ake them to see? Shall I give a tea and ask the girls to meet
them? Don't you think a sleighing party would be fun? And a fudge party
in the evening? Papa loves fudge. Do you think it would be a good idea
to have dinner up here in Molly's and Nance's room, or let papa give a
banquet at the Inn? Do suggest, everybody."

Judy was too excited to sit down. She was walking up and down the room,
her cheeks blazing and her eyes as uncannily bright as two elfin lights
on a dark night.

"Be calm, Judy," said Molly, taking her friend by the shoulders and
pushing her into a chair. "You'll work yourself into a high fever with
your excitable ways. Now, sit down there and we'll talk it over quietly
and arrange a program."

Judy sat down obediently.

"I suppose it does seem funny to all of you, but, you see, mamma and
papa and I have been brought up together----"

"You mean you brought them up?" asked Edith.

"We brought each other up. They call me 'little sister', and until I
went off to college, because papa insisted I must have some education,
life was just one beautiful lark."

"What a jolly time you must have had!" observed Nance with a wistful
smile which reminded the self-centred Judy at last that it was not
exactly kind to pile it on too thickly about her delightful parents.

Not a little curiosity was felt by the Queen's girls to see Mr. and Mrs.
Kean, whom Judy had described as paragons of beauty and wit, and they
assembled at Wellington station in a body to meet the distinguished
pair. Judy herself was in a quiver of happy excitement and when finally
the train pulled into the station, she rushed from one platform to
another in her eagerness. Of course they had taken the chair car down,
but she was too bewildered to remember that there was but one such coach
on the Wellington train, and it was usually the rear car.

"I don't find them. Oh, mamma! Oh, papa! You couldn't have missed the
train!" she cried, addressing the spirits of the air.

Just then a very tall, handsome man with eyes exactly like Judy's
pinioned her arms from behind.

"Well, little sister, don't you know your own father?"

He was just as Judy had described him; and her word-picture also fitted
Mrs. Kean, a dainty, pretty, little woman, with a doll-like face and
flaxen hair, who would never have given the impression that she was in
the habit of roughing it in engineering camps, sleeping out of doors,
riding across sun-baked plains on Texas bronc