out. She had studied it in her English
readings at Shadyside only the previous term. But there was no
Gingerbread Man in this shop window!

In the middle of the display window, which was divided into four not very
large panes, was arranged on a cross of bright metal a knitted over-blouse
of the very newest burnt orange shade. The work was exquisitely done, as
Betty could see even from outside the shop, and she did hope it would fit
her.

On pushing open the door a silvery bell--not an annoying, jangling
bell--played a very lively tune to attract the attention of a girl who sat
at the back of the shop, her head bent close above the work on which she
was engaged. Although the bell stopped quivering when Betty closed the
door, the girl did not look up from her work.

Sharp-eyed Betty saw that the stranger was knitting, and she seemed to be
engaged upon another over-blouse like that in the window, save that the
silk in her lap was of a pretty dark blue shade. Betty saw her full, red
lips move placidly. The girl was counting over her work and she actually
was so deeply immersed in the knitting that she had not heard the bell or
realized that a possible customer had entered.

"Ahem!" coughed Betty.

"And that's twenty-four, and--cross--and two--and four----" The girl was
counting aloud.

"Why," murmured Betty Gordon, her eyes dancing, "she's like Libbie
Littell when she is somnambulating--I guess that is the right word.
Anyway, when Libbie walks in her sleep she talks just like that----

"_Ahem!_"

This time Betty almost shouted the announcement of her presence in the
shop and finally startled the other girl out of her abstraction. The
latter looked up, winked her eyes very fast, and began to roll up her work
in a clean towel. Betty noticed that her eyes were very blue and were
shaded by dark lashes.

"I beg your pardon," said the shopgirl. "Have you been waiting long?" She
came forward quickly and with an air of assurance. Her look was not a
happy one, however, and Betty wondered at her sadness. "What can I show
you?" asked the shopgirl.

She was not much older than Betty herself, but she was more self-possessed
and seemed much more experienced than even Betty, much as the latter had
traveled and varied as her adventures had been during the previous year
and a half. But now the stranger's questions brought Betty to a renewed
comprehension of what she had actually entered the shop for.

"I'm just crazy about tha