ay. Whatever Grace's cross might be, she
knew that, in time, Grace would confide in her.

On the way to the Omnibus House Grace was as gay and buoyant as her two
little friends. It was not until they had reached there and Anna May and
Elizabeth had run off to the nearest tree to watch a pair of birds which
were building a nest and keeping up a great chirping meanwhile, that a
frightful feeling of loneliness swept over Grace. She sat down on the
worn stone steps sadly thinking of Tom Gray and the good times the
Eight Originals had had at this favorite haunt.

But why did the memory of Tom Gray continue to haunt her? Grace gave her
shoulders an impatient twitch. How foolish she was to allow herself to
grow retrospective over Tom. She had deliberately sent him away because
she did not, nor never could, love him. Still she wished that the memory
of him would not intrude upon her thoughts so constantly. "It's only
because he's associated with the good times the Eight Originals have
had," she tried to tell herself, but deep in her heart was born a
strange fear that she fought against naming or recognizing.

After having watched the noisy, but successful, builders to their
hearts' content, the children ran over to where Grace sat and challenged
her to a game of tag. But she was in no mood for play, and suggested
they had better be starting home. She felt that she could not endure for
another instant this house of memories. She tried to assume the joyous
air with which she had started out, but even the two little girls were
not slow to perceive that their dear Miss Harlowe didn't look as happy
as when they had begun their walk.

"I think we'd better go and see her to-morrow morning and take her a
present," decided Anna May, after Grace had left them at their own gate.
"She laughed like everything when we started on our walk, but she looked
pretty sad when we were coming back and didn't say hardly a thing. I'm
going to give her my bottle of grape juice that Mother made specially
for me."

"I guess I'll give her that pen wiper I made. It's ever so pretty."
Elizabeth was not to be outdone in generosity.

"We'll take Snowball's new white puppy to show her," planned Anna May.
"She hasn't seen it yet. And a real French poodle puppy is too cute for
anything."

"And we'll sing that new verse we learned in school for her," added
Elizabeth.

True to their word, the next morning the two little girls marched up to
the Harlowes' f