversion was created by Polly,
shortly before it ended.

She was at the tea-table pouring, and talking to Ralph like a
phonograph, when Mrs. Harold became aware of a horrible odor, and cried:

"What under the sun smells so abominably? Why, Polly Howland, look at my
perfectly good teakettle! It is red hot, and--horrors--there isn't one
drop of water in it!"

True enough, absorbed in her conversation with Ralph, Polly had
completely overlooked the trifling detail of keeping her kettle filled,
though the alcohol lamp beneath it was doing its duty most lampf