tead. That
was the last picnic before you girls came."

"I've heard so much about those jolly picnics," said Hannah, "and we
haven't been to one!"

"I know. Isn't it odd that it happens so? But we'll have one the night
before we go back to college. The moon will be full, and the boys have
all the plans made. There! They're beginning to leave." And Catherine
went forward to help her mother's guests find hats and scarfs.

"I never heard Catherine talk so much at once before," said Frieda
lazily. "She looks beautiful to-night, too,--to boot!" She had just
heard that phrase and though a little uncertain as to its exact
significance, took pleasure in inserting it here and there in her
speech.

"She's a darling dear," assented Alice, "and so is Dr. Helen, to boot!
Now let's help Inga clear things away and go to bed."

A half-hour later, Frieda and Alice in the guest-room were sound asleep,
and Hannah in her little bed was sleeping likewise. But Catherine was
sitting by the window writing, by moon and candle light, notes for the
_Courier_, due to appear to-morrow, and still lacking at least two
columns! She wrote slowly and conscientiously, trying to be clear and
simple, and yet not so unlike the usual style of the _Courier_ as
to excite comment. Presently she finished and, resting her elbows on the
window-sill, looked out into the night. Capella twinkled at her and she
leaned out to identify such of her beloved constellations as she could.

The house stood high on a hillside, and overlooked the streets of the
little town. Suddenly through the trees Catherine saw the gleam of a
moving lantern, then another and a third. She heard a voice call, and an
answer from a distance.

"I wonder what it means?" she thought, watching and listening. "It
sounds and looks very mysterious. _The Courier!_"

The recently acquired news instinct recognized in this mystery of voices
and moving lights at the dead of night a possible "scoop" for her paper.
To be sure, her paper was the only one in Winsted, but that did not
matter. She got up, and taking a long light cloak from the closet threw
it over her shoulders, drawing the silk hood over her head. Then she
stole out into the corridor and down the stairs, her party skirts
rustling, and the boards now and then creaking under her stockinged
feet. Down stairs she stopped, put on her pumps, and then let herself
out, closing the door softly behind her.

Outside everything was very still. Ca