am
glad you asked me to join the club."

"I'll go tell Hilary!" Pauline said. "Tom, however--"

"I beg your pardon, Miss?"

Pauline laughed and turned away.

"Oh, I say, Paul," Tom dropped his mask of pretended dignity, "let the
Imp come with us--this time."

Pauline looked doubtful. She, as well as Tom, had caught sight of that
small flushed face, on which longing and indignation had been so
plainly written. "I'm not sure that mother will--" she began, "But
I'll see."

"Tell her--just this first time," Tom urged, and Shirley added, "She
would love it so."

"Mother says," Pauline reported presently, "that Patience may go _this_
time--only we'll have to wait while she gets ready."

From an upper window came an eager voice. "I'm most ready now!"

"She'll never forget it--as long as she lives," Shirley said, "and if
she hadn't gone she would never've forgotten _that_."

"Nor let us--for one while," Pauline remarked--"I'd a good deal rather
work with than against that young lady."

Hilary came down then, looking ready and eager for the outing. She had
been out in the trap with Pauline several times; once, even as far as
the manor to call upon Shirley.

"Why," she exclaimed, "you've brought the Folly! Tom, how ever did you
manage it?"

"Beg pardon, Miss?"

Hilary shrugged her shoulders, coming nearer for a closer inspection of
the big lumbering stage. It had been new, when the present proprietor
of the hotel, then a young man, now a middle-aged one, had come into
his inheritance. Fresh back from a winter in town, he had indulged
high hopes of booming his sleepy little village as a summer resort, and
had ordered the stage--since christened the Folly--for the convenience
and enjoyment of the guests--who had never come. A long idle lifetime
the Folly had passed in the hotel carriage-house; used so seldom, as to
make that using a village event, but never allowed to fall into
disrepair, through some fancy of its owner.

As Tom opened the door at the back now, handing his guests in with much
ceremony, Hilary laughed softly. "It doesn't seem quite--respectful to
actually sit down in the poor old thing. I wonder, if it's more
indignant, or pleased, at being dragged out into the light of day for a
parcel of young folks?"

"'Butchered to make a Roman Holiday'?" Shirley laughed.

At that moment Patience appeared, rather breathless--but not half as
much so as Miranda, who had been drawn into service, an