of sighed as they each
took to their own side of the big roomy bed. "I have never been away
from him before."

"Oh, he will have the very best of attention at that retreat," Madaline
declared, although she knew absolutely nothing of the place. "Has he
money with him?" she ventured.

"Oh, yes. He always has his check book and his deposits are all in a
good New York bank," returned Mary without offense, realizing the
question was plainly one made out of simple kindness.

She had donned the white night dress, the girls reasoned she would
prefer it to the colored crepe pajamas, and Madaline, watching her
shake out all the glory usually bound in those two heavy braids of
chestnut hair, was lost in admiration.

"However did your hair grow so beautifully long and thick?" she
inquired, lifting the cloak of many tresses in both her hands.

"Loved One had wonderful hair," replied Mary, "and I guess hot
countries are supposed to be best for the growth also," she added.
Then, as if unhappy thoughts would torment her, she sighed a little.

"Are you lonely?" Madaline asked gently.

"Oh no," brightening up with a correct sense of politeness. "I was
just thinking how Reda blames my hair for what she thinks is a symptom
of the fever. You know her people have such tight kinky hair, they
cannot understand ours. Those who do grow longer hair are of a
different race, and they have that very straight, stiff Indian kind.
But daddy told Grandie mine should never be cut, so Reda didn't dare to
cut it, as she has often wanted to. Madaline," Mary suddenly
exclaimed, a certain timid appeal in her voice, "did you notice the
little basket I brought with me?"

"Oh yes, where did you put it?" eagerly inquired the girl on the other
side of the bed.

"I put it out on a little porch I saw back of the dining-room. Do you
think it will be all right?"

"Oh, yes, but why did you set it outside?"

"It's better in the air," replied Mary, and Madaline had not the
courage to ask if "it" were alive, and why it should need air. Instead
she hurried her preparation, and both were soon ready, so the light was
snapped out. Madaline thrilled as she recalled what happened when she
touched the button of another light a few hours earlier.

In less than an hour every tousled head was buried deep in its fragrant
pillow, and even we are not permitted to "tap the tank of dreams."
Surely a girl scout and her visitor may dream her own dreams; why
shou