p an eye on
them--separated from the family," he was explaining, and in spite of
their protests, a moment later the three little girls were lifted into
the carriage, and as the door banged, their carriage moved with the
rest up the street.

"Now," said Hattie, and Hattie sprang to the farther door. It would not
open. Through the carriage windows the school, with its arched doorways
and windows, gazed frowningly, reproachfully. A gentleman entered the
gate and went in the doorway.

"It's our minister," said Sadie, weeping afresh. Then Hattie wept and
so did Emmy Lou. What would The Exhibition do without them?

Late that afternoon a carriage stopped at a corner upon which a school
building stood. Since his charges were infantile affairs, the colored
gentleman on the box thought to expedite matters and drop them at the
corner nearest their homes. Descending, he flung open the door, and
three little girls crept forth, three crushed little girls, three limp
little girls, three little girls in a mild kind of mourning. They came
forth timidly. They looked around. They hoped they might reach their
homes unobserved.

There was a crowd up the street. A gathering of people--many people.
It seemed to be at Emmy Lou's gate. Hattie and Sadie lived farther on.

"It must be a fire," said Hattie.

But it wasn't. It was The Exhibition, the Principal, and Miss Carrie,
and teachers and pupils, and mammas and aunties and Uncle Charlie.

"An' grand'ma," said Hattie. "And the visiting lady," said Emmy Lou.
"And our minister," said Sadie.

The gathering of many people caught sight of them presently, and came
to meet them, three little girls in mild mourning.

The parents and guardians led them home.

Emmy Lou was tired. At supper she nodded and mild mourning and all,
suddenly she collapsed and fell asleep, her head against her chair.

Uncle Charlie woke her. He stood her up on the chair, and held out his
arms. "Come," he said, "Come, suit the action to the word."

Emmy Lou woke suddenly, the words smiting her ears with ominous import.
She thought the hour had come; it was The Exhibition. She stood stiffly,
she advanced a cautious foot, her chubby hand described a careful half
circle. Emmy Lou spoke her part.

"We know not where we go."

[B] Copyright, 1901, 1902, by McClure, Phillips & Co.

The Dancing School and Dicky[C]

BY JOSEPHINE DODGE DASKAM.

(_Arranged by Maude Herndon and Grace Kellam._)

[From "The Lit