choosing of her wardrobe in general. Two days before coming to Sanford,
Mary had seen her mother off on her journey to Colorado in quest of
health. She had put on a brave face and smiled when she wished to cry,
and it was alone the thought that she was going to live with Marjorie
during her mother's absence that kept her from breaking down at the last
sad moment of farewell.

It was a sober-faced, sad-eyed Mary that Marjorie had met at the train,
but, under the irresistible sunniness of Marjorie's nature, Mary had
soon emerged from her cloud, and now the prospect of entering Sanford
High School filled her with lively anticipation.

As Marjorie and Mary emerged from the house and swung down the stone
walk in perfect step, they beheld a stout, and to Marjorie, a decidedly
familiar figure turning in at the gate. In the same instant a joyous
"Hello" rent the air, and the stout girl cantered up the walk at a
surprising rate of speed. There was a delighted gurgle from Marjorie,
that ended in a fervent embrace of the two young women.

"Oh, Jerry, I'm so glad to see you! I was afraid you wouldn't be back in
Sanford before school opened. I saw Irma day before yesterday and she
said she hadn't heard a word from you for over a week."

"We didn't get here until last night at ten o'clock Maybe I'm not glad
to see _you_." Jerry beamed affectionately upon Marjorie.

"This is my friend, Mary Raymond, Jerry," introduced Marjorie. "She is
going to live with us this winter and be a sophomore at dear old Sanford
High. There will be six of us instead of five now."

"I'm glad to know you." Jerry smiled and stretched forth a plump hand in
greeting. "I've heard a lot about you."

"I've heard Marjorie speak of you, too. I'm ever so pleased to meet
you." Mary exhibited a friendliness toward Jerry Macy that had been
quite lacking in her greeting of Constance Stevens.

As the three stood for a moment at the gate Jerry's eyes suddenly grew
very round.

"Why, Marjorie, your friend looks like Connie, doesn't she?"

"Of course she does," replied Marjorie happily. "Don't you remember I
told you long ago that that was why I felt so drawn toward Connie in the
first place?"

"Yes, I remember it now. Isn't it funny that your two dearest friends
should look alike? Have you met Constance, Mary? I'm going to call you
Mary. I never call a girl 'Miss' unless I can't bear her. I'm sure I'm
going to like you. Not only because you're Marjorie's chum,